Somehow he made it to the bed, lowering himself slowly to a sitting position, his forearms braced on his thighs before he slowly lowered his head and heaved in a shuddering breath.

For once, Kiwi wasn’t hyper, crawling all over him for attention. Instead the little dog seemed to understand that he needed comfort, and she curled up next to his hip, snout resting on his leg.

Lincoln wasn’t sure how long he stayed there unmoving, unfeeling, but it must have been a while because there was a tentative knock on his door.

“Mathis?”

He didn’t respond.

“Lincoln man, you okay? You need anything?”

He still didn’t respond.

He heard lowered voices as his friends debated something, then Cole’s voice came through. “Man, I’m opening the door on three. If you’re naked, this is your chance to get unnaked or tell us to stay out.”

Lincoln didn’t even lift his head.

As promised, Cole counted to three and then the door opened.

He lifted his head, found all of his friends watching him with identical expressions of concern.

“She’s dead,” he managed, his voice coming out in a rasp.

“Who’s dead?” Jake asked stepping into the room.

“Katie. My fiancée. She’s, oh God,” he said with a rasp, head falling forward again. He couldn’t get air. “She’s dead. A pulmonary embolism. I barely know what that is, although I should. I should have prevented it; I should have…Oh God. Katie.”

His hands covered his face.

There was a moment of stunned silence as his friends soaked in the news that Lincoln was engaged—no, had been engaged. Not anymore. Because she was dead.

He braced for it.

Braced for the inevitable questions.

Braced for What the hell.

And Why didn’t you tell us?

He braced for their furious, frustrated Shit, man.

But Lincoln had never been more grateful for his friends than at that moment, because they said none of that.

He didn’t know who wrapped an arm around his shoulder, offering comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. Cole, maybe.

He didn’t know who clamped a hand on his other shoulder with the quiet assurance that whatever he needed, he’d have. Jake?

He had no idea who located a roll of toilet paper—Lincoln never remembered to buy Kleenex—and set it on his knee. He thought maybe Cassidy.

When Lincoln looked up God knew how much later, they were all there, crowded around him, Cassidy and Cole beside him on the bed, the rest of the guys sitting on the floor offering silent support.

Lincoln nodded once in thanks.

Mitchell nodded back.

Not once did he reach for the toilet paper. Not once did he spill a tear.

He was too broken for that.

Part II

Chapter 13

THREE MONTHS LATER

“You wanted to see me?”

Cassidy glanced up from his computer, then motioned Lincoln forward. “Yeah. Come in. Close the door.”

Lincoln lifted his eyebrows at that. “Should I be nervous? You only ever close the door when you bone Emma in here or fire someone.”

“Would you just…shut the door. And shut up, nobody’s getting boned or fired. What’s with the ball?”

Lincoln tossed the miniature basketball from side to side. “We were playing Horse in Cole’s office.”

Cassidy leaned back in his chair as Lincoln took a seat. “I thought I got rid of the balls after one of you morons lobbed one across the entire floor, knocking over Jo’s coffee, which then spilled on our very expensive phone system and shorted out her keyboard.”

Lincoln held up the ball. “Replacement. And speaking of Jo, her stomach’s like a basketball. And not a miniature like this one either. Full-size basketball. You see her lately?”

“No,” Cassidy said sarcastically. “I’m editor in chief of this magazine, spend eight-plus hours a day trying to stay on top of you hooligans, but no, Mathis, I had no idea my receptionist was six months pregnant.”

“Six. That all? I was thinking like…ten.”

“Do us all a favor and don’t tell her that,” Cassidy said, before lifting both hands to his chest in a catch position. “Give me the ball.”

Lincoln didn’t stop tossing it from hand to hand. “Why?”

“Because you’re driving me fucking nuts.”

Lincoln snapped the ball at Cassidy with more force than necessary. The other man caught it easily, despite the fact that his game of choice was soccer. Lincoln was pretty sure his boss wanted to deflate it, but instead he merely set it to the side.

“We need to talk.”

“You sure you’re not breaking up with me?” Lincoln asked. He kept his tone joking, but he couldn’t stop the slight tensing of his shoulders at the seriousness of Cassidy’s expression.

He wasn’t getting fired. He didn’t think. His work had been completely on point. He hadn’t missed a single deadline. Hell, other than taking three days’ bereavement for Katie’s funeral preparation, nothing had changed. He hadn’t let it change. He was still easygoing, fun-loving Lincoln. He was still the guy quick with a joke and easy to laugh.

And if every quip felt hollow, if every smile felt stale…well, he was dealing with it. Not letting it impact his job.

Or so he thought. Cassidy’s dead-serious expression said otherwise.

“I think you need to take some time,” Cassidy said quietly.