“And so they’re vengeful, unable to move on unless you die horribly so they can take you with them?”
Shock transformed her face. “No! It’s not like that! It’s…” She lowered her gaze to her hands lying on her lap. “It’s…just so unfair. So strange. I should have died, too. The van was—” She shuddered. “There was no way I should’ve made it out with such minor injuries. I keep thinking it was a mistake, that I was meant to die. Out of all of us, why did I walk away? I’m not special.” She lifted her head again, her expression beseeching. “I’d have died for any of them. I wish I could.”
“But you can’t.” That rough-gentle voice didn’t sound like his, but man, the ache in his chest wasn’t familiar, either. “You can’t bring any of them back. Your death wouldn’t change a thing except sadden the people who care about you. You can’t tell me you don’t have friends, even if you’ve been dodging them.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it, because he was right.
“The one good thing that came out of it,” he went on, “was your survival. I’ll bet those girls told their parents about you. How cool you were. How you understood them. Gave the best advice.”
Erin had gone completely still. He couldn’t tell if she was really hearing him.
“People kept saying I should live for my girls,” she whispered. “What could be more pointless?”
“Dying for them.”
She flinched, and he felt brutal, but he had to say it. Keep saying it, if she gave him the chance.
Her eyes stayed dry, but the devastation he saw on her face made him wonder if he’d hurt her more than he’d helped her. He felt a sudden, desperate need to escape. He had his own problems. Who was he to try to solve hers? Everything he’d said was probably wrong.
Erin scrubbed at her eyes with closed fists, for an instant looking like a child. But when she lowered her hands, she offered him a twisted smile. “Thank you. I think maybe I needed to tell someone. I’m not sure why, since I could hardly wait to get away from everyone who did know about the accident. They just didn’t seem to understand. I couldn’t decide which was worse, the idea that I should feel lucky—” she said that with loathing “—or that God saved me for a reason. What reason? To remember, over and over? To suffer? Or am I supposed to be looking around for a chance to save someone, to make up for my failure?”
As if a puzzle piece had slotted into place, he understood. “That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re saving me.”
Her eyes widened at whatever she heard in his voice. “You didn’t need saving. Just…a chance.”
Why he should feel so damn humiliated, Cole didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t realized he was a pity project for her. But he’d been stupid enough to forget.
He shoved back the chair and stood. “Yeah, you’ve done that.”
“Cole, you’ve become a friend.” She rose slowly. “Is it wrong to want to help?”
A friend? Compared to her, he was like a drooling baby, trying to pull himself up on the furniture. Even if she was screwed up. It wasn’t possible for them to have anything like a genuine friendship.
Just as he was turning away without answering, she asked suddenly, “Why did you try so hard to stop me tonight? And insist I tell you what was wrong?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like owing anyone. Call it payback.” Not letting himself see the new hurt he’d caused, he walked out. He’d finish painting the garage tomorrow, and then maybe she’d be done with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIN LIFTED THE last flat of perennials from the back of her Cherokee. In the three days since her breakdown in front of Cole, she’d continued digging out the flower beds by the porch, extending to each corner of the house. She had spent this morning at a nursery, choosing perennials, several roses and a couple of low shrubs.
Before she left, she’d asked Cole if he needed anything. He paused in the act of pouring gas into the rented weed whacker to glance up with apparent indifference.