Page 201 of What We Break
It's for his own good, though. We'll fix this. We'll make it okay.
"Thank you. Seriously. I just... I need you around."
"I know," Blake says to the wood. "I'm here."
"And the Laine thing?" I ask. "Can you just... try? For me?"
Blake's hand tightens on the sanding block until his knuckles turn white.
"Yeah, Reid. I'll try."
"Thanks, brother." I clap him on the shoulder. He doesn't lean into it. Doesn't give at all. Might as well be slapping a fence post. "I'm gonna crash. Long day."
"Night," Blake says.
He doesn't look up as I leave. He just starts sanding. Shhh-shhh-shhh.
I pause on the porch, listening to it. The rhythm is too fast. Too hard.
It sounds angry.
I don't fucking care. If he stays here, he's safe, and that's all that matters. Everything else we can figure out.
40
LAINE
"So, let me get this straight," Jamila says, her manicured nail tapping a rhythmic click-click-click against the stem of her martini glass. "He told his roommate — his male roommate — about things you told him in private?"
"Yeah. I told Reid things that were private," I say, stirring the ice in my tea until it clinks against the glass. "I guess Reid told Blake when he was feeling vulnerable. To get advice."
I look down at my drink. I shouldn't be here. I should be in bed. I told Reid I was exhausted — that I was going straight to sleep. It was a lie, and I felt horrible about it the second I said it. But I needed to breathe. After he left my apartment an hour ago, the silence just sat on me. I couldn't lie there staring at the ceiling, wondering what Reid and Blake were saying about me.
So I texted Jamila.Emergency drinks. Murphy's. Please.
And now, instead of sleeping, I'm dissecting my relationship under the fluorescent lights of a sports bar.
"That's not advice, Laine. That's intel." Jamila's eyes narrow. She's wearing a sharp blazer that probably costs more than my car, and right now she looks like she wants to file a class-action lawsuit against ReidGarrison. "You don't hand over your girlfriend's emotional baggage to your best friend so he can use it as ammo."
Exactly what I think. But that loyal part of me still can't help defending him. "Reid didn't know Blake would use it."
"Reid is thirty-five, not fifteen. He should know better." Jamila sighs, her expression softening just a fraction. She reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. "Honey, you aren't dating a man. You're dating a committee. And the chairman of the board just vetoed you."
I look down at my salad.
Dating a committee.
That's the thing that lands. Because I thought I was building a life with Reid. Something just for us. But apparently there's a third vote in every decision. A third presence in the bed.
"I’m just... I’m tired, T," I admit, the fight draining out of me. "I love him. When it's just us, it's magic. But it's never just us. Blake is always there. Even when he's not in the room, he's in Reid's head."
"And now he's in yours," Jamila points out.
A roar of laughter erupts from the pool tables in the back. I look over and spot Jamila's wife Kerry holding court. She’s in her element—flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows, pool cue resting on her shoulder like a scepter. She’s high-fiving a guy in a biker jacket while simultaneously winking at the bartender to send over another round.
She is the Mayor of Murphy’s. I don't think she pays for drinks half the time; people just buy them for the privilege of being in her orbit.
She catches my eye across the room, beams, and points at our table.Coming in hot.
