“The doc checked my hormone levels when I was in the ER. I mean, I had to have my arm X-rayed … a CT scan … my hormones fell.…”

“Did you lose consciousness? I mean, in the fall?”

I nod. “I think so. For a few seconds.”

“I guess you forgot to tell me about that,” he says dryly.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Do you have a concussion?”

“No.”

He blinks rapidly, then closes his eyes. Trying to figure out how to react, how to feel. Good luck with that.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. CT was normal. Aside from the broken wrist…”

We both know the pain of a broken bone is nothing compared to the heartache of losing something precious.

He puts his arms around me again and pulls me closer. His lips brush against my temple. I feel the warmth of his breath on my face. Wet tears on my cheek. I don’t know if they’re mine or his.

“Tomasetti, we weren’t exactly ready to bring a child into the world.”

“I know.”

“So why does it hurt so much?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer for the span of a full minute. He just holds me snugly against him. So close I can hear the thrum of his heart. The steady rhythm of his breathing. I can feel the tension in his shoulders, vibrating beneath my hands.

“When you love a child,” he says slowly, “you’re at the mercy of your heart.”

“I don’t know the first thing about raising kids.”

“Somehow we would have bumbled through.”

I smile, but my cheeks are wet. A thousand more tears wait at the gate. “Tomasetti, this was ours. Something innocent and precious and good. A new life we created together. Even if we weren’t quite ready … I didn’t want to lose that.”

“I know. Me, too.” Finally, he pulls away, looks down at me, and for the first time I see tears on his face. “We would have made it work, Kate. And we would have been good at it. But I was afraid, too. That kind of love … for God’s sake, it takes over your life. I wasn’t sure I had the courage to lay myself open like that again.” He grimaces, grapples for the right words. “But I did,” he whispers finally. “I did.”

I put my hands on either side of his face, bring his mouth down to mine. I taste the salt of tears on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

He straightens, gives me a stern look. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I hadn’t gone into that loft…” I shrug. “If I’d waited for backup. Let Skid or Glock do it … If I hadn’t tried to do it by myself. If I hadn’t fallen. If I wasn’t a cop—”