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I’m not that surprised. It’s exactly the kind of stuff he sits around watching with Echo when they’re not playing combat video games together.
“Back in a sec,” I tell him, going into my room and closing the door.
I creep to the bathroom door and listen.
She’s either talking really quietly, or she’s done with her phone call.
The bathroom light isn’t on, so I open the door and stop at the other door that leads into Toshi’s room.
I hear a choked sob on the other side, and I close my eyes.
I knew something was wrong.
I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.
Alpha instinct. Never fails.
I reach out and turn on the bathroom mirror’s lamp, then I knock lightly on the door.
“Leanne, are you okay?”
I hear a little gasp, and I know she’s going to think I’m an asshole for creeping up on her, but I don’t give a fuck. I need to know what’s wrong. I open the door and step into Toshi’s room.
She’s leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, phone in one hand, wiping tears away from her eyes with the other.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, moving a step closer and stopping myself.
She’s upset, and I don’t know why. She might not want me to hold her.
She shakes her head, and I can tell she’s trying to calm down so she can talk.
Right now, she’s too raw, too full of emotion.
All I can offer is a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen when she’s ready.
I wrap my arms around her slowly, giving her the chance to push me away.
She doesn’t. She holds onto me and cries against my chest.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
I repeat those words, and I stroke her back, trying to help calm her and make her feel better.
A few minutes of this seems to get her to a point where she can talk.
She pulls back and takes a tissue out of her pocket.
I take her phone out of her hand so she can blow her nose.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she mumbles. “You must think I’m insane, sitting through here, crying in the dark on my own.”
“You’re not insane,” I assure her. “Echo tells me crying in the dark alone can be therapeutic. I’m not sure how much I believe that, but I’m more of a problem shared is a problem halved kind of guy.”
“It’s nothing, really,” she tells me. “I just … My daughter thinks I’m broken and I kind of am.”
“Your daughter … Secret. You two had an argument?”
She nods. “I thought I was doing pretty good with the whole recovering alcoholic thing. Turns out my kid still thinks I’m a mess of a human being. I knew I sucked as a sister while I was drinking, but I thought I was doing way better, you know?”
