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All of a sudden, his skin went cold, and he remembered waking up in the night, caught in the nightmare of losing Juliana, and he’d... He tossed the covers back and lifted the sleeve of her shirt, revealing dark red marks circling her bicep.
He laid his forehead to her belly and silently cussed himself out for hurting her.
Again, even in her sleep, she brushed her fingers over his head to soothe him.
Disgusted with himself for hurting her, he slowly rolled out of bed, ignoring the ache in his back, and gently covered her with the blankets. He wanted to rage and weep over what he’d done, but his insides had turned to ice and the contempt and loathing he’d tried so hard to escape before rehab raged inside him.
He quietly backed away from the bed, hoping she’d continue to sleep. She needed it after he’d kept her up last night. He found a pair of sweatpants and dragged them on along with a T-shirt and headed out of the bedroom just as Eliza called out, “Mama.”
He stood in her bedroom doorway and took in his little girl rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed, a blanket tucked around her. He sucked in a breath, found the strength to be calm and smile. “Hey, sweet girl. Sleep good?”
She nodded. “Where’s Mama?”
“Still sleeping. You hungry?” He’d missed dinner last night. And though his stomach soured at even the thought of the marks he’d left on Shelby, it grumbled for sustenance that probably wouldn’t easily go down.
He’d feed Eliza and get her dressed for the day so Shelby could take her to Abby’s on her way to work. And out of his life, because there was no way in hell she’d forgive him for bruising her beautiful body.
He’d never forgive himself.
He’d well and truly ruined everything this time.
A lump formed in his throat, and his gut went tight.
Eliza jumped out of bed and ran to him. He scooped her up and hugged her close, loving her sweet baby scent and soft skin.
She squeezed his neck. “Love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, baby. Never forget that.”
“’Kay.” Eliza pressed her cheek to his, then pulled back and scrunched her lips. “Scratchy, Daddy.”
He rubbed his scruffy chin against the tip of her nose and made her giggle, then carried her through the living room to the kitchen. He set her little butt on the counter and stared down at her. “Cereal or waffle?”
She tilted her head and eyed him. “Eggs and waffle.”
He couldn’t help the grin when she was that adorable. “Sounds good.” He scooted her back so she wouldn’t fall off the counter and went to the fridge. He pulled out the carton of eggs and the milk, then grabbed the box of frozen waffles out of the freezer.
He slid two waffles into the toaster oven and grabbed the pot of coffee that brewed automatically this morning after he made and reset it yesterday. He poured himself a cup, hoping it didn’t hurt his sour stomach more. He tried to focus on scrambling the eggs and pouring them into a pan and not his rising anxiety that this was probably the first and last time his little girl stayed the night with him.
“Butter,” Eliza said, pointing to the eggs.
He grabbed it out of the fridge, dumped a dollop into the eggs, and added some salt and pepper, too. “Okay.” He wanted to be sure he’d cooked them enough for her. He hated when eggs were overdone and rubbery.
“Good job, Daddy.”
Another smile came and went on his face. “Thank you.” He split the eggs between their two plates, buttered the waffles, put one on each plate, then held up the bottle of syrup.
Eliza shook her head no.
He set both plates on the table, then picked up Eliza and plopped her in the chair where he strapped her booster seat, then buckled her in. “Water or milk?”
“Milk.”
“Good girl.” He got her a small glass and set it in front of her, then took his seat.
Eliza ate her food, content to be there with him. He found it hard to chew and swallow and not choke on the loathing and remorse writhing inside him.
