Page 7 of What We Break
They aren't always. Looks like today's a good day. Honestly, we've both had more good days than bad in the last year. It finally feels like we're living again.
"1920s Craftsman. The original rot was worse than I thought, so I’m recreating the corbels from scratch."
"Fancy wood blocks. Nice." I poke him in the shoulder, leaving a clean spot in the dust on his shirt. "You sleep in the workshop again?"
The man rolls his eyes at me. "I wanted to get the glue-up done."
"Blake. We have beds. Soft beds. Inside the house. We bought this place specifically so you wouldn't have to sleep on a pile of 2x4s." We spent a few years in an apartment, and he rented a workshop across town. He slept there more than he did at home. It wasn't healthy. Moving here, to this property, was supposed to solve that problem. And it has, a bit. But McGrumpy here is still camping out on that couch more often than is healthy.
"I lose track of time."
"You're gonna turn into a tree. Just moss and bark everywhere. Birds nesting in your beard." I finish my coffee in one long gulp and set the mug down with a definitivethud. "Danny texted me. Wants to know if I'm in for poker Friday."
"You working?"
"Nah, I'm off. But Danny's getting cocky. Said he figured out my tell."
Blake snorts, a sound that’s more bark than laugh. He finally sets the pencil down. "Everyone knows your tell, Reid. You hum Taylor Swift when you have a good hand."
"That is a lie! I am a vault! I am a mystery wrapped in an enigma!" Taylor is a goddess.
"You are a golden retriever wrapped in a paramedic's uniform," Blake counters, leaning back in his chair. "You have no poker face. If you're happy, you're beaming. If you're bluffing, you look like you're trying to hold in a sneeze. You're the easiest mark at the table."
I gasp and press a hand to my chest at the betrayal. "Then why do I keep winning?"
Blake looks at me, and his expression softens, turning serious for a second. The laughter drops away, replaced by that heavy, observantlook he gets. "Because you know exactly whattheyare holding before they do. You can't hide your own shit, but you read other people better than anyone I know."
I pause, the compliment catching me off guard. I rub the back of my neck. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. It’s why you’re good at the job. You see things. Changes in breathing, the way someone holds their arm, the panic in their eyes."
"Jared used to say that."
"Jared was right."
His name hangs in the air, comfortable. It used to be a landmine, something we stepped around, but now it’s just a part of us. We sit in that easy silence for a second. The two idiots who survived.
"Alright," I clap my hands together, breaking the moment before it gets too heavy. "I gotta get ready. The citizens of this fair city need saving. Or at least a ride to the hospital."
"Go shower. You smell like ass."
"I smell like musk and potential!" I shout, heading for the stairs.Okay, and a little bit of ass.
I shower fast, scrubbing the grogginess away. When I come back downstairs in my uniform, the sun is lower, the kitchen bathed in deep orange light. Blake has moved to the living room, sanding a piece of trim by hand. The rhythmicshhh-shhhof the sandpaper is the only sound in the house.
"Try to sleep in your own bed tonight," I tell him, grabbing my keys and spinning them around my finger. "The mattress misses you. It told me. It was very emotional."
"We'll see. Hell, I might even sleep in tomorrow," Blake says without looking up, but I can see the smirk. "Just in case, try not to slam the front door off its hinges when you get home."
"I’ll be quiet as a mouse," I promise, which is a lie, and we both know it. I have never done anything quietly in my life.
I’m halfway out the door when he calls my name.
"Hey, Reid?"
"Yeah?" I pause, hand on the frame.
"Be careful out there."
