and shoulders. “I need to go,” she finally said. A warm compress, ibuprofen and a cold beer chaser were what she needed to soothe her back and numb her emotions. “It’s been a long day, I’ve got a lot on my mind and I don’t want to discuss this right now.”
She gasped when he grabbed her hip and tugged her closer. Still holding her head, he angled his mouth until it was inches from hers. “As long as there’s something to discuss, I’ll be here.”
Tempted to lean in and kiss him, she turned her head away. He held her steady and, releasing her hip, ran his fingers through her hair and cupped her head with both hands.
“Just tell me one thing.”
Her chin trembled and she gave up fighting the tears. Dante knew her too well and had seen her cry rivers. She didn’t need to pretend to be strong in front of him. “Please, Dante,” she said, her voice catching. “Let me go home.”
His eyes softened with understanding, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “This is your home.”
Anger meshed with grief. She gripped the front of his t-shirt. “How can I live here when every part of this house reminds me of—” She shoved at his hard chest. “Just let me go.”
“You can’t even say her name.”
“Of course I can.”
“You can’t walk past her room without having an anxiety attack.”
“Bullshit.”
“Is it? If the house is the problem, then let’s sell it, find a new one and start over.”
“No,” she said, and shoved harder. He didn’t budge. “You don’t understand. It’s not just the house.”
“So it is me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He finally let her go and stepped away. “You didn’t have to.”
“Dante, I—”
“You’re right. It’s late and you should go back to your apartment.”
Her anger overpowered her grief. “I love how this entire conversation keeps shifting back to you,” she said, hugging herself. “I was the one who spent month after month hoping and praying I didn’t get my period and that I was finally pregnant.” She drew in a shaky breath and swiped at her tears. “I was the one who carried her and will never forget the way she moved inside my womb, all of her little kicks and—”
“Stop.” He raised his hand. “I get it. I didn’t hope and pray every month right alongside you. I didn’t go to your OB appointments or feel her kicks beneath my palms.” His eyes narrowed. “I was just the sperm donor.”
“I didn’t mean to sound—”
He clenched his jaw and turned away, moving quickly toward the foyer. When she caught up with him, she said, “I’m sorry. Again, I didn’t—”
“Don’t.” He held the front door open for her. “You go ahead and keep thinking I’m only worried about me. If it helps you sleep better at night, keep telling yourself that I haven’t suffered like you have. And while you’re at it, consider this. I didn’t just lose my daughter, I lost my wife. I lost the two people in the world I love the most.”
The anger and vulnerability in his eyes had fresh tears streaming down her face. The anger she could accept. She’d been living with her own rage for six years and had thrived on it to keep the grief contained. The vulnerability…
Dante rarely showed weakness and had always resonated strength and invincibility. But he was also complex and intuitive. Beneath the badass exterior was a sensitive man who put himself before others. He cared deeply. And he obviously still cared for her. Only her words, as sharp and prickly as barbed wire, had hurt him.
“Please, go,” he said, his voice ragged.
She nodded and wiped at her tears. “Let’s both cool off and talk about this tomorrow. Okay?”
The pained look in his eyes broke her heart. “I’m tired of talking and texting. Just sign the divorce papers and let me go.”
Unable to speak without sobbing, she gave him another nod, then stepped onto the front stoop and rushed toward her car. Her day had started with the death of two people and
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