Page 154 of What We Break
The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks into the night air.
"Her name's Laine," I say instead. "She's a nurse. They met when he was working a night shift. There was a festival, and a ton of fucking overdoses."
"And?"
"And she's..."Perfect. Beautiful. Kind."She's good for him. Really good for him."
Hatch is still, studying my face in the firelight. "You're in love with her."
It's not a question. Fucking Hatch and his spidey senses.
I don't answer, which apparently, for Hatch, is answer enough.
"Jesus Christ, Blake."
That's pretty much the reaction I was expecting. "Yeah."
"How long?"
"Since the first time I met her." The admission comes out rough. "She brought groceries over to cook dinner for Reid, and I walked into that kitchen and saw her standing at the stove, teaching him how to make sauce, and I just... I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That I was in trouble."
Hatch runs a hand over his face. "Does Reid know?"
"No. And he never will."
"You sure about that? Because you're not exactly subtle when you're miserable."
"I'm handling it."
"Are you?" Hatch challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look like you're about five minutes away from imploding."
I finish my beer and reach for another one, even though I'm already feeling the alcohol more than I should. Maybe if I'm lucky I can pass the fuck out and avoid the rest of this conversation.
But that's just going to make everything worse. Because Hatch is a dog with a bone. As persistent and just as mean if he needs to be.
He won't let this go. So my choices are to fight, or to tell him the truth of it.
I don't think I have any fight left in me.
"You remember after Jared died? When you kept calling and I wouldn't pick up?"
Hatch's expression shifts, becomes more careful. "Yeah. I figured you needed space to grieve."
"I wasn't grieving." The words come out flat, emotionless. "I mean, I was, but that's not... I was in a bad place, Hatch. Really bad."
He plants his elbows on his knees. "How bad?"
I stare into the fire, watching the flames dance. "I had my sidearm on the coffee table. Loaded. And I sat there for three days staring at it."
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the crackling of burning wood and the distant sound of an owl somewhere in the darkness.
"Blake..."
"Blake..."
