Page 70 of What We Break
My phone buzzes again. Different number this time, probably another client wanting to know when their precious antique will be ready. I don't bother checking.
The coffeemaker's probably done its thing by now. Reid's probably stumbling out of bed. Early mornings are a habit that didn't stick with Reid. Mornings aren't a problem for me. Neither are late nights. Sleep is the fucking problem. But the more tired I am, the easier it is to fall asleep, the easier it is to keep the nightmares at bay.
I pull on my boots and head outside, workshop door slamming behind me. It's a good walk to the house—hundred feet of gravel and grass that gives me time to finish waking up, and work the rest of the kinks out of my back. I should move my bed into the shop. It would be a fuck of a lot better for me. But it would probably send Reid over the edge.
The kitchen smells like actual food when I walk in. Reid's at the stove with his phone in his hand, reading something that's got him grinning like a damn fool. I don't even have to guess what's got him smiling.
Laine. Laine of the blonde hair and the sunny smile. She's the reason he's so happy lately. Also the reason he's actually awake at this time of morning.
"Morning," I grunt, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
"There he is." Reid doesn't look up from his phone, but I can hear the grin in his voice. "Sleep well in your luxury accommodations?" He flips a spatula in his hand—nervous energy, always moving. There's a bite in his words, a frustration that's old and simmering. But he's not going to push it. Not this early.
"Like a rock." I pour coffee that's strong enough to strip paint, just the way I like it. "You're up early."
"Laine just got off her shift. She's complaining about some asshole attending." Reid glances up from his phone, and there it is—that stupid grin that's been plastered on his face for weeks now. "Says thanks for letting her use the golf clubs yesterday, by the way."
"She can keep 'em. I don't use the damn things."
"You sure? They're nice clubs."
"Positive." I lean against the counter, letting the coffee work its magic. They are nice clubs. A birthday present from Jared's dad. Reid's dad. But I only used them a few times. I felt like a third fucking wheel every time he invited me to golf with them. "How was it? The golf thing."
Reid's whole face changes when he talks about her. Goes soft around the edges in a way I haven't seen before. That look on his face has my guts twisting.
"It was perfect, man." Reid's practically bouncing, abandoning whatever he was cooking to lean against the counter facing me. "She's got this competitive streak, turns out. And she doesn't take any bullshit, which is good because the guys were giving her plenty." He's gesturing with the spatula now, punctuating his words. "She fits, you know?"
Yeah. I can see that. She's not like any woman he's ever been with. She's not like any woman I've met either.
"Good for you," I say, trying to mean it. I want him happy, I really do. I just didn't expect to feel this way about it.
"Yeah." Reid sits down across from me, still smiling. "She is."
Something in his voice makes me look up. There's weight there, something more than just talking about a good time.
Fuck. "You getting serious about her?"
Reid pauses, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. "Yeah, I think so." He studies my face. "That gonna be a problem?"
"Why would it be a problem?"
"Because if this goes where I think it's going, things might change around here. She might want to stay over more, spend time here. Eventually..." He shrugs, but his leg's bouncing under the table. Nervous. "Hell, I don't know. Maybe she moves in. But this is your home too."
Your home.It's a nice thought. But I don't think it's true. Yeah, I put money in. But I don't have a home. Haven't for a long time. Home means safety and peace, and there's no more peace for me.
"Reid, I want you to be happy. If she makes you happy, then fuckyeah, go for it." I set down my cup. "Besides, might not matter much anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Got some calls yesterday. Three new projects, all big money. Brownstone in Boston needs all its molding restored. Victorian mansion in Savannah with water damage. Some rich prick in Seattle bought a door from France at auction, wants it 'made magnificent.'"
Reid's eyebrows go up. "Blake, that's—holy shit, man. That's huge."
"Big money, long timeline. Yeah."
"A brownstone in Boston? A mansion in Savannah?" He's grinning now, genuinely excited for me. That's Reid—can't help but be happy for other people, even when his own life is in flux. "Your business is really taking off."
"Yeah." I guess I should be more excited, but it's just a way to pass the time. A way to put food on the table. And if I'm honest with myself, working is the only thing worth waking up for.
