Nausea wells in my stomach as images run through my head like a slideshow of my worst memories.
I haven’t talked about this in a long time. Walker and Santiago were present when I went through it. They were a constant presence, offering various comforts and distractions. Landon and Grant were also around, but not in the same way.
“When I was fourteen, my best friend hung himself in his closet. When I found him, it was already too late.” Licking my lips, I force myself to hold my head high.
I shouldn’t feel the shame. I shouldn’t feel the guilt.
But it’s always there, waiting to suffocate me.
“Oh my…I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.” Blake’s voice breaks then firms like she’s trying to instill me with strength through her words. “You can’t think that it’s your fault. Like you said, you were fourteen.”
Angling my feet to the side, I spin around halfway toward her, but I keep my focus on the chain link. “I may not have been able to prevent it,” I admit out loud, the truth more for me than for her. “I’ll never know. But I often wonder if he knew how much I loved him. He was my friend. We were together every day.”
A single tear slips from the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t want to think of my friend and only feel sadness. I want to remember him for how he lived.
“He knew.”
Blake’s platitude draws my attention to her. It’s one I’ve heard many times, but hearing it from her feels different.
Her eyes swim with a million thoughts and emotions—so many that I can’t interpret them all.
But one shines above the rest.
Empathy.
A warmth I don’t deserve wraps me in a comforting embrace.
A tear slides down Blake’s face, but unlike me, she lets the streak stay. As if she’s letting me witness her vulnerability—trusting me with it.
A cold, wet nose pushes on my elbow. Peering down at the dog, I lift my arm and let him crawl into my lap.
“That’s how I know your friend knew you loved him,” Blake comments, and I let the confidence of her words fill a hole in my chest that I’ve purposely kept empty. I didn’t think I was deserving.
But she does.
And if she can give me her trust, I can give her mine.
I’m not sure how long I sit there with the German Shepherd in my lap, but when I glance over at Blake again, she’s curled up on the floor with her head resting on Bear. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is even.
This woman.
This foul-mouthed, sassy, wonderful woman.
Gently, I remove the dog from my lap and place her on the cushion in the corner. I barely have enough room to open the gate and slide out. Bear stirs, but Blake remains still. Bending down, I scoop her up into my arms and carry her into the kitchen. I set her down on the old couch in there, covering her with the blanket from one of the cabinets. Bear hops up on the couch with Blake, taking up the space behind her knees.
“You can cuddle her this time, but next time, it’s my turn,” I whisper to Bear.
He rolls his eyes at me and grumbles.
Great. I have a sassy woman and a dog with an attitude to match.
I crouch down, sitting on the tiled floor and ignoring the way it makes my back tighten. Settling in, I rest my back against the couch.
This time, when I close my eyes, there are no nightmares, no injured Blake.
Just me and the people I love, enjoying the peace we bring each other.
CHAPTER 25
