She waited, and when he didn’t go on, asked gently, “Why did it hit close to home?”
“Because—” Tilting his head back toward the sky, Geo sucked in a few deep breaths. “Because, like him, I missed my chance to stop it. Stop Cade.”
“So tell me.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not an easy story to hear—”
“I know. Tell me anyway.”
Lani kept up the comforting touch as he described Cade pulling a gun on Bosch after threatening an unarmed prisoner. “That was him unraveling in plain sight, and everyone had an excuse: ‘Cade’s burned out.’ ‘He’s been through a lot.’ ‘He just needs time.’”
When he paused, she said, “I think most people have preconceived notions about those who die by suicide. We don’t picture them as high-achievers, popular or larger-than-life.” Like a Navy SEAL. “Instead, we picture someone who cries all the time and is clearly depressed.”
Geo gave a jerky nod. “He had been through a lot. But the guys were getting sick of his unpredictability, and I was still pissed about how he’d pointed his gun at my dog, his own teammate. So when—” He broke off, his body coiling, tensing.
Before he could push to his feet, Lani slid her arm around his waist to anchor him. “No. Don’t run away from this anymore, because it’s eating you alive. Talk to me, please.”
A giant shudder went through him, and he clenched his fists, the knuckles white. Just when she was sure he wouldn’t answer, he ground out, “In our team room, we had a message board with all of our names on it. One night, after a clusterfuck of a mission, I was headed to bed when I saw that someone had—” He swallowed hard. “Someone had written ‘We don’t fucking want you here’ next to Cade’s name.”
“Ah.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Did you write it?”
“No!” The word burst out of him with a vehemence that left no doubt he was telling the truth. “But I—” His head drooped. “I also didn’t erase it. I left it. To teach him a lesson. To let him know that his actions were affecting unit cohesion.”
Her thumb rubbed his nape in soothing circles. “Which they were.”
“Yes, but—”
“Had you seen that kind of thing before? A message on the board like that?”
“Shit, yes. Dozens of times.”
“So it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. When you saw them before, would you ever erase them?”
“No, because they didn’t happen unless the dude deserved it.”
“Did Cade?”
Geo didn’t answer.
“From what you’re saying, it sounds like he was becoming a danger, not only to unit cohesion, but to people’s lives. Bosch’s life.”
When he still didn’t answer, she took another tack. “What would happen when the other guys would get those messages intended for them?”
“They’d either get their act together or be forced out of the unit.”
“Did they kill themselves?”
He blinked, his jaw bunching. “No.”
“Did any of them?”
“No one did. They fixed their shit or got out.”
“Okay. So I think we can conclude that messages on a white board don’t make people kill themselves.”
“But—”
“If you’d known Cade’s state of mind in that moment, you would have erased it.” She squeezed the back of his neck. “If the guy who wrote it knew, he wouldn’t have written it. But you didn’t know, and the things that were done, the things that were said, were things that’d been done and said dozens of times before. Right?”
Geo stared straight ahead.
“You didn’t do anything differently that night than what you’d always done. Someone thought Cade needed a wake-up call and wrote that on the board. You agreed, and you didn’t erase it.” Lani paused. “That message didn’t kill him. He killed himself.”
A tiny sob broke from Geo’s lips, quickly suppressed.
“You regret that it was the last straw for him—”
The next sob was harsher, deeper, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“—but you didn’t know. You. Didn’t. Know. And it’s not your fault.”
She held on to him while he shuddered against her, although he managed to hold back the tears.
All around, beachgoers went about their daily lives, while the two people huddled in the sand right in front of them were fighting to put theirs back together.
“You’re not alone, Geo,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m here with you.”
And I don’t know how I’m ever going to let you go.
Chapter Twenty
Lani followed him home, the cherry-red of his motorcycle taillight glowing bright in the gathering darkness.
Inside her apartment, she turned into Geo’s arms, her palms sliding up his chest to link around his neck. “Why don’t we get in the shower and have a good cry?”
He smiled, his hands settling on her hips as he started inching her down the hall. “How about we get in the shower and skip the crying part?”
“But that’s the beauty of it.” She stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his. “Whether you choose to cry or not, no one will ever know, will they? It’s between you and the shower.”
Geo didn’t answer, just reached behind his neck to unclasp her arms and ease them to her sides. “Turn around,” he said softly. When she did, he gathered her hair in his hand and draped it over her shoulder before leaning down to place an open-mouthed kiss on her exposed nape.
“Mmm,” he breathed. “There’s a distinct possibility that you’re overdressed for this shower. It’s a, er, way more casual event.”
“Ha. Did I misread the invitation?”
“I think you did.” Trailing his tongue along the side of her neck, he murmured, “Luckily, I’m here to help.”
“Yes. Lucky, lucky me.” She’d meant the words to sound teasing, but instead they came out fervent, with an emotional undertone that flushed her entire body hot.
“Baby...” Mouthing her earlobe, Geo eased the zipper of her dress down, inch by inch, until it sagged to the waist. With an expert flick of his fingers, the fastening of her bra popped open, making her gasp.