Page 61 of Color of Love

He continued pacing, stomping back and forth like a caged beast, his aggression coiled, ready to strike. “Because she died. Fuck!”

“Come on, Blake, why does she bother you?” Justine shouted back, ready to match him, to drive his anger higher until he burst and his mouth ran away with him. Until he told her what she wanted to hear.

“Because I failed her, that’s why!”

Bingo! Now they were getting somewhere.

“You failed her.” Justine repeated, her tone flat.

“Yes!” Blake growled at her, pain lurking in the depths of those silver eyes, lines of tension bracketing his mouth.

“You knew you weren’t qualified to help her, you did the best you could. Better than most people could have, so why are you so fixated on her?”

“Because I failed her!”

“Like you failed your wife, Katie, who also committed suicide?”

“Yes, goddammit!” he barked.

And now we’re at the crux of the problem. “You couldn’t have helped either of them, Blake,” she said.

He stared at her, his eyes wide, regret spilling from them. Regret he had no business feeling. He moved away from her and sat back on the couch, leaning forward and dropping his head in his hands. She came around and knelt in front of him.

“Blake?” she asked, worried she had pushed him too far. She placed a hand on his knee, trying to make a connection to ground him and make him feel safe. Thousands of thoughts and emotions must be tearing through him, but she was on his side. “You tried to help but at the end of the day, both women had decided to end their lives and nothing you could’ve said or done would have stopped either of them. They were in a place so dark that your light couldn’t reach them, and that’s not your fault,” she said softly.

He raised his head and met her eyes, his watery with emotion.

“You need to let go of this guilt you’ve been carrying around for far too long. It’s dragging you down.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice cracking, and a single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek.

Her heart contracted in her chest and in that moment, she wanted to throw her arms around him. To kiss away his pain, to protect this fearsome warrior and keep him safe so nothing and no one would ever hurt him again. That wasn’t how she should be feeling about a client, and it scared her.

She cleared her throat, trying to shove away her thoughts. “No one else is blaming you or finding you at fault, only you.”

He nodded slowly.

“It won’t happen quickly, but I want you to start right now. Each day I want you to forgive yourself. Take a moment, at some point in the day, and find a quiet place, find somewhere calm and forgive yourself. It will take time, but the more you do this, the more you believe it, you’ll find the guilt slowly easing,” she explained.

He nodded again, peering down at her, then cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing wrong with emotions, we all have them,” she said gently.

He scoffed and then his eyes met hers. Their look lingered, his eyes heated, and his lips curled into a salacious grin that had her body betraying her once again. Her nipples hardened and arousal gripped her.

She longed to give in, but she knew exactly what he was doing, unfortunately her lady parts didn’t care and just wanted him. He pulled her into his lap in a swift move that had her swooning. She straddled him, her dress pulling tight against her parted thighs, her body throbbing, desperate for his touch. He fit his lips to the hollow of her throat and goosebumps broke out over her skin.

No, this was wrong, all wrong. He was only trying to make himself feel better and prove a point. She knew him too well, knew exactly what he was doing, it had become a pattern. She pressed her hand to his chest and pushed him away. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed and his lips plump, he was passion incarnate and if there was a more arousing sight, she’d never seen it.

“Blake, stop,” she sighed.

His hands immediately relaxed their grip. “Is something wrong?”

She fixed him with a sharp, knowing stare. “You’re not weak.”

He looked at her quizzically. “What?”

“You’re not weak because you’ve shown emotion. You’re not any less masculine because you need help with your mental health. The ultimate test of strength for anyone is confronting your inner demons, no matter how scary, how hard, or how fierce they are, and you win. Strength of mind is what matters. You’re not weak, you’re not any less of a man for crying. You don’t need to exert your masculinity through sexual aggression to remind me you’re strong.”

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