Trusting a Warrior (Loving a Warrior #3) - Melanie Hansen Page 0,20

cards for hours, and while Tyler was quieter than usual, he’d seemed to enjoy himself.

Had she stopped him that night? Had she bought him a little more time? Tears stung her eyes as the realization slammed into her: Even if she had, it didn’t change the ultimate outcome, because a week later he was gone. That meant...

“That’s right. There wasn’t anything you could have done.” Lani’s gaze snapped to Maura, who was looking at her steadily. “You, my friend, have taken the weight of the world on your shoulders, haven’t you?” She got up from her chair and walked toward her. “You’re supposed to be all-seeing, all-knowing, a mind reader at fourteen years old.”

The hot tears overflowed and streamed down Lani’s cheeks.

“You’re supposed to be the perfect girlfriend to a man who has a dangerous, stressful job that takes him away from home for months at a time. You’re never, ever supposed to be human, not ever, because that’s letting him down.”

Slipping her arm around her shoulders, Maura led her back to the couch. “Because you failed to keep Tyler alive, you must be a failure at everything, right? Especially impending motherhood.”

Lani lost it then, and for long minutes she could only sob, tissues magically appearing in her hand.

“I can help you,” Maura said, her soft tone cutting through the roaring in Lani’s ears. “I can help you because I’ve been right where you are. I know everything you’re feeling, everything you tell yourself. It gets better. I promise you, it’ll get better.”

Mopping her eyes, Lani sucked deep breaths, in and out, as she fought for control. “I want to get better,” she croaked. “I want to let go of the anger. I want to stop blaming myself. I w-want to be a good mom.”

“You will be.” With one last pat to her shoulder, Maura moved over to sit in her chair again. “The only thing we’re going to focus on in here is you. Tyler is gone, and we’re not going to analyze his death anymore. We want to grieve his absence and celebrate who he was—a beloved brother to you for fourteen years.”

Lani picked up her teacup again, not to drink, but to hug the comforting warmth close. “He was so smart,” she croaked. “Funny, kind. He had goals, and dreams. He l-loved me...”

Maura leaned forward and waited for her to meet her eyes.

“Yes. A life worth remembering,” she said softly. “A life not defined by that moment in time, that choice he made in the midst of a pain you couldn’t have known about or understood. Assuming responsibility for his death invalidates that pain, and his desperate need for relief from it.”

Another sob welled up in Lani’s throat.

“No amount of self-blame can change that outcome. No amount of analyzing it is going to help you understand it. You know the how, but you’re never going to know the why. You’re never going to know the why, Lani.”

Lani started to shake.

“Accepting that is the first step toward healing, and we’re going to take a thousand steps together, you and me. As many as it takes, okay?”

All Lani could do was nod, the tears dripping from her chin.

“You’re not alone, my dear. You’re not alone.”

* * *

God, she needed to pee.

Lani hurried up the walk toward her apartment building, the bags of Chinese food she juggled emitting the most mouthwatering smell.

And all the tea she’d drunk at Maura’s sloshing painfully around in her bladder.

Even the brush of the light sea breeze over her skin hurt, everything still raw from the emotional therapy session, and the only thing she wanted to do was curl up in her pj’s to watch reruns of Friends while she chowed down on some good, old-fashioned comfort food.

Ah, the sweet, sweet relief.

After washing her hands, she trudged toward her bedroom, her old friend—self-pity—doing its best to rear its ugly head. Forever alone. Maybe I need to get a damn dog.

The thought made her roll her eyes at herself. “Yeah, right,” she said aloud. “A dog and a baby to take care of. Good plan.”

Still...having a furry little body to snuggle up to at night and give her unconditional doggie love sounded infinitely appealing. Human love, after all, was vastly overrated.

She’d just settled down on the couch, the different cartons of food arrayed before her on the coffee table, remote in hand, when her phone buzzed. With a sigh, she muted the TV and grabbed it. Hopefully it was just a robocall that she could decline