Page 23 of What We Break
"It's okay. Well, no, it's not okay, but... you know what I mean."
I do. Some losses never stop hurting. You just get used to the weight of them.
"So you became a Paramedic because of him?"
"Partly. I was a combat medic over there, and I liked that part of my job. Also, because after I was discharged, I needed to do something that mattered, you know? After everything that happened over there, I needed to come home and help people instead of..."
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
I get it. The scales thing. Needing them to balance. It's the whole reason I became a nurse — years of watching my parents hammer nails into churches for strangers, and somewhere in there I decided I wanted to help people too. Just not with a nail gun and a hymn.
The waitress materializes with a coffee pot. "You two ready to order, or are you just here for the ambiance?" There's snark in hervoice, but the good kind. The kind that says I like you enough to give you a hard time.
"The ambiance is pretty great." I don't even glance at the menu. "But I'm about twenty minutes from a medical emergency. Pancakes, please. And more coffee."
"Pancakes for me too. And bacon. Extra bacon. Actually —" Reid holds up a finger. "Is there a limit on bacon? Because I don't want to be that guy, but I will absolutely be that guy."
The waitress snorts. "Honey, I've seen you eat. I'll bring the whole pig."
"Donna, you're a saint." He clutches his chest dramatically. "An angel sent from above."
She swats him with her notepad, but she's smiling as she walks away. So he really is a regular. Not justI've been here beforeregular —she knows his appetiteregular.
I've never had that. Not in fourteen countries or ten years of travel nursing.
Yet. You don't have it yet. That's the whole point of staying.
"So," I say, "tell me about your living situation. Do you have roommates, or are you one of those guys with a bachelor pad that's all black leather and beer signs?"
Reid laughs. "Neither, actually. I live with my best friend Blake. We bought a house together a few years ago."
"You bought a house with your best friend?"
"The whole thing. Four level split, three bedrooms on two acres. Blake's got a workshop out back."
I blink. Two guys co-signing a mortgage. That's not grabbing beers on a Friday. That's joint tax implications. That's whose-turn-is-it-to-call-the-plumber levels of commitment.
"How long have you known him?"
"Forever, basically. We served together. After Jared died, Blake and I... needed each other I guess."
Needed each other. He just says it. No flinching. No cough to cover it up. No rush to add some qualifier about it being no big deal. Just drops it on the table like it's obvious. Like it costs him nothing.
Most guys I've dated would rather chew glass than admit they needed another man for anything beyond moving a couch.
"Sounds like you two are close."
"Yeah, we are. He's like a brother to me." Reid grins. "Actually, people joke about it sometimes. We probably spend more time together than most married couples."
"Really?"
"We work on the house together, eat dinner together most nights, share all the bills. Blake's always giving me shit about work, and I'm always telling him to get some sleep because he works too much."
"That does sound pretty domestic."
His grin lights up his whole face. "Right? Sometimes I think we're like an old married couple, except without the benefits."
I laugh. But something snags. Like a hangnail catching on fabric.
