Dare Me (Take Me 2)

“Yes. She just requires time on her own, away from the house, for her group therapy and volunteering. It’s been incredibly cathartic for her.”

“I’m so glad.”

Nikki was quiet a few moments more.

Something in her bunched shoulders compelled Damen to ask, “You’ve led group therapy sessions?”

“Of course. Mostly specialized ones—grieving spouses, grieving children, grieving siblings. I don’t typically do general sessions where there’s a mix. I like the other participants to have full empathy for and receive full empathy from others who are experiencing similar trauma.”

“That makes sense,” he said.

Nikki didn’t speak for another brief spell.

Then she said, “I had to separate out my own grieving and maybe that’s why I practice this way

. One group for Conner...” She licked her bottom lip, took a deep breath, then more softly said, “And one for the baby I lost two days after he died.”

Nikki had never discussed this with anyone—not even with Kate.

Not even with the women in her group.

It was an incredibly complicated and painful thing to process.

She’d listened and learned. Absorbed the emotions and the stress and the pressure and the feeling of failure, the survivor’s guilt so many women felt—all of which came with miscarriages at any stage of a pregnancy, losing babies due to causes that could be natural or accidental, that could be a result of a violent or a traumatic experience...

There were so many variables wrapped around this one specific loss that it was difficult to even broach the subject.

And, in all honesty, Nikki had had absolutely no desire to broach it.

Nor did she now. But she’d brought it up, anyway.

So she told Damen, “That main photo that’s on my laptop—the screensaver...” She inhaled deeper, then said, “I was whispering in Conner’s ear when Kate took that shot. I’d just found out I was pregnant. I wasn’t expecting it. We’d gotten caught up in a moment and were irresponsible. It’s the reason I have the IUD now.”

“Nik.” Damen stared at her. He turned to face her fully. His hands gently clasped her shoulders and he gazed into her eyes.

She suddenly realized they were misty.

Damen’s eyes were clouded and full of emotion as well. “You were pregnant?”

33

She nodded.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “I didn’t know... Damn it. I’m so sorry.” The torment flashed across his face. “Nik... Honey. I am so incredibly sorry.”

“I’m just telling you, because—”

Nikki had an answer for why she was telling Damen about this specific trauma.

She had several reasons, in fact.

And she’d never regret sharing this with him—she knew that in her heart. He understood things about her, he accepted her past life. He’d never trivialized or swept under the rug her feelings for Conner and everything she’d had with him, everything they’d built together.

Yet the words sort of sat on her tongue, not willing to tumble forth.

She didn’t quite know why.

She didn’t feel as though it were a threat toward, or a betrayal of, her marriage vows to confide in another man. Especially not this man.