“It’s a chance I’m willing to take because from where I am, it’s killingyou. And I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
And then Sean brought in the big guns.
The doorbell rang. It was Monique, who came in and sat beside him, her beautiful face solemn. “I can’t risk losing you. Not again.”
“I keep seeing Terry. And now poor Brady too. And I can’t help thinking about what I could have done to have him still here with us.”
“Gotten killed yourself?” Shiny-eyed, she took his hands in hers. “It wouldn’t make the situation any less horrible. Instead of Brady’s family in mourning, we’d be here, comforting Sean.” Her lips trembled. “I can’t bear this. I won’t lose you to all that guilt, eating you up inside. You have to get some help.”
“Please, Tristan. We’re begging.” Sean kneeled before him. “I love you. Go see someone.”
And so he found himself at the therapist’s office. Dr. Gustav had seen him after Terry’s death and now sat with him once a week, painfully peeling away the layers until they reached the soft, exposed underbelly of his truth.
Dr. Gustav explained, “You’ve been left so many times in your life, Tristan, you’ve come to believe your actions are the cause when in reality, there was nothing you could’ve done.”
“That’s not true. I should’ve gone in first to serve that warrant, not Terry.”
“Why? Did you think you were a better detective than he was?”
Startled, Tristan responded without hesitation. “No, of course not. We discussed it ahead of time, and since Terry had done more of them, he took the lead. He’d been a detective several years longer than I had.”
“Then you’re second-guessing protocol and his decision-making ability. Which is only because of the tragic outcome. You did exactly what you and your partner were supposed to do.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Dr. Gustav’s expression softened. “It’s a hard pill to swallow that sometimes the answer isn’t as pretty as we’d like it to be. Now, as for Brady, you had already admonished him about fraternizing with the couriers, yet even knowing how important this delivery was, he took that chance. That isn’t to say he deserved what happened, but it’s to point out that his death wasn’t caused by your decision-making.” In the month he’d been seeing the psychologist, the doctor had kept a professional distance, but this time he set aside the tablet he’d been taking notes on and leaned forward. “Sometimes, Tristan, terrible things happen and we can’t come up with any other reason than…it’s a tragedy. It’s horrible. We cry and scream and naturally look to blame ourselves. But not here. You’ve been spinning your wheels in the same spot not only for months with Brady, but for years with Terry’s death. It’s time for that final push out of the quicksand before it swallows you whole. You have a brand-new life with Sean, who, from everything you’ve told me, is a terrific influence.”
Tristan couldn’t help smiling. “He is. Except for his junk-food habit.”
Dr. Gustav’s eyes twinkled. “I’m afraid I’ll need to confess to that crime as well.”
“Don’t ever tell Sean, but I kind of like it too.” Tristan tasted the sweetness of unexpected laughter, and when he walked outside, the sky glowed a little bluer, the sun shone a bit brighter. Maybe he’d be okay after all.
* * *
Friday morning, once the meeting had broken up, Tristan sighed in relief. He still found it hard to look at his group and not see both Christianson and Truman. The bank had put in new protocols that would increase security for not only the large deposits and valuables but, more importantly, the personnel. As he’d told Ray, it was like closing the barn door after the horses were already out, but better late than never.
Then the office door opened and Truman walked in, smiling ear to ear. Tristan waited until everyone had greeted him. He’d lost some of his bulk, but the steely determination remained in his eyes, as did their genuine warmth. He closed the door after everyone left and they were alone.
“Good to see you again, McDermott.” He extended his hand, but Tristan ignored it for a hug.
“Damn, why didn’t you say you were coming? Come over and sit.”
He made sure Truman was settled comfortably before taking his own seat, not behind the desk, but next to him.
“Tell me how you’re feeling and how it’s all going. Your wife’s doing well?”
“She’s great, thanks. And I’m feeling good. Really good. At my last checkup the doctor said I was a hundred percent recovered.” He bowed his head. “I didn’t mean to fuck up like that.”
Stunned, Tristan scrambled to reassure him. “What? No. You didn’t fuck up at all. Why would you think so? That was a coordinated, well-planned attack.”
Truman’s lips twisted. “Yeah, but I was trained to assume things could go wrong, and I-I panicked. I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong. None of us did.”
“Except Christianson.” Tense lines appeared in Truman’s face. “I’ll say it if no one else will. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but he was a fool. He let himself get distracted by a pretty face, and it got him killed and me nearly so. All of us were in trouble.”
“I should’ve been better prepared.”
