Page 183 of What We Break
"You've barely touched your plate."
"Not that hungry."
Reid glances between us, and he finally registers the tension. His fork slows. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I say.
"Great," Laine says at the same time.
Reid looks at her, then at me. For a second, something flickers across his face—doubt, maybe, or the beginning of a question he doesn't want to ask. Then he shakes it off and launches into another story about Tony and a vending machine and a patient's hand.
And for just a minute, I hate him. He's so sure that if he pushes this hard enough, we'll magically turn into a family. The happy couple plus me.
Why can't he see that this shit isn't working? None of us are happy.
Laine’s laugh rings a little hollow, and he doesn't even hear it. She takes a sip of wine and I watch her throat move when she swallows. I can't keep my fucking eyes off of her.
I'm in hell.
Halfway through Reid's story, he heads to the bathroom. The moment he's out of the room, the air changes. Thickens.
Laine sets down her fork.
"Blake."
I can't look at her. "Yeah?"
She pulls in a deep breath. "I can't believe I have to ask this again. But here it goes. Did I do something wrong?"
The question is quiet. Almost tentative. Nothing like the woman who told me she holds grudges over shampoo. And I fucking hate that I'm the reason for that tentativeness. But I can't change it. It's survival.
"No."
"Then why won't you look at me?"
I make the mistake of meeting her eyes. She's not angry. She's not defensive. She's just—searching. Trying to understand something I can't let her understand.
"I'm looking at you."
She makes this little frustrated growl. "You know what I mean."
I do. That's the problem.
"Laine—"
"You look at me like you're in pain," she says. "Like being in the same room as me physically hurts you."
The words hit like a fist to the chest. I open my mouth—to deny it, to deflect, to say something sharp enough to make her stopseeingme?—
Reid walks back in with another bottle of wine.
"Who needs a refill?"
Laine holds out her glass, smile sliding back into place. "Please."
I push back from the table. "Bathroom."
The door closes behind me and I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my own reflection. My knuckles are white. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches.
