“House,” I choke out.
“He can’t be a service dog if you don’t have him around to provide service,” she scolds, then gets to her feet. I know she’s still in the gym, but she’s out of eyesight until she brings a bottle of water over toward me, along with a clean hand towel.
Without asking, she dumps the water onto my knuckles, washing away blood and sweat. It stings, but I lean in to the pain, letting it distract me from the agony I’m feeling inside.
“You should have wrapped your knuckles.”
“I didn’t have time.” I sit back on my heels while Lani crosses her legs in front of me.
“Talk to me.”
I shake my head.
“Dylan Hunt, you can’t keep doing this. Not to us and certainly not to yourself. You can’t keep shutting down.”
“Don’t you see?” I demand, anger burning in my chest. “I don’t know how to be anything else! I can’t quiet the voices! I’m not strong enough to beat back the demons!”
“That’s a whole lot of horse poo and you know it. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.” She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t touch the ache in my chest.
The tightness constricting my lungs.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I place both bloodied hands on either side of my head and fight the urge to scream.
“Dylan, breathe,” she says. “Come on.”
I shake my head and drop my hands. “The things that could have happened to her, Lani. He would have destroyed her.”
“Who?” she asks. “Oh, that Slater guy? Tucker filled me in earlier,” she adds.
“He would’ve torn her apart.”
“But he didn’t get the chance because you guys got to her in time.”
“I should’ve been a better man. Then she would’ve been here with me, and Mattheus couldn’t have gotten close to her. I could have protected her.” I clench my hands into fists, and the blood begins to ooze from the cracks in my skin.
“Stop beating yourself up.” Lani takes my hand. The simple contact is enough to have my stomach churning—even though it’s my sister.
I pull away, too far gone to risk it. I could lose my head and hurt her. “You need to go,” I choke out. “I’m not safe.”
“And I’m not leaving.”
“Lani—”
“Lord, please be with Dylan. Please help him see that You have a plan for him, even though he can’t see it. Please, God, help him battle the darkness clinging to him. Help him focus on You, Lord. When he can’t see past his own pain, let him see You. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.”
I can’t even find my voice to murmur an “Amen.” And why should I? Does God even care about me?
“Dylan, you need help. And you have to stop trying to do it all yourself.”
“No one can help me.”
“That’s not true. But you have to want to help yourself.”
“I do.”
“Do you?” she asks. “Because I think you’re so guilt-ridden about what happened to your friends that you hate yourself for surviving. I think you’re angry with God because you don’t understand why He kept you alive. Over and over again. All those times you ran face-first into danger, ready to die, He kept you protected. It’s the same reason you were so distraught when Tucker nearly died.”
