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“It’s not . . .” He gathered a deep breath and released it. “I have healed. A lot of it with y’all.”

“Yes.” She slid her hand down his leg to form a gentle curve about his knee. “And expecting it to be completely resolved is naive. Trauma like you experienced leaves scars in its wake.”

He shot a glance at her, thinking about the specter of her childhood. He didn’t want her carrying that . . . so he got she wanted the same for him.

“Don’t get why Louise going made me so—” He bit the word off. She waited, and now he got why she hated when he did that, giving her time and space. He ran a hand through his hair. “I got a glimpse of losing you. Scared the hell out of me, but I don’t think . . . that’s not it.”

Silence hovered between them a moment.

He flexed his right hand, bones aching. “I’m pissed at the world.”

With a slight smile curving her lips, she made a quiet noise of assent. “I understand that.”

And she did. What was he complaining about, anyway? Mama and Daddy loved him, Grandma and Grandaddy loved him, he’d had a stable childhood when she’d—

He had nothing to whine about.

What happened back then couldn’t be changed anyway.

“You’re grinding your teeth.” She tapped her thumb on his knee.

“What?” He unclenched his jaw and grimaced.

“You do it in your sleep sometimes.” Her shoulder rose and fell in that elegant shrug. “More this week.”

Great. She had nightmares she never remembered, not as often now as when they’d first gotten together, but she clocked him in his sleep every so often. Bloodied his nose a couple of times.

“You’re going to give yourself a headache."

Too late. He’d downed a headache powder when he left the office.

He slouched into the sofa. “Yeah.”

“Three years of therapy was helpful.” A winsome smile didn’t belie her seriousness.

“Pass.” He folded an arm behind his head, hooked over the back of the couch. “Married you so I could draw on your expertise.”

“Yet you won’t talk to me.” Her small noise of amusement dripped derision, and she didn’t point out she was an analyst, not a therapist. Besides, he’d meant it when he said fixing him wasn’t her job.

The idea he needed fixing at all itched under his skin.

“What is there to say?”

“I imagine quite a bit, Lamar, but pushing you to say it will only serve to shut you down and we both know it.”

Holy hell, but having someone know you inside out the way she did him was a son of a bitch sometimes. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She shifted, creating a half an inch or so of distance between their torsos. He fought an urge to tug her back into place. With mingled amusement and irritation twisting her mouth, she studied him. She touched gentle fingers to his jaw, smoothing the lingering tension there. “Are you looking for an argument, tesoro?”

Hell, no, he didn’t want to fight. He wasn’t up to fighting his past, the one he couldn’t change.

He lived with that shit, how he’d . . .

Nope. Not burying himself in that old guilt. He’d been a kid, only four years older than Eleanor now.

Beating himself up over choices he’d made back then didn’t serve him now. Damn sure didn’t serve Caitlin or his girls.

“No.” His voice emerged tight, weary. He shook his head, aware of her steady gaze on his face. He didn’t have it in him right now, but maybe soon. “Not tonight.”