Her passion for her work lit up her troubled eyes and animated her, and she sounded so knowledgeable. She was a smart girl, he’d always known that, despite his teasing. He smiled and a glimmer of pride warmed him inside.

After dinner, they sat on the couch in the family room adjoining the kitchen. The glow of the fire provided just enough illumination, casting flickering lights and shadows over them. Krissa pulled her bare feet up under her on the ivory leather sofa, and clutched a brightly-patterned cushion on her lap.

Then his attention was caught by something behind her—one of his photographs, beautifully framed and hanging on the wall in their family room. He’d taken it in Japan, a black-and-white seascape with his trademark water-smoothing long exposure, the rocky outcrop a jagged black outline against silvery ocean. Huh.

“So are you…is there someone in your life? A girlfriend?”

Her words dragged his attention back to Krissa. Firelight painted her skin with a golden glow, flickered in her eyes. “No.”

“Nobody?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Do you still miss Lauren? It’s hard to get over something like that.”

His jaw tightened. “There’s nothing to get over.”

Her eyes went wide. “What? How can you say that?”

“I’m okay, Krissa.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to think about it. Thinking about Lauren was pointless, made him remember all the grief, betrayal, uncertainty and anger. Things he’d never expressed to another living soul. Because no one else knew the truth about Lauren’s death. It was much better to just keep those emotions out of his life. He’d done fine without them the last two years.

Tears glimmered on her face. Ah, shit. “Don’t cry, Kris, really, I’m okay.”

“But I’m not.”

Oh, why had she said that? The words had emerged shaky and pathetic from her mouth. She wanted to talk about it, wished it was Derek sitting there so they could get this out in the open and deal with it. She could talk to Nate about it. But what if Derek didn’t want Nate to know?

It wasn’t a failure on Derek’s part, but he’d see it that way. It shouldn’t be humiliating, but she knew Derek felt it was.

They should have been prepared for the news Dr. Edgar had given them. Lord knows, they’d had enough time to think about it, worry about it. Hearing it should not have been such a shock.

But having your worst fears confirmed was always a shock.

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried about Derek. I wish I knew where he was.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah.” She’d been carrying such a load of guilt around for so long. Their problems were all her fault. Derek made that pretty clear to her every damn day. Maybe that’s why this was so difficult for him. Maybe he’d never really believed the problem could be his, not hers. Maybe he was never coming back.

She put her hands over her face.

“Hey, hey.” The couch dipped beneath her as Nate moved toward her, then his arm went around her shoulders and he pulled her into him. His arms were stiff and awkward, as if he hadn’t done such a thing for a long time.

She pressed her face to his chest, inhaling the scent of his cotton T-shirt and warm musky male. His body relaxed a little, and his arms around her felt strong and comforting. One hand cupped the back of her head, then stroked down over her hair. The tenderness of the gesture caused more tears to flood her eyes. She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what it is, but if Nate’s done anything to hurt you, I swear I’ll kill the son of a bitch.” Nate’s fierce defense of her made something inside her expand and burst. She tried to restrain the sobs, but ended up blubbering in Nate’s arms.

He held her, pressed her head to his chest and let her cry her heart out. All the tension, the worry, the fear built up in her over the last few months coalesced into a shirt-soaking deluge of tears.

“He hasn’t done anything,” she sobbed.

“Okay.”

His hand stroked her hair, slowly, mesmerizingly, soothing her ragged nerves until her sobbing eased, leaving her quivering and hiccupping for breath.

“Oh, God,” she mumbled into his chest. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “It’s okay, bunny.”

The old nickname, coming from all her job hopping, touched something deep inside her, deep and warm. He continued to stroke her hair and rub his hand up and down her back. She became aware that the thin cotton of her tank top was a flimsy barrier between her skin and Nate’s warm hand. But it felt so good, so comforting.

“I’ll wait up with you for him,” he murmured, and he pressed his face against the top of her head.

“Thank you.”

They stayed like that, and she took solace in his embrace. They talked about inconsequential things—the house, the weather, mutual friends—while the flickering fire cast a spell and emotional exhaustion took its toll. Krissa fell asleep in Nate’s arms.

A crashing woke her up.

Krissa lifted her head. Where was she? A man’s hard body was beneath her, his strong arms around her. What was that noise?

Some scuffling, another bang and then Derek’s slurred voice from across the room. “Hey. What’sh going on here?”

If that was Derek standing in the kitchen, who was…oh, yeah. Nate. Krissa struggled to sit up, pushing her hair out of her face, while Nate released her and rubbed his eyes.

“Derek.” She sat on the couch, hands on the cushion on either side of her hips as she leaned forward, struggled to focus on him in the dark. “Where were you?”

His shirt was rumpled, tie gone, collar unbuttoned. His suit jacket lay on the floor in a heap with his shoes. His blond hair stood up and he stared at them with blurry eyes.

He took two unsteady steps forward. His brows drew together. “Nate?”

“Yeah, Nate.” Gathering her sleepy wits, she stood up. “You’re drunk, you idiot. Nate is here, remember? You were supposed to pick him up at the airport?”

Derek stared in confusion at his old friend. Nate pushed a hand through his hair and stood up, too. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”

Nate moved over to Derek to give him a masculine hug and slap on the back. Derek returned it but still seemed disoriented. “I forgot you were coming, bud.”

“Yeah, you and Krissa both. Good to know I’m so memorable.”

Derek swayed on his feet.

“Looks like you’ve been having a good time.” Nate’s voice hardened. “Have a seat, man.”

He pushed Derek down to the couch and he went down easily, almost falling.

Krissa wrapped her arms around herself. The room was very warm from the fireplace that had been going for the last few hours, but a chill stroked over her skin. She glanced at her watch. “Derek, it’s two in the morning, for God’s sake. Where the hell have you been?”

He gazed back at her bleary-eyed, sadness not obliterated by intoxication. “I’m sorry, Krissa.”

She rolled her lips in, sank her teeth into the top lip. She closed her eyes, and turned away, her chest tightening.

“Sorry to you too, Nate,” Derek said. “I totally forgot.” He sighed.

“Don’t worry about me,” Nate said. “But Krissa was worried about you, man. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re sober.”

Derek scrubbed his hands over his face, sagged back into the couch, and blinked at them. “You’re right. I’m an asshole.” He focused on Krissa. “Sorry I didn’t call, baby.”

She shook her head, trying to keep her anger going in the face of his apology. He was not going to get off that easy, this time.

Nate looked at Krissa. “Want me to help get him to bed?”

“I can get to bed.” Derek stood, wavering.

“Sure, buddy. Come on.” Without waiting for Krissa, Nate led Derek up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Krista followed. “My assistance stops at helping you undress,” he told Derek, his mouth quirking at the corners.