Page 41 of What We Break
"What about you, Reid? Can I count on you?"
I glance at Laine, who's folding up chairs like a pro. "Yeah, I'll be here too."
In the truck afterward, Laine's quiet, looking out the window.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Just thinking. Some of those people... they've been living rough for months, but they're still taking care of each other. Did you see how Margaret shared her dinner with that young girl?"
"Izzy?"
"Yeah. She can't be more than twenty, and she's clearly scared. But Margaret just took her under her wing without being asked."
I pull up to a red light and look at Laine. Her hair's a little messy from the wind, and she's got a small smudge on her cheek, but she looks... content. Happy, even.
"Sometimes it's hard to remember that people are mostly good. I think when you have nothing, you learn what matters. And that's the people around you." I want to reach for her hand, but I hesitate. We've barely touched beyond casual contact—helping her over that log, opening doors. But sitting here, after watching her spend the afternoon taking care of people who needed it, I can't help myself.
I reach across the console slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn't. Her fingers curl around mine automatically, warm and sure, and my whole nervous system fucking sighs.
Her hand fits perfectly in mine. Soft but strong, with calluses on her fingertips from work. Real hands that do real things for real people.
This. This is what I want.
"Thanks," I say, voice coming out rough.
"For what?" she asks, and her voice is quieter now, like she feels it too—this shift between us.
"For not being annoyed about changing our plans. For jumping in and helping. For being..." I pause, trying to find the right words whilemy thumb traces across her knuckles. "For being exactly who I thought you were."
She turns to look at me, expression soft. "Who did you think I was?"
"Someone who sees people. Really sees them. Someone who helps because that's just who you are, not because you're trying to prove anything."
The light turns green, but I don't let go of her hand. She doesn't pull away either.
"That's a nice thing to say."
"It's a true thing to say."
I don't let her go the rest of the drive. I don't want to. Holding her hand feels too fucking good. Everything with her feels good. It feels right in a way nothing else in my life has in way too long.
If I have anything to say about it, I'm going to be seeing a lot more of her. And doing a lot more of this—her hand in mine, doing good work together, talking about nothing and everything.
This could be something real. Something that lasts.
Which means...
Fuck.
She's going to have to meet Blake.
9
REID
I've been staring at my phone for ten minutes, and I still haven't typed anything.
Four fucking days.
