"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."
~Coco Chanel

Chapter 25: Pro Dilecto

Abigail

I hopped into the truck before James could protest and told him to drive. Giving me a quick, suspicious glance, my brother listened, hitting the gas. The truck jerked forward as James hit the roads. He fiddled with the auxiliary cord to attach it to his phone. Without saying a word, I took it from him and did it myself.

"Which playlist?" I asked, scrolling through and smiling at some of the titles he'd named them.

"Get your head in the game," he replied, turning onto the freeway.

I bit back a smile. "Is it all High School Musical songs?"

"No." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, not believing him. "Okay, fine, there's a few from those movies."

"That's what I thought," I said, hitting play. I placed the phone in the cup holder and watched the world go by, allowing James to drive and gather his thoughts. I knew well enough he wouldn't speak about what was on his mind until he processed it himself. James didn't like discussing anything when he didn't have a clear idea about it.

In the meantime, I let my own mind wander, replaying my dad's letter over and over in my head. It brought back memories and emotions I'd tried so hard to work through. When that didn't work, I tried repressing them. For a therapist, I was great at helping other people, but shit at helping myself.

My feelings never made me a danger to myself, but I harbored a lot of guilt after my dad's death. I had sensed something was wrong with him, but I'd simply thought I was being paranoid after watching a ton of crime documentaries and reading a lot of articles for school about psychology and suicide. I beat myself up over it for years, telling myself I had the opportunity to help him and failing to see it.

One main question always repeated itself in my head: if I'd just spoken up to my mom about it, would I have been able to stop my dad from putting a bullet in his head?

A side question which always accompanied it was: if I'd spent a little more time with him, talked a little more to him, would I have been able to convince him that help was available?

"Abs?" James asked hesitantly. "You okay?"

I looked over at him, surprised to find him blurry. It was only then I realized tears were welling in my eyes. I wiped them away and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, just thinking."

"Should a therapist be hiding their emotions? Shouldn't you be letting them all out?"

I snorted. "There's more to it than that. But no, I shouldn't be. The reason I am is because I'm here to talk about you. Not me. How are you doing?"

He scowled. "Exactly how you think I am."

"Talk to me, Goose."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you want."

James gritted his teeth, staring ahead at the road for a few moments before pulling off into a Chick-fil-a parking lot. "I don't know what's worse. Knowing Nathan and Chris kept that letter a secret from us, or how shitty I feel after reading what dad wrote. They should've given it to us when they found it. After the police left, after the coroner left, they should've given it to us. Maybe we all would've had some sort of closure sooner rather than later. And don't get me started on dad. I love him, and I miss him, but he damn near destroyed us all after killing himself. I mean, do you remember mom? She could barely get through the day without bursting into tears every ten minutes! She had to quit taking clients in the military and their families because she couldn't handle it. He left her to raise us by herself. He ruined your college years, which were supposed to be the best years of your life! And don't tell me he didn't, because I know you, and you were never the same person after he died. Every time I saw you afterward, you always seemed quieter, and I hated it. I hated him for doing that to you. I love dad, but I'm so mad at him for doing what he did. He had people to help him, and he blew it."

James's knuckled were stark white as he gripped the steering wheel. His face flushed a deep scarlet from his rant, and tears of anger and sadness threatened to cascade down his face. All I could do was stare at him in shock. I'd never seen James lose control of his temper, or his emotions, for that matter, in my entire life. He'd always been so calm and collected. Seeing him like this unnerved me.

"Wait here," I finally said. "I'm going to get us something to eat while we talk. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

James nodded, realizing I wasn't just getting food for our talk, but I was also allowing him some private time to gather himself.

I hopped out of the truck, grabbing his wallet on the way. For better or worse, the line was long, and it took me fifteen minutes to get our order of two twelve-count chicken nuggets, two large fries, and two large chocolate milkshakes.

When I got back in the truck, James's tears had disappeared, but his face remained red, and he gripped his hands tightly together.

"What does the therapist have to say after my rant?" my brother asked quietly.

"I'm not talking to you as a therapist right now. I'm talking to you as your sister. How long have you been feeling this way towards dad?"

