Trusting a Warrior (Loving a Warrior #3) - Melanie Hansen Page 0,18
his fingers behind his head.
“But am I overthinking this?” he asked Bosch, who ignored him to sniff along the base of a fire hydrant. “It’d just be talking, right? She’s an interesting person, and she knows what life in special operations is like.”
A friend worth their weight in gold. Most people—like Vanessa and Drew—didn’t understand the demands of Geo’s life, or else they had unrealistic expectations of it. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he knew a big part of his attraction for people was so they could tell their friends they were fucking a Navy SEAL.
Maybe with Lani he could just be himself, not the video-game version.
Before he could overthink it any more, he fished his phone from his pocket and dialed.
Chapter Five
“Hey, Lani. It’s Geo.”
Closing her eyes, Lani let the sound of his voice wash over her again for the fifth time that day, and probably the twentieth time that week.
“It’s 9:00 p.m., a balmy ninety-six degrees on the outskirts of Phoenix tonight, and Bosch and I have been out running in it, which is why I’m out of breath and wheezing like a freight train. Sorry.”
He was sorry? The slightest bit of Southern drawl and breathlessness, along with Geo’s natural husky quality, all combined to make this voice mail one of the sexiest things she’d ever heard.
“Anyway,” he went on, “just wanted to call you back, say hi. We’re going off the grid a bit tomorrow, so I won’t be around, but keep your therapy appointment, okay? I’ll be your accountability partner if you want. Next time we talk, I’ll expect to hear all about it.”
“Lani?”
A soft voice broke in to her concentration, and she glanced up to see a smiling, middle-aged Black woman wearing a dark-blue pantsuit, a silky patterned scarf elegantly draped around her neck, large gold hoops in her ears. “I’m Maura Grant.”
“Hello.” Fumbling to put away her phone, she stood and extended her hand to her new therapist, surprised when, instead of shaking it, Maura took it between both her own.
“So delighted to meet you. Please come in.”
With a motherly pat to her fingers, Maura released her and led her into the office. Lani glanced around in awe, taking in the butter-yellow walls, polished wood laminate and colorful throw rugs. Instead of the stiff Naugahyde couch she’d been expecting, there was a well-worn leather loveseat across from an elegant wingback chair.
The polished coffee table in between held a sterling silver tea service on it.
“This is beautiful,” she mumbled. “Cozy.”
“Thanks.” Maura chuckled. “It’s definitely my home away from home.” As she moved to her desk to pick up a legal pad, she asked, “Would you mind pouring us some tea while I get situated? Even if you don’t care for any, dear, I’ll still take some.”
“Uh, sure.” Lani set her purse down next to the loveseat and sank down onto it before reaching for one of the delicate flowered teacups. “What kind of tea is it?”
“Roiboos with organic hibiscus and lemongrass. One of my favorites.”
The act of pouring the fragrant tea was soothing, and by the time Maura took her seat and murmured her thanks for the cup and saucer Lani placed in front of her, Lani’s anxiety had almost totally eased.
Give me a small task to perform so that I feel like a guest making myself at home rather than a bug under a microscope. Oh, you’re good.
As she sipped, she glanced around the room. In addition to the seating area, there was a large wooden desk and matching bookshelf, the latter holding an eye-pleasing mixture of books and a few framed photos. One in particular caught Lani’s attention, that of a young man dressed in crisp green/brown camouflage, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows.
A Marine.
“That’s my son, Vincent,” Maura said softly, following her gaze. “It’s the last picture I have of him. He completed suicide two weeks later.”
Lani gripped her mug in suddenly cold fingers, unable to stop staring at Vincent’s bright, seemingly happy smile. “Why?”
She hadn’t realized she’d whispered the word aloud until Maura said, “I wish I knew. That’s one of the things I’ve had to learn to accept, the fact I’ll never know why.”
“He didn’t leave a note?” Lani’s voice was hushed. “There weren’t any warning signs?”
“Oh, in hindsight there were things, but they were things that never struck us as out of the ordinary or were easily explained away by puberty or teenage angst. When he died, he didn’t leave a note, no explanation at