He knew she meant more than the breakfast—she meant his sudden appearance, then the way he’d clammed up and fallen asleep on her lap. Still, her demeanor was relaxed, and there was no demand to her words. That strange sense of peace and safety wrapped itself around him again.
“My platoon sent me home.”
That surprised her, he could tell, but her gaze remained steady on his. “Because?”
He carefully laid his fork down and clasped his fingers together in his lap, his heart starting to pound.
I’m going to say this, and afterward, nothing will ever be the same.
“Because one year ago, my teammate killed himself. And it’s all my fault.”
* * *
Lani could feel the blood drain from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Geo went on shakily, “but I couldn’t—” He squeezed his eyes shut, anguish in every line of his body, as she struggled to process what she’d just heard.
One year ago? Was he talking about Cade? Cade the bet-maker, motivator, hero and mentor?
In the next instant, she was up and out of her chair. She dropped to her knees next to him. “Breathe, Geo,” she murmured, taking one of his ice-cold hands in hers. “Take a deep breath.”
He did, and it sounded so much like a sob that he flinched and tried to pull away. Lani hung on to him, moving her thumb in soothing circles over his wrist. “First of all, I need you to know something, something I wish even one person had told me back when Tyler died.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes still closed.
“You’re not alone, okay? No matter how much you think you are, you’re not. If nothing else, I want you to trust me on that.” Steeling herself, she went on, “And secondly, despite what your brain is telling you, Cade’s death is not your fault.”
Immediately he ripped his hand from hers. “You weren’t there. You don’t know—”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, making her voice as firm as she could. “The responsibility rests with Cade and Cade alone.”
“You weren’t there,” he repeated through clenched teeth, then surged to his feet. Afraid he was about to bolt, she stood, too, and planted herself in front of him.
“Why did your platoon send you home?”
When he shook his head, she tamped down her frustration at his stubborn reticence.
“Why did your platoon send you home, Geo?”
“Because I’m a fuck-up,” he burst out. “I’ve been drinking a lot. Been in two bar fights the past few weeks...”
Shock roared through her, but she forced herself to sound calm. “What did your command say?”
“They ordered me to talk to a shrink. Gave me zero say in the matter, zero choice. If I don’t, it’s all over for me.” He grimaced, jaw tight. “The problem is, I don’t have a clue where to start, and I’m scared to fucking death I’m flushing my entire career down the toilet right now.”
Despite her roiling emotions, his reluctant admission brought a flash of relief. Now they were getting somewhere. She had to keep him talking.
“Well, my support group is amazing—”
Before she could get the words all the way out, he was already shaking his head. “No groups. That kind of stuff isn’t for me.”
She wanted to argue, tell him that her group wasn’t whatever he was picturing, but she forced herself to be patient. “How long are you in town for?”
He let out a bitter snort. “Until further notice, or until I get my shit together, whichever comes first.”
“So what can I do?”
He stared at her, and then with a helpless gesture, slumped back against the counter. “I don’t know, Lani. I just don’t know.”
The weary defeat in his voice made her heart ache. “Well, nothing has to be decided right now, does it?” she said gently. “Let’s finish our breakfast, or would you maybe want to take a shower? We can talk later.”
He glanced over at her, his relief at the proffered escape palpable. “A shower sounds good. Can I?”
“Of course.”
She laid out some towels for him while he jogged down to his truck to fetch his duffel. Once he was safely in the bathroom with the water running, she unplugged her phone from the charger and called Maura.
She told her the whole story before saying tearfully, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Sounds like you’re doing a beautiful job.” Maura’s smooth, reassuring voice wrapped around Lani like a weighted blanket. “What he needs right now is an empathetic friend, and that’s exactly what you are.”
“I just feel so clueless—”
“Nonsense,” Maura broke in. “Whether you realize it or not, you’ve been modeling healthy grief work for him. That’s why he came to you.”
Lani told her what he’d said about the drinking and the fights.
“Well, his grief has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? Anger is an easy outlet.” Maura made a frustrated sound. “I’m willing to bet Geo’s story is the same one I’ve heard over and over from servicemembers I’ve counseled. After a suicide, units are often dismantled, which takes away from any source of support they might find in each other. Commands don’t allow surviving teammates to hold their own memorial service, sending the message that the death was shameful, something not worthy of being acknowledged and mourned.”
She paused.
“I think Geo’s drawn to you because you’ve been where he is. You’re also in a unique position to understand his world, and what he needs is someone to give him permission to grieve, to let him know it’s okay to fall apart.”
Lani grunted. “I’m the queen of falling apart, aren’t I? He’s definitely in the right place.”
“And you’ve also realized that falling apart doesn’t make you weak, and that letting your grief evolve doesn’t diminish your love for Tyler in any way.” Maura paused again, a bit longer this time. “But, my dear, you’re not obligated to put yourself through any of this. Give him my number—”
“Oh, I will,” Lani broke in, “but I want to do what I can from here, too. I want to pay it forward, what I’ve learned. It’s my way of honoring Tyler.”
Lani promised to call if she needed her, and after they hung up, she stood for a long time, Maura’s words echoing in her ears.
“You’re in a unique position to understand his world.”