Page 57 of What We Break
After things went to hellcould mean a lot of things. Did he fall into a bottle? Stop eating? Stop answering the door? I'm craving details — not out of morbid fascination. I just care. I care about both of them in a way that surprises me, given that I met Blake approximately forty-five minutes ago.
Reid clears his throat. "Blake was stationed in North Carolina at the time. It took him a while to get his discharge sorted, but he sold everything and moved out here."
Blake's still got that shuttered look on his face. But I have to know. "You just... packed up your life?"
A shrug. "Wasn't much of a life. Military housing, a truck, some tools. Not exactly a white picket fence."
Reid looks up from his plate. "He showed up at my apartment at two in the morning with everything he owned in the back of his pickup."
"Place was a shithole," Blake adds flatly. "Reid was living on beer and whatever crap the gas station sold. Hadn't answered his phone in weeks."
"I was fine," Reid protests, but there's no heat in it.
"Bullshit." Blake's voice is rough. "You weren't fucking fine."
I watch them go back and forth, and something clicks into place. There's no tough-guy filter, no cleaning up the truth to protect their pride. Blake doesn't make Reid's breakdown sound better than it was, and Reid doesn't get mad about being called out. They're sharing their worst moments — the kind of personal stuff that most people would rather die than tell a stranger.
And they're tellingme.On a first dinner. Like they've already decided I'm safe enough for the unedited version.
That's either deeply trusting or deeply reckless. Either way, I'll hold space for both of them.
"So you moved in together?"
"For a while," Blake says. "Found this place. Foreclosure. Needed work, but the bones were good. Made sense to pool resources."
"This is your hometown, right?" I ask Reid.
"Born and raised. Blake's been here most of his life too. Jared always said if anything happened to him, we needed to stick together." Reid's voice gets quieter. "He was right. After he died, we were both kind of..." He looks at Blake, seeming at a loss.
Blake doesn't help him. Just stares at his plate.
"But you weren't just guys who served together," I say to Blake. "You came looking for Reid."
Blake meets my eyes, gaze fierce. "He's my brother. Blood doesn't mean shit."
"Even when family is being a stubborn jackass who won't answerhis phone," Reid adds. His smile is small, but real, and he reaches over to shove Blake's shoulder. The gesture is rough and affectionate at the same time.
Blake's face is back to granite, but he shoves Reid back. "Especially then."
I get it now. The stoic face isn't empty. It's full. Too full. He's holding it all behind that wall because if he didn't, it would flood everything.
It's clear how much they care about each other — steady, built on everything they've been through together. The kind of solid you only get when you've survived real darkness and come out the other side still holding on.
"Besides," Blake says, taking the cutlery back off his plate and reaching for seconds, "Reid's the only asshole who'll put up with me sleeping in the workshop and tracking sawdust everywhere."
"You could sleep in your actual bedroom," Reid points out.
"Workshop's more comfortable."
"Your back disagrees."
"My back is fine."
Is it weird that I kind of love the bickering?
Reid'sout of his chair now, acting out Blake's increasingly creative swearing during some garbage disposal disaster, complete with sound effects and dramatic reenactment. He's fully committed — crouching on the floor, miming duct tape application, narrating Blake's internal monologue in a gruff voice that sounds nothing like Blake but is somehow perfect.
I'm wiping tears from my eyes. All the pots are scraped clean of food, both guys having gone back for thirds. Thank goodness I'm a horrible judge of portions. I think I could have doubled it and they still would have eaten every bit.
