Years later, even when the pain had dimmed, Nick knew Kennedy would remember these odd, unimportant moments, too. They lingered like small dark clouds. Not necessarily painful but just little reminders of life in all its messed-up glory.
He held the hot tea in front of Kennedy, wrapping both of her hands around the mug until she had a good grip. Assured she did, he dropped into a chair across from her and watched her carefully. Soon, the shock would wear off, and the truth would hit her once more. Only this time the pain would be harder to bear, because denial was no longer something to fall back on.
An ache developed in his chest as he watched her struggle to hold it together. He’d been a homicide detective for two years now, delivered news of a loved one’s death to countless families. Though he’d always felt a measure of sympathy for them, he had always been able to hold himself apart. But there was no way in hell to separate himself from this tragedy. His best friend was gone.
Thomas had asked him to take care of Kennedy, and though it was something he would have done in the first place, the vow he’d made held extra weight. Nick would do whatever it took…give her whatever she needed, no matter what. From now on, Kennedy and her baby were his responsibilities. Whatever anyone said about him, no one could dispute that he took care of his own. And that’s what Kennedy was now. His.
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