Page 114 of What We Break
I turn to watch. Reid's got the girl's head and shoulders, Laine's got her legs, and they lift her together, smooth and coordinated. They carry her away from the car, away from the drop, laying her down on the flat ground near my truck.
The car groans against the rope.
Right. The rope.
I walk to the trailer hitch and check the tension. It's holding, but the sedan has shifted since we secured it. One of the back wheels is barely touching asphalt now. If the guardrail gives, or if the car shifts again?—
I wait until Reid and Laine have the girl settled. Then I unhook the rope.
The sedan shudders, settles, but stays put. For now.
I coil the rope and toss it in the truck bed. That's one less thing to worry about.
A car comes around the curve—too fast, way too fast—and I'm moving before I think about it. I step into the road, hands up, forcing the driver to slow down. They honk, swerve around me, but they slow down. That's what matters.
I stay there, positioning myself between the road and where Reid and Laine are working. If another car comes too fast, if someone's not paying attention, they'll have to go through me first. It's not logical. I know that. Doesn't matter how tough I think I am, I don't stand a chance against a three-thousand-pound vehicle.
But I have to keep them safe.
I tell myself it's about protecting both of them. Protecting Reid.
But my eyes keep going to Laine.
She's kneeling in gravel and broken glass, blood all over her hands, her forearms, soaking through her flannel. The morning sun catches her hair where it's falling out of her ponytail. Her face is calm, focused. She's talking to the girl—Emma—in a low, steady voice.
She's awake, thank fuck.
"You're doing great, sweetheart. Just keep looking at me. Can you tell me what day it is? Do you know what day it is?"
The girl mumbles something. Laine nods, strokes her hair back from her face.
"That's right. Good girl. You're so brave."
I've seen a lot of people under pressure. In combat, in crisis. You learn fast who's going to freeze and who's going to move. Who's going to panic and who's going to think.
Laine doesn't freeze. Doesn't panic. This is a regular Saturday to her.
I thought I was fucked before. I was wrong. I'm royally fucked. Epically fucked. The most fucked of any man ever.
Because I'm not just attracted to her anymore. It's not just that she's beautiful—though she is, even now, even covered in blood. It's not just that she fits into Reid's life like she was made for it.
It's that she'sgood. The real kind of good. The kind that shows up when everything goes sideways.
I watched her laugh at Reid's terrible jokes on the drive up and dig through that bag of gas station garbage and eat circus peanuts without complaining. She handled my grumpy ass without flinching, and gave it right back to me when I deserved it.
And now I'm watching her save a little girl's life on the side of a mountain road, calm as anything, like this is just what she does.
This is what Reid deserves.Someone who can stand next to him in the fire. Someone who doesn't flinch. They're fucking perfect together.
I tear my eyes away. Focus on the road. Another car is coming—slower this time, the driver rubbernecking. Fucking assholes, wanting a look at someone else's tragedy.
The ambulance arrives about fifteen minutes later.
Feels like hours.
The Paramedics take over, loading the little girl onto a stretcher. The mother is crying, thanking Reid and Laine over and over. Reid walks with them toward the ambulance, giving them the rundown.
And then it's just me and Laine.
