Page 206 of What We Break
She asked me that. She looked right at me and asked me that.
I almost laughed. If only it were that simple. If I were in love with Reid, this would just be a tragedy. But being in love withher? Being in love with the one thing Reid has found that makes him happy? That’s not a tragedy. That’s a betrayal.
And I just made it worse.
I told her Reid begged me to stay. I shouldn't have told her that? I wanted her to know I tried. I wanted credit, like a selfish prick.See? I’m not the bad guy. I tried to go.
But I am the bad guy. I stayed.
My eyes drift to the glove compartment.
I know what's in there. The Glock 19. Loaded. Ready.
I reach over and pop the latch. It falls open. The gun sits there, black and heavy on top of the registration papers.
I pick it up. It’s cold.
It would be so easy. Drive out to the logging roads. Park somewhere deep in the treeline where nobody goes. One shot.
The noise in my head would stop. The constant, grinding guilt would stop. Laine would be free of me. Reid would be free of me.
I thumb the safety.
Do it. Just fucking do it.
But then I see Reid's face. Not the Reid from today, angry and confused. The Reid from seven years ago. Standing over a closed casket, trying to figure out how to breathe without his brother.
He's already buried Jared.
If I do this — if I leave him with a note and a mess to clean up — it breaks him. Not the kind of broken you come back from. The permanent kind. He'll spend the rest of his life replaying every conversation, every missed sign, asking himself why he wasn't enough to keep me here.
I know because that's what I do. Every day. With Jared.
I can't put that on him.
"Fuck," I whisper, and the word tears a jagged hold on its way out.
I put the gun back. Snap the glove box shut.
My hands are shaking. I grip the steering wheel until they stop.
I can't leave the easy way. So I have to leave the hard way.
I have to make him let me go.
I don't know how long I sit there before I finally start the engine. The truck rumbles to life, vibrating through the seat. I need to go back to the workshop. I need to pack. If I can just get through tonight, maybe I can call Hatch back in the morning. Maybe I can convince Reid that this isn't about Laine—that it's about the money, or the mission, or just me being restless.
If I make him angry enough, maybe he’ll open the door himself.
I pull out of the lot, driving on autopilot.
I’ll go back to the shop. I’ll finish sanding that cabinet. I’ll work until my arms are numb and my brain shuts off. And tomorrow, I’ll find a way to disappear without destroying them.
Everyone leaves,I told her.
I just have to make sure I’m the only one who does.
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