Kevin didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more pathetic. This pasty-faced, stringy-haired, musty-smelling, sniffling, sad-eyed female was his wife. Hard to believe she was the daughter of a showgirl. He should have let his attorney take care of this, but he kept seeing the raw desperation in her eyes when she’d begged him to hold her legs together, as if brute strength alone could keep that baby inside her.

I know you hate me, but …

He couldn’t quite hate her any longer, not after he’d watched her fruitless struggle to hold on to that baby. But he did hate the way he felt, as if he had some sort of responsibility for her. Training camp started in less than two months. He needed to be focusing all his energy on getting ready for next season. He gazed at her resentfully.

You have to set an example, Kevin. Do the right thing.

He moved away from the windows and stepped over her worthless, pampered dog. Why did someone with her millions live in such a small place? Convenience, maybe. She probably had at least three other addresses, all of them in warm climates.

He sank down on the sectional couch at the opposite end from where she was lying and studied her critically. She must have dropped ten pounds since the miscarriage. Her hair had grown longer, nearly to her jawline, and it had lost that silky sheen he remembered from their wedding day. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and the deep bruises under those exotic eyes made her look as if she’d been somebody’s punching bag.

“I had an interesting conversation with one of your neighbors.”

She settled her wrist over her eyes. “I promise I’ll call your attorney first thing in the morning if you’ll just leave.”

“The guy recognized me right away.”

“Of course he did.”

She wasn’t too tired for sarcasm, he noticed. His resentment simmered.

“He was more than happy to gossip about you. Apparently you stopped emptying your mailbox a few weeks ago.”

“Nobody sends me anything interesting.”

“And the only time you’ve left your apartment since Thursday night is to take out your pit bull.”

“Stop calling him that. I’m recovering from a cold, that’s all.”

He could see her red nose, but somehow he didn’t think a cold was the only thing wrong with her. He rose. “Come on, Molly. Holing up like this isn’t normal.”

She peered at him from beneath her wrist. “Like you’re an expert on normal behavior? I heard you were swimming with sharks when Dan found you in Australia.”

“Maybe it’s depression.”

“Thank you, Dr. Tucker. Now, get out.”

“You lost a baby, Molly.”