Page 17 of Trusting a Warrior

“It’s for the baby,” she said out loud to the empty kitchen. “Not for you. Remember that.”

Steeling herself, she got up from the table and went to the tiny hall closet, where she pulled out her lockbox of important papers. A few spins of the combination, a lift of the lid, and then the savings account book her father had given her after Tyler’s death was in her hand.

The feel of the cheap vinyl immediately catapulted her back in time, to when she’d thrown the book at her dad’s feet and run from the room, crying that she didn’t want money, she wanted her brother back. A well-meaning family friend had followed her, had taken her aside to remind her that she needed to be strong for her parents because Tyler had been their only son.

As if they didn’t still have a daughter, one whose grief was a physical pain carving her up from the inside out. One whose guilt was eating her alive because she’d been the last one to see Tyler. She’d had the chance to save him.

Her parents’ suffering hammered it home each and every day—it was her fault. She should have been able to prevent it. She should have said something!

Lani fought to hold them at bay, but all the “should haves” she waged constant, fierce battles against reared their ugly heads once again. They started screaming out everything she’d done wrong that day, their strident voices crumbling her earlier resolve into dust and sending the doubts flooding through her in a painful rush.

So much for all that strength Geo saw in her. She wasn’t strong, she was one second away from texting Rhys and begging him to come back...

Her jaw clenching, she jumped up and started to pace. “You got this,” she whispered fiercely. “Take it one day at a time. You don’t need the money yet, but it’s there if you do, okay? What you’re not going to do is call Rhys. There. Is. No. Rhys.”

Still, she cast a longing glance toward the phone before turning her back on it. Ugh. No, goddammit. Too bad Geo wasn’t here to give her another SEAL pep talk, because she could really use one right now.

So why don’t you call him?

She froze. No, she couldn’t.

He invited you to. It was his idea.

But what if he doesn’t call back?

Would that really be the end of the world? It’d be a little embarrassing, sure, but no real harm done.

As she grabbed up her phone, Lani’s throat tightened, her skin growing prickly and hot. A giant fist squeezed her lungs and made her gasp for air. Oh, God, she needed to talk to someone. Needed to pour her heart out. Needed to fully articulate her anger, her heartache, her grief, her guilt.

I couldn’t keep my brother alive, so how will I ever be able to raise this baby?

Suddenly, a deep crack formed in the protective wall surrounding her heart and sent a wave of terror surging through her body. She doubled over, sob after sob exploding from her chest.

I’m so scared. I need help. Please, somebody help me.

With a shaking finger, Lani swiped open her phone and dialed.

Chapter Four

“Oh, hey, Geo. It’s Lani, the puking bartender from Mission Beach.”

Geo tightened his grip on his phone, which he’d mashed hard against his ear.

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled to the guys brawling in the back of the van. “I’m trying to listen to something!”

In response a tennis shoe whizzed by his head and smashed into the windshield, narrowly missing the driver. Geo gritted his teeth and hunched over in the passenger seat, his finger jammed in his other ear to try to block out some of the noise.

SEALs on a road trip—grown men or out-of-control middle schoolers? It was really hard to tell sometimes.

“...calling to thank you,” Lani’s message was saying. “Not just for the hair-holding, as appreciated as that was, or the awesome life advice—which I’ve already taken some of, by the way—but for showing me how good it feels to, you know, just talk to someone.”

He could hear her take in a gulp of air, then blow it out slowly.

“So...here’s the thing. Ten years ago, my older brother died by suicide.”

Geo’s own breath whooshed from his lungs. What?

“I thought I was coping. I mean, it’s been ten years, right? But the truth is, I haven’t really gotten better, and now something’s made it so I can’t ignore it anymore. That ‘something’ is my baby, and believe it or not, talking to you the other night has given me the courage to take my first step toward getting help. I’m talking real help, not just the dump-on-the-people-who-love-you-the-most kind that I’m used to asking for.”