Page 89 of What We Break
"Or it could be a heart attack." My voice cracks on the last word. "Mom, I need to be there."
I'm already moving toward my bedroom, brain shifting into triage mode. Passport — top drawer. Suitcase — hall closet. Clothes for tropical heat. Chargers, adapters, cash — "I'm coming. I'll get on the next flight."
"Honey, you don't need to?—"
"Yes, I do. Mom, you can't handle this alone."
Reid appears at my side. His hands find my shoulders, and I let them. Calluses pressing through my t-shirt like little anchors.
"Mom, I love you. Tell Dad I'm coming. I'll call you from the airport."
I hang up and start pacing. Two connections minimum. Seoul or Bangkok. Eighteen hours in the air if I'm lucky, and that's a big if because when am I ever lucky? I need to call Joyce. Figure out coverage. Pack for — what, a week? A month? How do you pack for something like this?
"Laine." That voice. Calm. Steady. The first responder voice. Not the guy who was reading the sports section five minutes ago — the paramedic. "What happened?"
"My dad collapsed. They think it's his heart." The words come out wrong — jagged, too fast, like I'm reading off a list of symptoms instead of talking about my own father. "They're driving him to the hospital now. I have to go."
"Okay." Reid nods, his hands still on my shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles. No panic. No questions I can't answer yet. Just — okay. "Where are they?"
"Cambodia. They're building a church outside Siem Reap." I yank open a dresser drawer, nearly pulling it right off the track. Underwear. Socks. How many days? How many weeks? Maybe I should take all the panties. You can never have too many pairs. "I need to get online, book flights. God, it's going to take forever to get there."
Reid follows me but doesn't try to stop me. He's right there, though. I can feel him like a hum at my back, all that restless energy radiating off him in waves. His hands open and close at his sides. Reaching without reaching.
I can't think about him right now. I can't let myself think about anything but my dad.
I cross to the closet and yank my suitcase out. The same suitcase I've lived out of for ten years.
There you are. Thought I was done with you.
"Laine, stop for a second."
"I can't stop. I need to pack, I need to call work, I need to?—"
"You need to think." Reid's voice is gentle but firm. He catches my hands — both of them — and pulls them to his chest so I can feel his heartbeat. Steady. Calm. Everything I'm not right now. "I know you want to get to them as fast as possible. But rushing into booking flights when you're panicked isn't going to help anyone."
He's doing the paramedic thing. Slowing me down so I can breathe. And it's working and I kind of hate that it's working.
"Reid, this is my dad."
"I know. And I know what it feels like to get that call." His eyes are serious, and something moves behind them. Old pain. Carefully boxed up but never gone. Jared. His mom.
He knows what I'm afraid of. He's lived the version where the call doesn't end well.
My hands tighten on his shirt. "Reid..."
"That's why I'm saying slow down for just a minute and talk it out." He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me properly. His heartbeat lands against my cheek. Steady. Calm. How is he always so calm? "Make sure you're making the right decisions. Tell me what your Mom said."
He's not trying to stop me from going. He's not dismissing it or minimizing it. He's just trying to help me think clearly.
"Okay," I say, taking the breath he suggested, then another. "Okay." I give him the rundown — the construction site, the collapse, the clinic doctor's best guess, the hours-long drive to a real hospital. His face fills with sympathy, but he doesn't interrupt.
"What do I do?" My voice breaks and I hate it. "I want to be there. I want to hold his hand and kiss his cheek." A sob shudders out before I can pull it back — raw and ugly and completely beyond my control.
Reid tugs me closer, his hand cradling the back of my head. I bury my face in his neck and just breathe. Everything feels like it's sliding sideways.
Don't fall apart. Not yet. There's too much I don't know.
He rocks me gently, and when my breathing evens out, speaks. "I'm thinking your mom said they don't know what's wrong yet. And you said they're almost at the hospital now. You might be in the air right when they're getting real answers." Reid pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands framing my face. His thumbs brush the tears off my cheeks. "What if we wait a couple hours? Let them get there, let the doctors examine him, see what they say before you commit to flying halfway around the world?"
