Page 199 of What We Break
But there's the smallest hesitation before she says it. A hesitation that's never been there before.
It scares the shit out of me.
"You sure I can't stay. We can have a snuggle. I can rub your back till you fall asleep."
She bites her lip, and slowly shakes her head.
She can't slip away. I can't let her. "I'll call you tomorrow?" I ask.
Then I get a tiny smile. But it doesn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Kissing her cheek, I breathe her in. "Night Baby." Then I let myself out. Walking to my truck, the guilt churns in my stomach. I need to fix this. And to fix this, I need to talk to Blake.
I drive homewith a pit in my stomach and find Blake in the workshop, bent over his workbench. The smell of wood stain andsawdust fills the air—usually comforting, but tonight it feels suffocating.
"Hey," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Blake looks up, pushes his safety glasses onto his forehead. He looks wrecked. Dark circles, tight jaw, like he hasn't slept in a week.
He's looked like that a lot lately. Fucker's got to take better care of himself.
"Hey. Thought you were staying at Laine’s."
"I was. But we need to talk."
Blake's whole body goes still. He sets down the sandpaper slowly, like he's bracing for impact. He's got to know what I'm going to say. "Yeah?"
"Laine thinks you don't like her."
I watch him closely. For a second, he doesn't breathe. He looks... waiting. Like he expects me to start yelling. But that's never been my style. Especially not with him. I can't even imagine being that angry with him. It would probably feel like yelling at my Dad or something.
"She says you've been cold," I continue. "She said you told her she was a flight risk."
Blake lets out a breath. His shoulders drop about an inch. It looks like relief? Or maybe resignation? I honestly have no idea.
"Is that all she said?" he asks.
"Isn't that enough? She feels unwelcome, Blake. She thinks we sit around analyzing her flaws."
"I don't hate her, Reid." He picks up a chisel, turning it over in his hands, staring at the steel edge. "But... maybe she's right. About the unwelcome part."
"What does that mean?" That's not what he was supposed to say. I step into the workshop, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in. "What the hell does that mean, Blake? And while we're at it - telling her she's a 'flight risk'? That was between us, man. I told you that because I was scared and needed my best friend to talk me down. I didn't give you permission to use it as ammunition against her."
Blake rubs at the back of his neck, staring at the sawdust covered floor. "Reid?—"
"No. You took something I shared with you and weaponized it. You hurt her with my own words. What the fuck, Blake?"
He won't look at me. Just keeps turning that chisel over and over like it's got all the answers.
"Jesus Christ." I run my hands through my hair. "She's the best thing that's happened to me, and you're what—trying to scare her off? Why would you do that?"
The silence stretches too long. My chest feels tight, like I can't get enough air in here with all the dust and fumes.
When he finally glances at me, his jaw is tight. "I think I need to clear out for a while."
My stomach drops. "Clear out?"
"I talked to Hatch," Blake says, not meeting my eyes. "He's got a contract. Security consulting for a reconstruction project in Afghanistan. Three months. Maybe four."
