Page 126 of What We Break
"Right there—" Laine's voice breaks off into something between a gasp and a moan. "God, Reid, don't stop, don't?—"
Reid, rough and urgent. "I've got you. I've got you."
I stumble, shoulder slamming against the wall.
I force myself to move, climbing the rest of the stairs as quietly as possible. My room is at the end of the hall, past Reid's door. Just twenty more feet?—
The rhythm from next door gets faster. Laine says his name in a way that makes my hands shake.
I'm not strong enough to survive this.
I make it to my room and close the door, leaning back against it. But I haven't escaped anything. The sounds follow me through the thin walls.
I grab a pillow and press it over my ears. Doesn't help. The soundsare already inside my skull, dragging pictures with them I didn't fucking ask for. Laine's face. Her hands in Reid's hair. Reid touching her the way I?—
Stop.
I hurl the pillow across the room. It clips a framed photo on the dresser and sends it facedown with a crack that's way too loud.
The noise from next door goes quiet. I hold my breath. Then the bed again, slower this time. Careful. Like they heard me. But still there. Still happening.
I sit on the edge of my bed. Elbows on my knees, hands gripping the back of my skull like I can hold it together if I squeeze hard enough.
Reid deserves this. He deserves her. He's a better man than me in every way that actually counts. He dragged me out of the wreckage after Jared died. Gave me a roof when I couldn't stand up straight. Never once held the tab over my head. And now he's found someone who makes him light up like a person again. Someone who loves him back.
I should be glad for him. That's the line I keep feeding myself. I should be fucking glad.
I am glad for him.
Another sound from Laine. Muffled but unmistakable.
I'm across the room before I've even decided to move, grabbing my keys and wallet off the dresser. Sawdust still on my arms, I probably smell like wood stain and sweat. Don't care.
The hallway's a disaster. Every floorboard groans under my weight, but the sounds coming from Reid's room have picked up again. Louder. More urgent. They're not listening for anything that isn't each other.
I make it downstairs and out the front door. The night air hits me and I can still hear them through the open bedroom window as I cross to my truck. Reid's voice, low and steady. Laine responding in ways that?—
I yank the door open and get in.
Start the engine. Pull out of the driveway. Gravel kicks up under my tires and I don't look back at the house.
Murphy's Tavernis exactly what I need. Dark, loud, full of people trying to forget their own problems. The bartender nods at me when I walk in.
"Whiskey. Make it a double."
I find a spot at the far end and throw back my drink, trying to let the alcohol burn away the images.
It doesn't work.
"You look like someone stole your truck."
I turn to find a woman sitting two stools down. Mid-thirties, short dark hair, tired eyes. She's holding the stem of her martini glass, turning it mindlessly.
I fucking wish. "Something like that."
She nods, takes a sip of her drink. "Divorce papers became final today. Ten years down the drain because he decided he needed to 'find himself' with his twenty-three-year-old secretary."
Fuck. A bad day. I'm almost feeling ornery enough to compare bad days with her, but I don't feel like talking. "I'm sorry."