"Only after reading that damn letter. Don't get me wrong, I was upset when I noticed how his death affected you and mom, but I wasn't angry. Now, I am. And I'm furious at Nathan for hiding the letter from us. Chris, too."

"What would you have done in their situation?"

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

"I mean, if you found dad's body, and you found that letter and read it, what would you do? What would you do knowing how upset mom would be knowing she couldn't save her husband from himself when her job was to help people fight their demons?"

James didn't respond, picking up a fry and twirling it between his fingers.

I continued, "I get why Nathan and Chris hid it at first, but I don't agree with them hiding it from us for so long. At the same time, it's in the past. We can't do anything about it now, and I know how guilty Nathan feels for keeping that from us. I've been where he has."

"What do you mean?"

"Harboring guilt over what happened."

"His death wasn't your fault. Why would you think it was?"

I bit my lip, wondering if I should tell him. After all, I was here for him, not to talk about my own issues. But maybe I needed to tell someone what I'd been feeling after all this time. He'd told me what was going through his mind, so maybe I should too...

Making my decision, I revealed to him my thoughts from earlier, the ones he caught me tearing up at. Repeating them allowed refreshed those tears, and I kept my eyes down on my food so he wouldn't see, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

James slowly stopped eating the more I talked, his hands clenching into fists.

When I finished speaking, he breathed, "Jesus Christ, Abigail..."

"I know it's not my fault, but I've always had this nagging voice in my head about the 'what if.' What if I had said something to mom? What if I had the power to change it?"

"You were a kid, Abs. You weren't trained to help people the way you are now. I don't even know how I'd bring that up to mom if I was in your position. I'd be terrified of being wrong, and... I don't know. I just don't know how I would've done it. I'm sure you didn't either."

"I didn't," I confessed. "But I was right, I now know I was right. I should've said something, and that's the reason I can't be mad at Nathan or Chris because he's feeling the same guilt from not sharing that letter with us. They were at least trying to protect us, whereas I just didn't want to be wrong..."

James sighed. "Suspecting and knowing are two different things, Abigail. Saying it wasn't your fault won't help. I don't have to be a therapist to know that, but I know it wasn't your fault. The only one responsible for dad's death is dad. I can't imagine what he went through, seeing his comrade get shot in front of him, but he had people who could help him. If he didn't want to tell mom everything, he could've gone to someone else. We had the resources..."

"I worry about Grey," I blurted. "He went through almost the same thing dad did. I'm scared his PTSD is worse than he's letting on. But the doctor is going to clear him for duty soon, and I won't have any say in it."

"I'm going to assume you've talked to Grey about it?"

"I've tried, but he keeps saying it's only nightmares, that that's it, but my intuition tells me he's not telling me everything. I don't think he's lying, but he's definitely not telling me everything, and I don't know how to get him to open up to me about it."

"Want me to ask him?"

"You can try, but I doubt he'll say something. Just... if he says something or does anything that raises a red flag for you, tell me?"

"The only thing I've noticed is him being up late at night, but if he says he's having nightmares, then that'd explain it. But I'll keep an eye on him, I promise. You should tell the others to do the same."

"I know Jax is keeping watch on him. He's just as worried as I am, but Grey tells him the same thing he tells me."

"Something will come up if anything else is bothering him. One day, it'll show, and you'll see it, and you'll be able to call him out on it."

"I hope you're right..."

The two of us finished our meals, giving us time to process our thoughts and the conversation. I took a sip of my milkshake and asked, "This somehow ended up turning into a conversation about Grey and me, but are you better now?"

"Yeah... I think I've just been harboring all this pent up anger for so long without realizing it that I just exploded. I guess I need to head home and apologize to Nathan."

"You need to, but only do it when you're ready. And remember, as much as you and Nathan have argued and bickered over your lifetime, he would never do anything to intentionally hurt you."

"I know. I definitely know that. You ready to head home?"

"Let's turn and burn!"

He snorted. "This isn't a fighter jet. I can't do that. Not without getting a ticket."

"Then, I guess one day, I'll have to go up in your plane with you."

James smiled. "Deal."