“Call me crazy, but something about the idea of my mom snooping through my medicine cabinet hurts my brain.”
“You look a little pale.” Concerned, she reached up and touched his forehead. “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
“No. It’s…” He trailed off and his eyes drifted to the counter, then the shower, then back to her. “It’s been a while since I shared space with things like this.” He touched her perfume. “Brings back memories.”
Shit. She’d been so intent on setting the scene to make the proper impact on his parents, she hadn’t stopped to consider the impact on him. “You know what? This is overkill.” She reached for the bottles on the counter, but he caught her hand.
“Leave them.” He glanced around again and nodded. “You’re right—every detail. It just took me by surprise. I never envisioned what this place would look like if I were involved with someone.”
“Because you never envisioned getting involved again?” Now wasn’t the time, and his bathroom wasn’t the place for this conversation, but she couldn’t hold back the question.
He leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms, and let out a long, tired breath. “Not really, no.”
“That’s crazy. You’re not even thirty. Would your wife have expected you to live like a monk for the rest of your life?”
“You can take the halo off my head, Savannah. I haven’t lived like a monk. But no, Kelli would have expected me to mourn for a decent amount of time, and then move on and let some new woman enjoy all the hard work she sank into training me to put the toilet seat down.”
A glance at the toilet confirmed Kelli had trained him well. “So why haven’t you?” She asked the question quietly.
“Because I can’t go all-in again.”
“I don’t understand.” But she wanted to. She touched his forearm and felt a muscle jump.
“Losing Kelli left a scar—a bad one—but losing our daughter…” He looked down, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t really have the words to describe the loss, but it’s true what they say. A parent should never have to bury a child. Losing Abbey hurtled me down a very deep, very dark rabbit hole, and hitting bottom broke something inside me. I can’t fix it.”
“That’s a father grieving, but, Beau, you’re still a father. All those paternal instincts? All the love? They’re there, waiting for—”
“No.” He jerked his head up, and she almost backed away from the desolation in his eyes. “I can’t. I don’t have the capacity to withstand that kind of loss a second time. Maybe other people do, but I don’t.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have to,” she pointed out as gently as possible. “Maybe the next time around is its own unique, completely different experience?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t get past the ‘maybe’ risk.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I see the wrong side of ‘maybe’ all the time on the job. Nobody’s immune. And just in case I started to forget that little fact, my mom got hit with a cancer diagnosis.”
She smoothed his hair off his forehead and wished she could smooth away his worry as easily. “Beau, your mom’s going to be okay.”
He captured her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope so. Her doctors say things like good probability of a surgical cure, and low likelihood of recurrence, but words like ‘probability’ and ‘likelihood’ basically amount to different versions of ‘maybe’.”
She took the hand holding hers and turned it palm up. “Did you know in addition to my Master of Fine Arts, I’m also a master of the ancient science of palm reading?”
“You’re a woman of many talents. I didn’t realize the University of Georgia offered the degree.”
“This one’s courtesy of the University of YouTube, but a lot of people would argue it’s more valuable than the MFA.” She ran her index finger over his palm, letting her nail trace the long, measured curve bracketing his thumb. “This is your lifeline.”
“Do that again and some things are definitely going to spring to life.”
“Keep it in your pants, Montgomery. I’m working here. See these tiny lines intersecting the lifeline?”
He leaned in, bringing his face close to hers, and her mind took an unauthorized trip back to last night, to the heat of his mouth on her skin and the slide of his tongue.
“Yes,” he answered, but she got the feeling his reply addressed the all-too-clear invitation her hormones issued rather than her question.
“Focus, please. These little lines signify points where a guardian angel entered your life. You’ve got one way down here, when you were small—four or five. Maybe a grandparent or family friend passed?”
Narrowed eyes found hers. “My grandfather died when I was five.”
“There you go.”
“Someone mentioned it to you recently, or you remember from back then—”