Page 12 of What We Brave
"There was so much good, Joyce. The volunteering together, the way he made me laugh, how safe I felt with him. Even the quiet mornings reading the newspaper." I wrap my arms around myself against the cold. "I keep wondering if it's time to talk to him."
She's quiet for a long moment. "Is it talking you want, or something more?"
"I don't know. Maybe both?" I shake my head. "I've been thinking about what you said before, about not making myself smaller. I did that with Blake, but with Reid..." I search for the right words. "Reid never asked me to be smaller. He celebrated who I was."
"Until he didn't protect you from someone who was trying to tear you down."
Ouch.But she's right. "He didn't know. I never really explained how bad it was getting."
"Honey." Her voice is gentle but firm. "A man who loves you should notice when you're hurting. Even if you don't say the words."
I want to argue. To defend him. But by the end, I was barely sleeping, dreading going to his house, walking on eggshells around Blake. How could Reid not see?
He screwed up. But is it unforgivable?
And even if I forgave him, there's still the big hairy elephant in the room.
Blake.
I haven't let myself think about his confession that night. Not really. It was easier to believe he was lying—either to me or to himself. But when I think about those moments we had together, the tense, charged air in the kitchen and his workshop...
Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe there was something there. Something real. Something I didn't want to look at too closely.
Because there was no good way through it. Someone was always going to end up shattered.
Congratulations, everyone. We all managed to shatter.
But still. I can't stop wanting to talk to Reid. I miss him too much.
"So you think talking to Reid is a bad idea?"
Joyce shakes her head. "I think you need to be honest about what you want from that conversation. Closure? An apology? Or are you hoping to fix something that might not be fixable?"
I don't have an answer. And that probably tells us both everything we need to know.
"I don't think I can close that door. Not until we finally talk." I stare at the pavement. "I don't know what will come out of it, but I think it's something I have to do. Maybe not today. Maybe I'll think on it a bit longer."
"That's smart," Joyce says, pushing off from her car. "Time has a way of clarifying things we can't see when we're too close."
She pulls me into a quick hug—antiseptic and lavender lotion. "Get some sleep, honey. And don't overthink yourself into circles."
My apartment feels too quiet after the chaos of the ER. I flip on the TV for background noise and wander to the kitchen, opening cabinets without purpose. The leftover pizza in my fridge doesn'tappeal, so I make toast instead, eating it standing at the counter while two morning anchors smile with their whole faces except their foreheads.
Seriously. Their foreheads don't move at all. It's unsettling.
The shower washes away the hospital smell but doesn't quiet my brain. I towel off, pull on my softest pajamas—the ones with tiny clouds, worn thin from too many washes—and climb into bed.
I stare at the ceiling.
Seattle General has an opening. I saw the posting last week. Good pay, day shift, fresh start. No more driving past Reid's street. No more memories ambushing me in the grocery store cereal aisle.
But leaving feels like running. And I promised myself I was done with that.
Besides.I love the life I'm building here. If it weren't for Reid, I'd be thinkingforeverabout this place.
But how do I stay, knowing he's out there hurting? Knowing Blake is... wherever Blake is?
I roll onto my side and pull the pillow over my head.
