Page 137 of What We Break
Reid shrugs, tossing a box of bandages to Danny. "Didn't I? He doesn't come as often as us, but when he shows up, he's here for hours. Come on, Doc needs us."
I follow Reid, but I keep glancing back at Blake. The man he's talking to is calming down, nodding along.
I've been avoiding the man for a week. Luckily, Reid doesn't seem to care where we spend time together, so we've been at my place most of the time. I love it. It's like our own little nest where the world, and grumpy friends can't ruin it.
"Laine, can you help me with the blood pressure station?" Danny asks.
"Of course."
We set up our usual routine—two folding tables, one for basic medical care and one for blood pressure checks and medication management. Reid bounces between tasks, cracking jokes with the regulars, stealing supplies from Danny's van with exaggerated stealth. Everyone around him is smiling, and I get it. The guy's impossible to resist.
"How's everyone doing tonight?" I ask Margaret as she approaches our setup.
"Better now that you're here, honey." Her smile is genuine. "That ankle wrap you showed me last week has been a godsend."
"Good. Let me take a look at it."
I'm kneeling down, checking the tension on Margaret's wrap, when Blake's voice reaches me.
"The nightmares don't mean you're weak. They mean you're human. Your brain's trying to process stuff it was never meant to see."
I glance up without meaning to. A younger man is sitting across from Blake, nodding slowly, and I watch some of the tension leave his shoulders. Blake's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, like there's nowhere else he needs to be.
"You're staring," Margaret observes quietly.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. "I didn't know he volunteered here."
"Oh, he's been coming for months. Maybe a year?" Margaret follows my gaze. "He's good with the military boys. Understands things the rest of us don't." She shakes her head. "Such awful things those boys saw. Too much death. Too much blood. You can't blame them for being a little squirrely."
No. I guess you can't. I'll never really understand the horrors they faced. And Blake's out here connecting with them. The man has layers.
"Does he usually stay long?"
"Hours sometimes. There was this one night, must have been six months ago, when Jimmy was having a real bad episode. Blake sat with him until sunrise, just talking." Margaret's expression is fond. "He's a good boy, that one."
A good boy. A good man. I know that. I've seen it. I think that'swhat makes the things he said to me so confusing. To have such a good man say such horrible things makes it even harder to wrap my head around.
Makes it hurt that much harder.
"Margaret's ankle looks good," I tell Reid when he bounces over. "The wrap is working."
"Excellent. Gold star for Margaret." He's already reaching for the supply checklist, pen tucked behind his ear, somehow also eating a cookie that materialized from nowhere. "We've got enough stuff for the extra people tonight. Danny's pumped."
"Good." I hesitate. "Blake seems really good at this."
Reid grins. "Yeah. Just wait. Those guys worship him."
I watch Blake move to another veteran, this one older with graying hair. Blake listens more than he talks. He's just... present. Focused entirely on this person in front of him.
A little selfish part of me wishes he'd be as nice to me. I'm not a veteran. I don't need his help, so maybe I'm just out of luck.
"Laine?" James approaches with his blood sugar meter. "Can you help me figure out these numbers?"
"Of course."
I spend the next hour moving between patients—checking blood pressure, cleaning wounds, distributing medications. Steady work. The kind I love. Reid works the crowd like a politician, remembering names, making people laugh, somehow knowing exactly who needs a joke and who needs quiet.
But I keep catching glimpses of Blake. Three or four veterans gathered around him now.
