She opened her mouth, debating what she would say, how she would say it, but the only thing that came out was, “I had a daughter.”
Darius said nothing, only snuggled his baby brother closer as if protecting him from her, and her heart shattered. “I would never do anything to hurt Gino.”
“Really?”
“My husband hurt my daughter.” Her shaking intensified. Tears filled her eyes. “My husband killed my daughter.”
Darius stopped rocking.
“He intended to kill himself.” Her tears spilled over her lower lids, trailed down her cheeks. Memories of that day and all the days after it when she’d wondered, berated herself, lived in an ocean of guilt, filled her brain, stopped her tongue, clogged her throat with tears.
She swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times before she could speak.
“No one knows if he’d forgotten he had the baby in the car seat when he realized he could simply sit in the running car in the garage to eventually kill himself.” Her lungs expanded to painful proportions. Sobs screamed to erupt from her chest, but she held on.
“His company had failed and though money wasn’t an issue, his pride suffered.” She turned, faced Darius, opened her hands in supplication. “It was his third company. He’d bragged that number three would be the charm. But it wasn’t. His father was angry with him for wasting his time. His brothers were making names for themselves on Wall Street and Burn did nothing but fail.” A sob escaped. “He was the family embarrassment.”
Darius swallowed, visibly shaken by what she had told him. “I’m sorry.”
Her sob turned to muffled weeping. “Everyone’s sorry.”
He rose from the rocker. “Maybe no one knows what else to say?”
She turned away as her crying took her. There was a place she went, a soft, comfortable place, where emotion took control of her body. Problems weren’t solved. Trouble didn’t disappear, but tension eased. Tears and sobs provided a welcome release not just for the pain, but also for her tight muscles and limbs. And she wanted to go there now. She wanted to go to her own room, sink onto the bed and let the crying soothe her.
“You weren’t at fault, you know.”
She spun to face him as sadness morphed into anger. “Really? I couldn’t have noticed my slightly depressed husband tumbling into full-fledged mental illness? There were no signs? You’re sure?”
“No, but—”
“You wouldn’t accept my diagnosis of Gino. You insisted on waiting for the pediatrician. So now I’m telling you to stop diagnosing me. Back off.”
The door opened and Mrs. Tucker entered with a short, gray-haired man behind her. “Dr. Sullivan,” she announced as she stepped aside and let the man shuffle over to Gino.
“Hey, Gino,” he crooned, taking the baby from Darius’s arms. Obviously familiar with the little boy, he hugged him before he said, “I hear somebody might be getting a tooth.”
He laid the little boy on the changing table and began to examine him.
Silently, Whitney slipped behind the group huddled around the baby and out the door.
Darius watched her go, cursing himself for pushing her and cursing her husband.
She’d had a daughter. A little girl. A baby who was probably the light of her life. He squeezed his eyes shut in misery. He’d brought all that back for her, made her relive the worst days of her life.
The doctor examined Gino and told Darius and Mrs. Tucker there was very little that could be done for a baby getting a tooth. He gave them some gel to numb his gums and advised them to get a teething ring.
Luckily, Gino fell asleep almost immediately after the doctor left, but Darius stayed by his crib, angry with himself for forcing Whitney to talk, but more concerned about the baby.
Finally, around midnight, he went to bed. But what seemed like only two minutes later, Darius heard the sounds of the baby waking and he popped up in bed. Glancing at his clock, he saw it was only just after two and groaned.
Still, not wanting Mrs. Tucker to have to deal with a cranky baby alone, he jumped into jeans and a sweatshirt and raced into the nursery. As he entered through the side door, Whitney bolted into the room from the main door, wearing a fluffy pink robe over white pajamas.
Their eyes met across the nursery and everything inside him stilled. He’d forced her to relive the worst days of her life the night before, but at least with that out in the open she had to know he didn’t doubt her anymore. He wouldn’t be making good on his threat to contest guardianship.
Gino screamed again, reminding him that if he didn’t pick him up and tend to him, he’d wake Mrs. Tucker. Beating Whitney to the crib, he lifted the little boy out and hugged him, patting his back to soothe him.
Whitney stood a few steps back. Concern brought her close enough to see what was going on, but not so close that she was actually part of it.
Things would have probably been a bit stilted and awkward between them as they worked through the aftermath of that conversation and her memories, but ultimately they would have been okay—if he hadn’t also kissed her.
He couldn’t believe he’d done that, but the temptation had been so strong he couldn’t resist. He’d thought that one kiss might take the edge off. Instead, the taste of her stayed on his lips all night.
Turning away, she said, “I’ll warm a bottle.”
She took a bottle from the small refrigerator, set it in the warmer and waited, all with her back to him.
Guilt suffused him. He should have been kinder with her, gentler.
Whitney walked over with the warm bottle, motioning for Darius to sit in the rocker. “Once he drinks this, we’ll put the gel on his gums again so he can fall back to sleep.”
Panic rose in him. He might have fed Gino before, but he really didn’t trust himself to feed the baby when his mouth was sore.
Obviously seeing his hesitancy, Whitney said, “Arrange Gino across your lap, but lift his head a little higher than you normally do.”
In three or four movements, Darius had the little boy across his lap and halfway between sitting and lying on his arm.
“Now, put the nipple to his lips and he’ll do the rest. His hunger will supersede the pain in his mouth.”
Darius did as instructed and Gino latched onto the nipple as if he was starving.
Whitney stepped away. “I understand how his being sick would make you nervous.”
Of course she did. She’d had a daughter. He’d brought up those memories for her. In the silence of the nursery where he’d confronted her, the most natural thing to do right now would be to apologize for pushing her to tell him about her daughter.
So he did. “I’m sorry.”
She ambled to the side window. Though it was the middle of the night and she probably couldn’t see anything, she stared out into the darkness. “For not knowing how to care for Gino?”
“For pushing you into talking before the pediatrician got here.”
Her eyes never left the window. “You had no idea. You were worried about Gino. I accept that.”
Just as he’d suspected, his mistake was something she’d probably faced before. She wouldn’t