Page 104 of What We Break
I can't drag this back to him.
My phone sits on the passenger seat. I could call someone else from the crew. But they weren't there. They didn't hear Marcus asking why we saved him. They didn't see his eyes.
I could call my dad.
But we don't have that kind of relationship anymore. Haven't since Mom died.
There's really only one person I want to see right now. One person who didn't know Jared, which means my grief won't crack open hers. One person who gives enough of a damn about me to hold this without it sticking to her after.
I start the truck.
Don't call. Don't text. Just drive. I grip the wheel and try to figure out what the hell I'm going to say when I get there.
Nothing comes.
Her apartment complex is dead quiet when I pull in. Most of the windows dark — it's almost midnight, and normal, functioning humans are asleep. But there's light behind her windows on the second floor.
I cut the engine. Sit there. Listen to the metal tick as it cools.
Is this a terrible idea? We've been dating for — what, three months? Is that long enough to show up at someone's door fucking wrecked?
Is that fair to her?
But the alternative is going home. And Blake will ask careful questions in that measured voice of his, and he'll try to fix it. Try to hold it together for both of us while pretending he's not drowning in his own shit.
But he is. Every damn day. It's not like it used to be. I don't walk into the workshop and wonder if today's the day I find him dead. But that time still feels too close, too fresh.
I should leave. Not drag whatever this is into her space, not smear it all over the thing we've been building.
But my boots are already on the pavement. Door's shut behind me. I'm walking.
The buzzer next to her name is just a buzzer. Just a little plastic rectangle with her last name printed on a strip of paper. People press it for normal reasons. Amazon packages. Hey, I'm here for dinner. Totally planned, totally civilized, nobody standing on the sidewalk at midnight because their brain won't shut the fuck up.
I press it before my hand gets the memo from common sense.
"Hello?" Laine's voice through the speaker. Alert. Careful. The voice of someone doing the math on who's ringing her bell at this hour.
"Laine? It's Reid. I'm sorry, I know it's late, but?—"
"Come up."
The lock buzzes. Immediate. No pause, no why, no what's going on. Just come up.
Thank fucking Christ.
Stairs. Two at a time. Suddenly I'm desperate to see her face. She's waiting in her doorway when I reach the second floor, wearing pajama pants and an old t-shirt, hair messy like she was getting ready for bed. No makeup, feet bare, looking soft and real and like everything I need right now.
But her eyes are fully alert, focused on my face with the same attention she gives to patients who need help. But I'm not one of her patients. I don't need her to fix me.
Or maybe I do. I sure as fuck need something.
"What happened?" she asks softly.
And just like that, seeing her standing there ready to take care of me, I start to fall apart.
"Laine." Her name comes out broken.
She doesn't ask anything else. Doesn't need to. She just steps forward and wraps her arms around me right there in the hallway.
