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“Don’t,” he gritted out.
I dropped my hand with a sigh. I knew what was fucking with him. He’d lost someone before. I might not mean as much to him as she had, but he cared about me enough that it would have been a blow if he’d lost me, too.
He stepped back. “You should go to bed. I’ll join you in a little while.”
No, he wouldn’t. His intention was to keep his distance until his anger had cooled. I understood, but I didn’t want him to be alone. My gut told me that that wasn’t what he truly needed.
Of course … telling him that would not help my cause. He’d get all offended and frowny. So I’d have to tell him something else; something that was equally true. “If you laugh about this I’ll hurt you, but I don’t wanna be by myself right now. Call me clingy and weak if you want, but I need you to stay with me.”
The ice in his gaze cracked, and he dragged in a long breath. “I’m not in a good place.”
I bit my lip. “Me neither.”
He hauled in another breath—this one longer, deeper, making his chest expand.
Moving stiffly, he sat beside me. Then he did the unexpected: He gently pulled me close, buried a hand in my hair, and palmed the side of my neck.
I melted into him and planted a hand on his chest. Silence fell between us. It wasn’t comfortable. It was tense and weighty and thick with emotion. So I broke it and said, “I was in a crash once before. A highway accident. There was a car pile-up.”
His lips grazed my unwounded temple. “I know, I heard. Brooks kept me updated on how you were doing.”
Oh. I hadn’t known that. “I would’ve thought that being in another crash would give me flashbacks, but it didn’t. Maybe because the first one was so different and so much worse. A lot of people were hurt. One car caught fire. Another was trapped between a truck and an SUV, so the people inside couldn’t get out.”
Pausing, I licked my lips. “I was able to get out of my car. It was only when I stood up that I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
I felt my throat thicken. “Why my pants felt so wet.” I fisted his shirt, feeling like I might suffocate on the anguish that tried to pull me under. “There was blood. So much of it.”
Dax froze against me.
“I knew what it meant, but I told myself I was wrong.” I swallowed, an insane pressure mounting in my chest. “I kept telling myself that. Kept insisting I didn’t need to panic. But it was no shock when the doctors at the hospital broke the news that the baby I was carrying hadn’t survived.”
Dax’s grip on my neck tightened. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” I said around the frog in my throat, fisting his shirt tighter, smothering the sob that tried rising.
“Brooks didn’t tell me that.”
“He didn’t know. I hadn’t told many people I was pregnant.”
“Who was the father?”
“Just a one-night stand. He hadn’t been interested in playing a part in the baby’s life.”
Dax muttered something beneath his breath. “Then he’s a fucking waste of space.”
“So was the drunk driver who caused the pile-up. He walked away without a damn scratch. Thaddeus probably did as well, or he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to make a quick run for it.” The universe was such a shit at times.
Dax nuzzled my hair. “He’ll pay, baby. I have people looking for him. He can’t hide for long.”
We sat there like that for what could have been hours, saying nothing. In agonizingly slow increments, the tension in his body trickled away until only a little remained. Similarly, the anger that had snapped the air taut steadily dissipated—mostof it, anyway. Some lingered, clinging to Dax like a foul smell.
At one point, the hand palming my neck slid upward, skimmed over my jaw, and glided up my face. His fingers idly and gently traced the skin around the gauze pad.
“I’m okay,” I said, softly.
He pressed his lips against my temple. “I fucking refuse to bury you.”
