Page 1 of What We Brave
1
REID
Week One
Itext her seventeen times the first day. Seventeen. I count them later, staring at my phone screen, on the verge of puking, at the wall of blue bubbles with no response underneath.
Laine, please. Just let me explain.
I kicked him out. He's gone. It's just us now.
I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. I should have listened.
Please don't throw us away because of my mistakes.
The silence is deafening. No read receipts. No typing indicators. Nothing.
I drive to her apartment that night and sit in my truck for two hours, watching her windows. The lights are on, so I know she's home. I know she can see my truck if she looks out. But she doesn't come down.
Tony finds me on shift the next morning looking like I haven't slept. Which I haven't.
"Jesus, Reid. You look like hell."
"Blake's gone." The words taste like ash. "Laine broke up with me. It's over."
"What happened?"
I try to explain, but the words get tangled up. How do I tell him that my best friend spent three months systematically tearing apart the woman I love while I defended him? How do I admit that I chose Blake every single time she tried to tell me what was happening?
How do I admit that I failed her?
"Give her some space," Tony says. "Let her cool off."
But I can't. The thought of space, of silence, of letting her slip further away makes my chest feel like it's caving in. I need to fix this. I need to make her understand that everything's different now. That I was fucking blind, but not because I didn't love her. Because I am a codependent piece of shit. But it was never about her.
I write her a letter that night. I haven't written a letter since a pen pal project in the eighth grade. My handwriting sucks. But in the end, I have six pages of everything I should have said, everything I should have done. I explain about Jared, about why I protected Blake, about how losing my brother made me desperate to keep what was left of my family together. I pour my heart onto the page until my hand cramps.
I don't send it. Instead, I drive to her apartment again and sit in my truck, reading it over and over until the words blur together.
It's excuses. All of it. I shove it into the glovebox. She deserves more than excuses.
She deserves everything.
I go home, but the silence in the house is different now. It’s not just the lack of Laine’s laughter. It’s the silence coming from the backyard.
No table saw whining. No heavy boots on the stairs. No smell of sawdust.
I walk past the workshop window and force myself not to look. I’m still furious at him. The rage is a living thing in my gut. But then I remember where he’s going. I remember the look of his split lip and the blood on his hands.
Kabul.
He’s heading back to the sandbox because I told him to get out. I sent my brother back to hell because I couldn't handle the truth.
I shove that thought down deep. I can’t deal with Blake. Not yet. I have to fix Laine first. If I get Laine back, the rest of the world stops spinning.
Week Two
The florist knows me by name now. White roses on Monday because they mean new beginnings. Pink on Wednesday because they're less dramatic than red. Yellow on Friday because they're supposed to be friendly, non-threatening.
