Page 108 of What We Break
"For now."
"For now is all any of us have, Reid. For now is enough."
I study her face—hair messy, eyes still bright with unshed tears, wearing pajamas and looking more beautiful than anyone has a right to look. She opened her door without question and held my pain without flinching.
"Thank you," I say. "For letting me fall apart here."
"Thank you for trusting me with it."
I lean down and kiss her then, soft and grateful. Not desperate or needy, just... thankful. For her, for this moment, for not having to carry this alone.
When we break apart, I rest my cheek on the top of her head and close my eyes, letting the rest of that hurt curled up in my chest breathe.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my arm, not saying anything, justbeing here. Just letting me feel human again after a night that tried to strip that away.
"Can I stay tonight?" I ask her. I want to wrap myself around her tonight, and not let go. It's selfish as fuck, but there it is.
Her arms tighten around me, and she wraps her legs around my hips. It's intimate and in any other situation, I would be all over her, but tonight it's comforting. Her breath brushes against my ear. "You're going to have to. Because I'm not letting you go."
22
LAINE
My buzzer goes off at 7:00 AM.
On a Saturday.
It's criminal.
I groan into my pillow, hoping I imagined it. But no—it buzzes again. Long, insistent blasts that mean either the building is on fire or Reid Garrison is downstairs. Is it weird that I know it's him by the way he rings the buzzer?
I drag myself out of bed, pull on my robe, and hit the intercom. "If the world isn't ending, you're a dead man."
"Good morning, Sunshine!" Reid's voice crackles through the speaker, way too cheerful for this hour. "Put on your work boots. We're going on an adventure."
"Reid. I'm sleeping. It's Saturday." Most weekends I would just be getting off shift at 7:00 AM. I had a whole plan of doing nothing this morning. Darn it, I was looking forward to it.
"Tony's out. Food poisoning. Or the flu. Either way, he's been hugging his toilet since midnight, and Blake has a three-hundred-pound slab of walnut that needs to get to Sunriver by noon. He needs an extra set of hands." A pause. "You have hands, Laine."
This man. I lean my forehead against the intercom. "You want me to haul furniture on my day off."
"It's not furniture, it'sart. Custom piece. Very fancy. And I have coffee—the good stuff, not that break room swill. And donuts. Maple bars."
I close my eyes. I'm already awake. That's the annoying part. And honestly? The idea of spending the day with Reid, even if it means manual labor, sounds better than my actual plans, which were laundry and maybe reorganizing my closet for the third time this month.
"Give me twenty minutes."
"You have ten! Burning daylight!"
I take fifteen. Sue me.
I dig out my old hiking boots, find a pair of jeans that already have paint stains on them, and throw on a flannel shirt. I look like I'm about to split firewood or star in a lumberjack calendar. Good enough.
Blake's truck is idling at the curb when I step outside. The morning air is crisp, that Oregon chill that bites through your clothes until the sun gets high enough to burn it off. The truck is a massive black pickup, one of those heavy-duty ones that looks like it could tow a house. Attached to the truck is a plain white trailer. That must be the thing Blake's installing. It's spotless for a work vehicle—no mud on the wheel wells, no dents. Blake keeps it clean the way he keeps everything. Precise.
Stenciled on the door in simple block letters:MOORE CUSTOM WOODWORKS.
Reid hops out of the passenger side, bouncing on his heels like a kid on a field trip. He's wearing a faded t-shirt that says Will Work For Tacos, and he's got a travel mug extended like a peace offering, steam curling off the top.
