Trusting a Warrior (Loving a Warrior #3) - Melanie Hansen Page 0,16

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.”

Another pause, and behind Geo, the yelling escalated even more. He gripped the phone tighter and strained to hear, his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest.

Lani’s voice wobbled the tiniest bit. “I had a complete emotional breakdown a few days ago, and after I stopped crying, I called my OB’s office. They were able to recommend a therapist. Did you know there are some who specialize in suicide survivors? I didn’t either. But yep, there are, and I made an appointment for Thursday next week. I know myself, though, and I know when that day comes, I will not want to go through with it.”

Geo could only sit frozen, his whole body numb with shock.

“So what I’m going to do is I’m gonna remember our walk on the beach. I’m going to remember that I shared with you a tiny bit of my fear, and how darn good that felt afterward.”

A long pause.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything you did that night. I, uh, well, I guess that’s it. Bye.”

The message ended.

Holy. Christ.

Memories that Geo was desperate to keep buried fought to rise to the surface and, his stomach roiling with nausea, he jammed his finger on the window button and powered it down. Although it wasn’t refreshing, the blast of hot desert air hitting his face helped clear his head. It also distracted the other guys from their brawl.

“Hey, Rocco, how ’bout a goddamn piss break?” a few strident voices yelled from the rear of the van.

The driver shook his head. “I said no breaks, didn’t I? Use some of that shit rolling around on the floor.”

“Aww, c’mon! Bastard.”

A few more mutters of disgust, and then a blessed quiet fell as bruised and bloodied SEALs attempted to pee into the various cans and bottles they found littering the floor of the government van.

“Hey,” the driver hissed at Geo. “Watch this.”

Geo glanced over at Rocco, a tall Latino guy whose baby-faced good looks belied years of combat experience and a razor-sharp tactical mind. His brown eyes were full of mischief, the light in them telling Geo exactly what he was about to do. Gripping the door handle, Geo braced his feet, and sure enough, Rocco jerked the wheel to the