As they headed back to the parking lot to get the cooler, they approached the playground, where several local families had gathered to spend a few hours with their kids.
They’d yet to pass by it when Jillian reached for Shane’s arm and pulled him to a stop. Her fingers gripped his flesh—not hard—but with enough emotion to cause his blood to warm and his heart to race.
When he turned toward her, their gazes locked.
“Let’s watch the kids play for a while,” she said. “Do you mind?”
Yeah, he minded. The last time he’d been with Joey, he’d driven to Marcia’s house and got to spend the afternoon with him. They’d gone to get lunch at Mc-Donald’s, then to the park.
But if spending time by the playground convinced Jillian that she’d like to bring their baby here to play in the sand or on the swing set, then he’d agree.
He nodded toward an empty bench. “There’s a place to sit over there.”
After they’d settled into their seats, Jillian pointed to a mommy showing her preschool-age girl how to blow dandelion seeds in the air. “Isn’t that sweet?”
But Shane’s gaze went beyond the woman and child to the daddy helping his chubby-legged toddler climb the slide, taking care to follow the boy up each step.
He turned his face away, looking for a bird, a tree, a rock—anything that he could focus on so she wouldn’t see the crushing grief in his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Would Jillian understand if he told her about Joey, about how he’d died? How Shane had blamed himself somehow, even though he hadn’t been in the car that day, hadn’t been the one behind the wheel?
She reached out and touched his hand, sending a warm, healing balm to his bones.
“I…uh…” He cleared his throat, yet his voice retained a husky tone. “My wife and I had a son. A baby boy.”
Her fingers probed deeper on his hand, gentle but firm. “What happened?”
“He…was killed in a car accident.” Shane cleared his throat again, yet he couldn’t seem to shake the rusty, cracked sound in his voice. “My, uh…his mother was driving, and Joey was in the car seat in back when she hit a patch of ice and fishtailed into the path of a semitruck.”
“I’m so sorry, Shane,” Jillian said softly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I…” He cleared his throat for a third time. “I took it pretty hard.”
“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”
“Yeah. It was tough.” He blew out a tattered sigh. “And I wish that I would have handled it differently.”
She brushed her thumb across the top of his hand, grazing the skin near his wrist as if trying to offer what little comfort she could.
“I’d expected the overwhelming pain and sadness,” he said, “but I hadn’t been prepared for the anger.”
“I think that’s only natural. And part of the grieving process.”
He shrugged. “I was upset with my ex-wife and said some things I shouldn’t have. She was devastated by Joey’s death, too, and didn’t need me to lash out at her like I did.”
“People say things when they’re hurting that they don’t always mean.”
“That’s the problem. I meant them. And I still do. I just wish I hadn’t said anything out loud.”
“What did you say?”
“I resented her for moving out, for not trying to make the marriage work for Joey’s sake. And when he died, I blamed her, saying it was all her fault. And not just because she’d been driving the car, but because she’d taken him away from me, and I’d missed out on the last three months of his life.”
He turned his hand to the side, taking hers with it and clutching her in a warm, desperate grip. “I’m sorry for rambling.”
Her words came out in a soft whisper. “You didn’t ramble.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t usually talk about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
“You might be right.”
Yet even though he’d finally said it, Jillian didn’t leave it alone. “How long has it been?”
“About a year ago. It’s still hard.”
“How long have you and his mother been divorced?”
“It’s been final for about five months. Joey’s death sort of slowed the legal process. Neither one of us was really able to deal with anything for a while.”
Jillian didn’t say a word. Instead, she continued to hold his hand, to offer comfort. And for a moment, he accepted it.
She might sympathize with him, but she’d never understand what he’d dealt with, thanks to Marcia’s refusal to compromise.
Did she realize that now, after spilling his guts, that he feared grieving for two children—a son he’d lost through death and a baby he’d yet to meet?
What if Jillian refused to let him be a part of their son or daughter’s life? What if she, like Marcia, hooked up with someone else and moved away?
As unsettling as that thought was, he couldn’t help but think that Jillian would probably be better off with a guy who could provide all the nicer things in life—a guy who wasn’t a cowboy or a cop. And that fact didn’t sit any better.
After all, Jillian had said the same thing Marcia had once told him. Babies belong with their mothers.
All right. Maybe they did. That’s the reason he’d stood by and watched Marcia take Joey from him in the first place.
What would stop Jillian from doing the same thing?
Was it any wonder he was torn between insisting that Jillian let him be a part of the new baby’s life and letting go before his heart had the chance to break all over again?
As Jillian listened to Shane’s heartfelt disclosure and gazed into his watery eyes, something frail and broken peered out at her, clenching her heart.
A wave of sympathy surged from her womb to her throat, making it difficult to breathe, let alone respond. So she took his hand, trying to connect with him on some level, trying to ease his pain.
He wrapped his fingers around hers, clutching her in a warm, desperate grip. At the intimacy they’d broached, at the strength of their bond, her pulse raced and her emotions soared in a hundred different directions.
There was nothing she could say to ease the pain he’d suffered. And now that it lay before them, there was no way to roll back time, to go back to the carefree day they’d been having—the warmth of the sunshine, the birds chirping overhead, the children laughing…
Jillian hadn’t meant to stir up his sorrow when she’d asked about his son, and as a result, she felt somehow to blame for his sadness, for the tears he struggled to hold back. The only thing she could think to do was to thread her fingers through his, tightening their connection.
Clearly, sitting by the playground, watching the happy children and families at play, was just making things worse.
“Come on,” she said as she stood and drew him to his feet. “Let’s go back to the truck and get