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“Ah, shit.” He stares, his expression filled with regret.

I wipe away a tear that’s sliding down my cheek, and he walks over to me. Then he just opens his arms. And waits.

Before I can stop myself, I’m up and my face is burrowed into his shoulder. His strength and warmth comfort me, and I bury my face in his strong, hard shoulder. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a man who made me feel delicate. Feminine. Small.

One hand strokes down my back, and he murmurs something against my hair that sounds like, “it’s okay, princess,” but I’m not sure. All I know is that it’s been a long, somewhat depressing day, and he’s giving me a literal shoulder to cry on.

Not only that, he smells good.

Whether it’s his deodorant or some kind aftershave, he smells clean and woodsy. All masculine strength and power. That’s probably a ridiculous metaphor, but that’s what it seems like to me.

I really need to get away from him before I say or do something stupid.

“Thank you,” I whisper, finally pulling away and grabbing a tissue. “It’s been a tough day. And it’s twice as hard knowing Layla overdosed without even thinking about the child she was carrying.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” he says, perching on the edge of my desk and crossing his feet. “Obviously, she had issues. Trauma. Addiction. Things we probably have no idea about. I’m sure battling those can feel insurmountable.”

“But she had Metal!” I protest. “Someone who really loved her.”

“I don’t know that love is enough in some circumstances. Demons like hers undoubtedly haunted her day and night. I had a buddy in the military who saw some bad shit. Got captured. Tortured. By the time he went home, he was a shell of his former self. Eventually, despite a loving wife, four kids, and lots of friends willing to help, he killed himself.”

“I’m sorry for you and for your friend,” I whisper.

“Thanks.” He reaches out and pushes an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “And I’m sorry about Layla. I didn’t really know her, but Metal must be devastated.”

“Allora’s on her way to be with him. Her dad will be there too.”

“He’s going to need a lot of support.”

“Death is always difficult but when it’s someone so young…and the baby…” I feel like I’m going to cry again, but I shake it off. “I just want to think about Celeste. And happy things.”

“That’s probably a better plan than the alternative.”

I sink into my chair and rub my eyes. “I’m equally exhausted and wound up.”

“Stress, grief, maybe even the pain from your ankle are all adding to that. You’ll feel better after you get some sleep.”

“Well, that’s not happening for another few hours, so let’s eat.”

He goes back to taking containers out of the bag and I realize he’s ordered himself two full breakfasts, along with an order of pancakes and an extra order of biscuits.”

“I hope you like biscuits,” he says. “I can’t eat all these.”

I ordered oatmeal and a muffin.

But the biscuits look really good, and I snatch one out of the basket.

“I’ll never say no to biscuits,” I admit. “I make them from scratch when I have time.”

“Yeah?” He cocks his head. “That sounds like something I have to try.”

“I’ll make them sometime and bring them in for everyone.”

I open my oatmeal and sprinkle brown sugar on it. I’m suddenly ravenous, and Rage appears to be as well. He pulls up a chair and we eat in silence for a while. Well, I nibble on my muffin in between bites of oatmeal while he pretty much inhales eggs, bacon, potatoes and hash browns, four pancakes, and four biscuits. It’s kind of fascinating to watch, especially for a guy in such good shape.

My phone buzzes on the desk, and I see Roger’s name pop up.

More out of curiosity than anything else, I open the text.