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That wiped his smile away, even as he struggled not to react. Knots tied him up, from his nape down his spine, large constrictor knots in his gut. “Mama’s asleep. She’s not feeling well.”

Daddy’s words from his childhood punched him in the chest. He’d been six and his own mama had taken months to recover emotionally from her miscarriage.

Lord, he didn’t want this for her, for them.

Brows gnarled into a sympathetic frown, Eva shook her head. “I don’t want Mama to be sick.”

“Neither do I.” He blinked hard, eyes burning with loss and gritty from lack of sleep. The bleeding and cramping continued, although she’d finally dozed off an hour or so before the girls started their day. Watching her hurt and being unable to do anything but hold her gutted him, and her refusal to take anything stronger than a freaking ibuprofen frustrated him. He got it, the way she avoided presciption narcotics because of her mother’s history, but she was hurting.

And the amount of blood scared the hell out of him. That couldn’t be normal, and she wouldn’t let him call into Alice’s after hours number, didn’t want to bother the older woman with something she insisted was normal.

He couldn’t do anything, and he wanted to put his fist through the wall.

“That’s why Mama needs to rest, so she can get better.” He smoothed Eva’s hair, undoing the remainder of the braid. His fingers shook. “Let me try this again. We’ll make it looser so it doesn’t pull your face.”

“Daddy, we’re going to be late.” Eleanor hovered in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. “I cannot be tardy for Mrs. Hardin’s class. It isn’t done.”

“We’re not going to be late.” He captured a lock that had gone astray, thankful for all those mornings he’d wrangled his youngest sister together for school, for the mornings he’d done this with both his girls. He flicked a glance sideways at Eleanor. She always wore her stress the way Caitlin did, in tight little lines about her mouth. Failing that quiz had mortified her. She’d been harder on herself than either he or Caitlin had been, and even though her own braid and uniform were perfect, she fiddled with the hem of her blazer. “Have everything ready for us to walk out the door.

“Minnie.” He snapped a band around the end of her braid and nudged her forward. “You cannot give me a hard time this morning about walking you in. We are doing the car line so Ace isn’t late for first period. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” She lifted her backpack from the bed, braid tapping between her shoulder blades, against her navy sweater. “I can’t kiss Mama goodbye, can I?”

“Not this morning.” He palmed her head, hair soft under his gentle touch, and eased her toward the hall. “You can kiss me goodbye twice, and I’ll give her one.”

“Or I can put a kiss in your hand and you can hold it and bring it back to her.” She skipped ahead of him, a hint of whimsy in her voice.

“That works, too.” In the kitchen, Eleanor had their lunches ready to go, and the sound of Zeb munching fresh kibble drifted from the laundry room.

He delivered them to car drop off with almost ten minutes to spare, aware of Eleanor’s sharp looks at his face. She knew something was up, and she’d be full of questions once she had him alone. He’d cross that later, though. Right now, he had to survive these moments.

Creeping forward in the exit line, he fired off a voice text to Mackey, scowling at the Suburban in front of him, screwing up both exit lanes. Why buy a vehicle that big if you couldn’t handle it? Call me if available

Within a couple of minutes, his phone rang as he turned out of the driveway. He answered, hands-free. “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Maybe two if I can count this as a patient call.” Mackey’s lame humor rang as a point of constancy in his life, all the way back to preschool. He needed that. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat. “Cait’s having a miscarriage.”

“Oh, hell, man.” Mackey sobered, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He blinked hard, the back of his eyes burning. “Me, too. Listen, Mackey, I need to know what’s normal here. She’s in a lot of pain, and I’ve never seen her bleed like this.”

“It can be a painful process, and heavy bleeding can be normal, too. Her doctor prescribe anything?”

“Yeah.” He clenched his jaw. Around four that morning, when she’d been doubled over, the ibuprofen she’d taken not even touching the pain, he’d had to bite back his thinking on her not having the prescription filled. “She won’t take it.”

He got it — her mother’s addiction and death hung heavy over her life, but damn it all.

“How often is she bleeding through?”

“Every couple of hours.”

“That can be normal, too. If that gets worse, like bleeding through a pad in less than an hour, she needs medical attention.” Mackey cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Hit hard.” He scuffed a hand over his nape, steering into a right hand turn. “I don’t . . . it’s tough, Jay.”

“I bet.” A muffled voice interrupted, speaking behind Mackey’s voice. He murmured in response, Give me a few minutes, and Tick expelled a grateful breath. He didn’t know how to do this, and at least Mackey could guide him medically. “Hey, I’m back. Listen, everybody reacts to this differently, too. Give yourself time and space to deal.”