Page 22 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. It doesn’t get easier. And, you’re fine. Showing your emotions isn’t a weakness. It’s the strongest thing you can do. You’ve got to feel it all or you’re never going to function correctly.”

I sit on the desk right beside her, reaching out to put my hand on her shoulder. Wait. What did Culver tell me about touching her? I seem to be forgetting right now. She nods but looks down again, not saying anything.

“Look, Millie, I lost my mom when I was ten. That’s twenty-five years ago. The pain gets less severe, but it never goes away. The best thing to do is talk about it.”

She looks up. “How many people have you talked to about your mom?”

“Exactly zero. I’m not a big talker.”

“So, do as I say, not as I do,” she says. At least I’ve gotten a little smile back on her face.

“Something like that. I’ll make a deal with you. If you talk to me about your dad, I’ll talk to you about my mom.”

She looks at me suspiciously. “I should probably get back to my hotel, and get ready for tomorrow,” she says.

She closes her computer and stands up. I haven’t moved, so we’re eye to eye. I just want to hug her, protect her, kiss her. She’s just inches away from me. It takes every ounce of discipline I have not to touch her again.

“You didn’t agree to my deal. The talking deal.” There are many other deals I’d like to propose to her, but this is the only one that seems appropriate right now.

“We’ll see. I don’t like talking about him much. But thank you. It’s nice of you to offer,” she says.

She walks past me to the door. I follow her because my body won’t let me do anything else. It’s impossible not to be near her right now. Culver did tell me to have her back, right?

“I’ll walk you to your car.” I purposely say it as a statement, and not a question.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” she says as she turns around with a confused look on her face.

“I know I don’t have to but I want to. That’s why I’m offering,” I say, following her out into the parking lot.

She clicks the lock on her car. I walk past her to open it. She looks up at me, those eyes wide and innocent now. Ah, man, I’m shook. I can’t even say anything.

She gets in, and as I’m closing her door, she says, “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” It’s all I can manage to say as I watch her drive out of the parking lot.

---