One of Rachael’s therapists in Denver had said something that applied to them all. If you let fear take hold, if you let it own you, your life ceases to be your own. She’d even given them a motto, a creed—concise, profane, and unforgettable. Devlin had glanced at the refrigerator clipboard where Will had scribbled it in black Magic Marker, thrice underscored. Fuck the fear.
