Page 98 of What We Break
She turns back to the wall, and I turn back to the pipes, but my hands are shaking. Just a little.
I’m in trouble. I’m in so much goddamn trouble.
20
LAINE
"Ican't believe we got that much done," Reid says, reaching for another spring roll. He's already had four — I've been counting — and shows no signs of slowing down. "Blake, your estimate of 'all day' was way off."
Thank god that didn't take all day. My arms are sore in that way that reminds me I haven't done manual labor in an embarrassingly long time. Maybe I can convince Reid to give me a massage later. That's a normal thing to ask, right? Totally normal.
Reid's chair is pulled close to mine, his knee pressed against my thigh under the table. Every few minutes his hand finds me. A squeeze on my shoulder. A brush along my arm. His palm settling on my back for just a second before it's gone again.
And every single time, I lean into it like some kind of touch-starved stray. Cool. Very dignified, Laine.
"That's because I didn't account for Laine actually knowing what she's doing," Blake says.
He shoots me a grin. Quick. Almost reluctant, like it escaped before he could stop it.
I grip the edge of my chair because apparently my body hasdecided that's the appropriate response to him giving me an unsolicited compliment.
I'd hoped we made some progress today. But this? This is better than progress. This is Blake admitting — out loud, with witnesses — that I'm not a complete liability. Someone should be writing this down. Carving it into stone. Something.
Reid's hand lands on my knee under the table. Squeezes once.Did you see that?the touch says. Progress.
"Hey," I say, acting butthurt. "I told you I grew up on construction sites."
"You also told us you knew your way around a pipe wrench," Reid adds, pointing a spring roll at me accusingly. "You didn't mention you could re-tile a wall faster than both of us combined. I felt personally attacked by your competence. Blake had to comfort me."
"I did not comfort you," Blake says flatly.
"You handed me a beer. That's comfort."
"That was to shut you up."
"Emotional support beer. Same thing."
Blake nods, ignoring Reid entirely. "Seriously. Where'd you learn to cut tile like that?"
I like the way they're both looking at me right now. "My dad. He used to say if you're going to do something, learn to do it right the first time. We built a lot of bathrooms over the years."
"Your parents sound like impressive people," Blake says quietly. He's stopped eating, his chopsticks resting on the edge of his container. Actually looking at me, not through me.
Reid's thumb traces a small circle on my knee.
"They are. Stubborn as hell, but impressive." I pause, then — "Actually, Dad just gave us a pretty good scare. He collapsed at a job site in Cambodia a few weeks ago."
Blake's expression shifts. Something sharpens behind his eyes. "He okay?"
"Yeah. Tests came back — exhaustion, dehydration, minor cardiac irregularity. Manageable with medication." I shrug, going for casual, but my voice does that thing where it gets a little too careful. "Doctors told him to slow down."
"I'm guessing he's not slowing down," Blake says.
A laugh pushes out of me. "Mom sent me a photo two days ago. He's back on the construction site. Wearing a hat now, though. So. Progress." Reid squeezes my knee again, and I lean into him.
Blake's watching us. Then he looks at me. "Glad he's okay."
Three words. But from Blake, that's a whole speech.
