Page 44 of What We Break
"What if a meteor hits the earth?" Blake interrupts. "What if the sun explodes? What if you spontaneously combust? What if you spend so much time worrying about what could go wrong that you miss out on what could go right?"
"This is different."
"How?"
"Because..." I pause, trying to find the words. "Because I could actually see a future with her. And I haven't felt that way about anyone since..."
"That fucking woman."
"Yeah."
Blake's watched me date casually for years, keeping things light, never getting invested. He's the one who used to give me shit about it, actually. Said I was missing out on something real. Which is rich, considering the man doesn't date at all. Says he's happy being a loner.
Maybe he is. Maybe he's happy in his workshop, with the friends he has left from his old unit. Maybe that's enough for him.
I don't think it's enough for me. Not anymore.
"Reid," he says finally, "do you remember what Jared used to say about taking risks?"
I rub the middle of my chest. I do remember. Jared had a whole philosophy about it, especially after we enlisted. He'd get this look on his face—half serious, half that shit-eating grin he always had—and he'd say the biggest risk wasn't dying. It was not living. Not taking chances on the things that mattered.
Pretty sure he got that shit off a cereal box.
"The only way to guarantee you'll lose is not to play."
"Right. And what would he say if he could see you now, sitting here afraid to call a woman who makes you happy because you might get hurt?"
The truth is, Jared would probably call me a chickenshit. He'd tell me to stop overthinking and start living. He'd remind me that life is short and unpredictable, and that wasting time being afraid is the stupidest thing you can do.
"He'd tell me to quit being an idiot."
"Damn right he would." Blake grins. "And so am I. Call her, Reid. Ask her out. See what happens."
"What if it doesn't work out?"
"Then it doesn't work out, and you deal with it. But at least you'll know you tried." Blake stands up, grabbing his coffee mug. He's already mentally back in the workshop—I can tell by the way his eyes go a little distant, probably thinking about whatever joint or finish he's working on. "And Reid?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't just call her. Plan something good. Show her you're serious about this and that you're really fucking sorry for the radio silence." He pauses at the doorway. "You deserve to be happy, man. Stop getting in your own way."
Then he's gone, the back door closing behind him.
I stare at the doorway for a second, then grab my phone from under the pillow. The cursor is still blinking in that empty text field, but this time I know what I want to say.
Hey, it's Reid. I know it's been a few days, but I was wondering if u want to grab dinner with me this weekend. Somewhere nice. Just the two of us
I read it three times. Four times. It's good. It's fine. It's not weird.
Just send it, you coward.
I hit send before I can change my mind.
Then I immediately want to throw my phone into the sun.
Then I wait.
And wait.
