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He nodded. “I feel like shit for what I said in the elevator the other day.”

Her lashes fell. He lifted his mug, trying to wash down the painful tightness with rich coffee. Lord, he’d kill for that to be decaf.

“I wanted this from the moment you told me.” The words scraped from him, raw and rough. “But I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I wanted your baby.” She lifted a shoulder, a shrug jerkier than he’d ever witnessed. “I was just . . . it seemed so big, like being pregnant with Eleanor again.”

Her voice trailing away, she rested her elbow on the marble and her brow on her fingers. He rubbed his palm down her spine, circling and patting like he would with their daughters, and her long exhale, almost a sob, shuddered under his hand.

She lifted her head, pushing her tousled hair back. “How can this hurt so badly?”

“I don’t know.” His own exhale bled from his lips. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever walked, Cait.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, wedding rings sparkling because small tremors moved her hand in the light. “Thank you for not going in to the office today.”

His brows rose, a spark of irritation lighting up his nerve endings. “Think I’d be anywhere else?”

“No.” She shook her head, lifting those dulled green eyes to his. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Her quiet certainty in him poured into the raw wounds he’d carved into himself with his neglect of her, of them, the past few weeks, sealing off those painful places so he could carry this.

“I love you.” Biting down hard on the inside of his lip, he cradled her face in his palm, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cait.”

Her eyes filled, glittering, but these tears didn’t tear at him quite the same way. She reached for him, framing his neck with her hands, and leaned in, her temple against his jaw. He folded her close, stroking her hair, her shoulder, her back, and she wrapped her arms about his neck, her shaky breath warm on his throat. Silence settled in a still cocoon while they simply held on to one another.

Chapter Twelve

Trust Me

A slight pulse at his temples, Tick ushered his bevy of Woodfield second graders off the bus. Despite a long day, the little girls — all fifty or so of them — giggled and bounced and exclaimed over the field trip events. Their parents appeared less energetic, more bedraggled, and Tick grinned, thankful this wasn’t his first field-trip rodeo. A couple of the other dads bore a shell-shocked air.

Hefting his bag, he eyed Eva collecting her things. He’d chaperoned this same trip with Eleanor, one of his early official outings with her once he’d legally become her father. That had been late February or early March, too, mere weeks after Fuller—

He stilled.

The parallel rang eerily, walking the aftereffects of the attack, walking the aftereffects of their pregnancy loss. Both situations had drawn them together and pushed them apart simultaneously, and the past few weeks had dimmed Caitlin in a way that made his chest hurt, just as the way she shone had dimmed in the month or so after Fuller.

Okay. So he could draw hope, because they’d gotten through that with a lot less mileage on them. Each recent day dragged at him, like slogging through mud. But they talked, and she leaned on him, wrapping herself around him at night as if his mere presence was a comfort.

Had to be, because he needed her the same way.

And at least she was touching him. Their sex life had evaporated — the single time they’d made love since the miscarriage having felt so perfunctory, leaving her in silent tears she either wouldn’t or couldn’t explain and him so shaken that he wouldn’t initiate for hell.

He could wait until she was ready to come to him.

“Daddy, there’s Mama and Eleanor.” Small hand gripping his, Eva tugged him toward the curving walkway that wound between the elementary and secondary buildings.

Lifting a finger at Ms. Dunwoody, he let himself be steered toward the sidewalk. Friday remained ice cream day, after all, and he’d be superfluous in another few minutes.

Talking, Eleanor waved a hand toward the athletic complex, a smile breaking over her face as she caught sight of him. “Hi, Daddy. You look tired.”

“I might catch a nap while you get ice cream.” More likely, he’d catch up on paperwork while he had a quiet hour. He kissed her cheek, then turned his attention to Caitlin, leaning in to brush his mouth over hers, a fingertip at the small of her back. “Hey.”

“Hi.” A smile touched her lips and faded. “How was your day?”

“Eventful.” He let his gaze trail over her, from the small lines bracketing her mouth to the jut of her clavicle, bared by the open collar of her blouse. He frowned. How much weight had she lost?

“Mama.” Eva wound herself about Caitlin’s waist, looking up with wide eyes. “We saw meerkats.”