He shoved his phone in his pocket and let white-hot anguish consume his body. He shouldn’t have gone skiing today. He’d known it this morning, but shoved aside his instincts to satisfy his own selfish need for pleasure.
The image of Kelsey crying all day, depressed and in pain without him by her side, intensified his guilt and self-loathing.
If this news struck him like a lightning bolt, Kelsey must be inconsolable. No woman ever wanted to be a mom as much as she did. The knowledge that she’d lost the thing she’d most wanted in the world hammered his heart.
Hell, on top of that loss, she probably also received Nick Copeland’s message. Trip had to get to her and find some way to make it all better. Pacing like a prisoner looking for an escape, he finally kicked his bedroom door, loosening the hinges.
On shaky legs, he trotted down the steps to the street below, then broke into a sprint.
Using his key, he let himself into her apartment. Maura was in the kitchen fixing a cup of tea. He expected to see Avery and Emma, too, but was glad neither was there.
“Where is she?” Trip tossed his keys aside and crossed to the kitchen.
“Resting in bed.” Maura blankly stirred cream in the cup. Her red eyes and blotchy face proved she’d spent the day as distraught as her sister.
“What happened?” Trip gripped the back of the kitchen stool to counteract the current instability of his body. “Did she fall or something?”
“No.” Maura shook her head, her eyes watering. She wiped them dry. “Doctor Davis says that about twenty percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage and they don’t always know why. Most likely this was nature’s way of dealing with a genetic defect in the fetus.”
“The doc thinks there was a problem with our baby?” Those two words—our baby—stabbed his chest. Their baby no longer existed, a fact he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around.
“Most likely.” Maura tentatively touched his forearm. “But she examined Kelsey and didn’t see anything to prevent her from getting pregnant again, or carrying to full term next time.”
Mired in his own grief, Trip didn’t respond to Maura. He felt her mood shift before she released him and he saw her hardened expression.
“Of course, you’re not married, so maybe that last part isn’t your concern.” Maura started to turn away, but he grabbed her arm.
In a terse but low tone, he said, “We’re all upset right now, but don’t think for one second that I don’t feel this loss as much as the rest of you. And whatever happens between your sister and me, I know how much being a mother means to her, so it is very much my concern that she still can be one someday.”
Maura shrugged out of his grasp and nodded. “Sorry. I was out of line.” She rubbed her forehead and heaved a sigh. “Let me take her this tea, then I’ll let you two have some privacy.”
Five minutes later, Maura returned to the living room with her purse in hand. “She knows you’re here and asked me to go home, but please call me if she needs me. And Trip, I am sorry for your loss, too. I hope . . . I hope you two can comfort each other.”
After Maura closed the front door, Trip scrubbed his face with his hands and then walked to Kelsey’s room. He drew a deep breath before opening the door.
She lay propped up in bed with Cowboy nestled at her side. When she looked up at him, her chin quivered and fresh tears sprang from her eyes. In three strides, he was at her side.
Careful not to crush her or hurt her, her took her in his arms. Her sobs were loud and authentic and filled with raw emotion, just like every other part of her. His got stuck in his throat, strangling him, keeping him from saying things he felt. Things like how much his heart hurt. How much he’d been looking forward to raising that child with her. How maybe they could try again, if she wanted—a wistful wish that shocked him.
Instead, he remained in silent agony, clinging to her to keep from drowning in his own sorrow.
He’d never felt less of a man.
Kelsey hiccupped and eased away from Trip, pressing herself back into a wall of pillows, looking utterly exhausted. She grabbed more tissues from the nightstand and blew her nose.
Avoiding his gaze, she squeaked out, “I’m sorry,” and her face began to crumple again.
He kissed her forehead. “Don’t you apologize for anything, princess. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve stayed with you today. I knew you weren’t well, but I took off, like a selfish bastard, determined to ski.”