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Her brows pinched. “You haven’t.”

I didn’t pause for her to attempt to minimize what happened between us. “I should’ve known the MC was more than you were ready for. You made it clear you couldn’t date in public. I manipulated you into going with me.”

“I didn’t feel manipulated.” She inhaled on a four count.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Inhale and exhale with a pattern.”

“You noticed.”

“I notice everything about you.” Like the way she ran her fingertips around the rim of her coffee cup, or how she’d bite the corner of her lip after she smiled at something that surprised her.

I also noticed the way her fingers curled into a fist as she came, and the way she gasped when I fucked her harder.

I’d obsessed over a thousand little things. The strands of copper in her hair when the light hit her just right, and the way her green eyes brightened when she cried. And the way she talked about my little girl and hers.

She trailed her fingertip around the edge of her cup again. “It’s called box breathing. It’s a coping mechanism. After Matti died, the doctors said I had PTSD. I didn’t want to take medication. I should say my best friend begged me not to take the medication. Her name is Holly. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“PTSD is serious. You can’t ignore it.” I understood trusting a friend’s advice, but maybe not for medical advice. Especially if the docs were telling Jaymi differently.

Her gaze locked on mine. “She knew I would’ve taken the entire bottle of pills if it would’ve made the pain go away. After the accident, she threw out every script in the house. I couldn’t have found an aspirin if my life depended on it. Maybe my life depended on the fact I couldn’t find one.”

“Jesus.”

She took a sip of coffee. “I found a doctor that specialized in treating trauma. The box breathing works for me. When it doesn’t, there’s always whiskey.”

“You have breathing, and I have my bike.” And we both liked the burn of whiskey when we needed to feel something besides pain and pissed.

She stood, crossed to the counter, and grabbed a folder. Then, she returned to sit next to me. “It’s been a rough week for Lili.”

I had my answer. This was about my kid. I didn’t know what to say. Yeah, it was shitty for me, too. What was I supposed to do? If I made contact, I’d seal my fate. If I asked Jaymi about her, I put her in an uncomfortable position. I was fucked until next week. And even then, I might not be able to see Lili.

Just thinking her name felt like a punch to the gut. “I miss her, too.”

“I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty,” she clarified before I could get defensive. She pivoted toward me on the stool. “I didn’t ask her about you. I didn’t want it to get back to her mom that I was asking questions. I waited for her to talk to me. And she did.”

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat and the weight in my gut. “What did she say?”

“Her mom took her phone because she was trying to reach you.”

“I missed her call. I was scared to call back in case it was Natalie trying to set me up to break the restraining order.”

Jaymi opened the folder and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I asked her if she wanted to write you a letter. She did.”

“Yeah?” I took the paper from her and unfolded it.

“She was so cute. She worked so hard on it.”

I started reading.

Hi Dad,

I can only write small words. I want to eat pitza—the word was scribbled through and then she wrote—pizza with you. I miss you like when I can only find one sock and the other is lost.

“I helped her with some of the words.” Jaymi leaned closer and read the letter with me.