Page 136 of What We Break
My stomach turns. I have to apologize. I'll find a way to make it right—blame it on a bad night, too much whiskey, not enough sleep. Whatever she'll believe. I can't let her think I'm actually that person.
Except I am. That's exactly who I am now.
There's a small, ugly voice somewhere in the back of my skull whispering that maybe it's better this way. If she thinks I'm cruel, she'll stay away. Stop being kind. Stop looking at me like I'm someone worth looking at.
Maybe then I could breathe.
I kill it. Shove it down so hard my jaw aches. I'm not that guy. I'm not going to hurt someone on purpose just because I can't get my own shit together.
That's not who Gramps raised me to be.
I grab the sanding block. Pull the mantelpiece toward me. Wood smooth under my fingers. Grain perfect. Finish doesn't need a damn thing.
I sand it anyway. Back and forth. Back and forth. Hands steady now. Head quieting down.
I'll apologize. Soon. I'll fix this.
I have to.
Because if I don't—if I let myself become the kind of man who hurts people on purpose just to protect himself—then there's nothing left of me worth saving.
28
LAINE
"You sure you don't mind me tagging along?" I ask Reid as we pull into the Pine Street camp parking area. "I know this is your thing with Danny."
"Our thing, Sunshine." Reid's already halfway out of the truck before the engine dies, grabbing the medical supply bag from behind his seat while somehow also checking his phone and unwrapping a granola bar. "You've been coming longer than I have. Danny specifically requested you tonight. I think he's trying to steal you from me. Should I be worried? He's got that whole 'dedicated nonprofit guy' vibe going."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it." He grins at me over the hood of the truck, granola bar clenched in his teeth while he shoulders the supply bag. "Ready for another Saturday night in paradise?"
The Pine Street camp looks the same as always—a collection of tents and makeshift shelters tucked under the highway overpass. Not pretty, but dry and relatively safe. Danny's been building relationships here for three years. People trust him, which means they trust the medical care we provide.
"Laine! Reid!" Danny waves us over to where he's unloadingsupplies from his van. "Perfect timing. We've got a good crowd tonight."
"Danny boy!" Reid jogs over and claps him on the shoulder. "Please tell me someone brought food."
"There's pizza coming in an hour."
"You're a saint. An actual saint. I'm nominating you for something."
Maybe twenty people are already gathering around Danny's setup. Some I recognize—Margaret with her shopping cart full of everything she owns, James checking his blood sugar with the meter we helped him get last month, Tessa looking healthier than she did when she first showed up here.
And then I spot someone I wasn't expecting.
Blake.
He's crouched next to an older guy I don't recognize, talking low. The man's hands are shaking, jaw tight, but Blake's not rushing him. He's just there. Shoulders loose, head angled toward the guy like the rest of the room doesn't exist.
"Blake's here."
"Yeah, he comes when he can get away from work." Reid's already heading toward Danny with supplies. "He's good with the vets. Has a way of talking to guys who've been through similar stuff."
Blake speaks quietly, and the older man's shoulders ease down a fraction. Blake's hands are open, unhurried. Patient in a way I haven't seen from him in weeks. I want to hear what he's saying.
"You didn't mention he volunteered here."
