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I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

Needing to hold her, I cross the room in three strides. As soon as I’m next to her, I grab the back of the chair and pull her to her feet. Her hands slip away from her mom’s as I bring her straight into my chest, one arm locking around her back while the other cups the base of her skull, my fingers threading into her hair.

“I’m here, baby.”

She grips the front of my shirt with both hands. Her face presses into my shoulder, and I feel the damp heat of her tears through the fabric, the shake of her breath against my collarbone. Her whole body is trembling.

It’s not the fine, involuntary kind. No, this is the bone-deep kind that comes from holding something too heavy for too long and finally setting it down.

“I’m s-so s-scared.”

There are very few problems in my world I can’t solve. Money fixes some, fear fixes others—and when neither works, violence usually does. But I don’t know if any of those can make Kira’s mom better. And I fucking hate that.

Instead of insulting her by making promises I don’t know if I can keep, I hold her tighter.

What she needs is something solid to hold on to, and that’s what I am. So I stand there, one arm around her back. The other at the back of her head, fingers working through her hair in a soothing motion.

I look at Paige over her daughter’s head—my mother-in-law, whom I’ve never officially met. This woman is the reason Kira sacrificed herself in the first place. The reason she stood in that church believing whatever happened to her was worth it as long as her mom kept getting care.

And now Kira’s shaking in my arms because even that sacrifice might not have been enough.

Fucking hell.

Kira grips my shirt so tightly it wouldn’t surprise me if the fabric rips, and presses her face into my shoulder and sobs until her breath starts to even out.

Her fingers relax by degrees as the trembling slows. The sobs become hiccups, then ragged breaths, then something closer to steady.

I guide her back toward the chair, but instead of putting her in it alone, I sit and pull her onto my lap. She comes without resistance, curling into me with her cheek against my chest. I keep one arm around her waist and the other hand in her hair.

The room stays quiet except for the soft beep of the monitor and the sound of Kira’s breathing finding its way back.

When she pulls back enough that I can see her face, her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks wet. She looks exhausted. Like whatever just came out of her took everything she had.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her voice is wrecked.

“Don’t,” I say. The word comes out rougher than I mean it to, so I soften it. “Don’t apologize to me, Kira. You’re my wife, so even if you soak all my clothes in your tears, I’m not letting go.”

Her hands are still fisted in my shirt, as if she’s afraid if she lets go, she’ll fall. I tighten my arm around her. I can’t promise her Paige will be okay. I can’t promise her anything about what happens in this room tonight.

But I can make damn sure my wife doesn’t hit the ground. That much I can control.

It feels like an eternity passes before Kira clears her throat and tells me everything that happened. She starts by explaining the call she got just as she and Carly left the café. Wanting her to fill me in at her own pace, I don’t interrupt. I just rub her back and squeeze her when her voice breaks and fresh tears fall.

Her voice is thin, scraped raw from crying, and she keeps stopping to swallow, to breathe, to make sure the words come out in the right order.

“I don’t know if they need to run more tests or if they’re waiting on results.”

“Do you want me to go find out?” I offer.

She shakes her head. “No, stay with me, please.”

“Always,” I vow, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“They said it could be isolated,” she says after a lengthy silence. “The doctor kept saying that. Isolated. But what if it’s not? What if it’s the beginning of something worse? What if—”

“Stop.” I don’t say it harshly. Just firm enough that she hears it. “We’ll deal with what is. Not what if.”

She nods. Her breath hitches once, then steadies.