Page 300 of What We Brave
"What about Laine? Laine gets a vote. Laine, burger?"
I open my eyes. Look at Reid — animated, sunburned, trail mix dust on his shirt. Then at Blake — stoic, sawdust-stained, holding my hand so sure in his. My guys. My ridiculous, impossible,mine, guys.
"Burger," I say because suddenly I'm starving.
"Yes.Two to one. Democracy wins."
"This isn't a democracy," Blake says.
"It literally is. We just voted."
"You railroaded a tired woman into agreeing with you."
"She's a strong, independent woman who made her own choice. Right, Laine?"
Now I'm giggling. "Right."
"See?"
Blake shakes his head. But his thumb is still moving against my wrist. And the corner of his mouth is doing the thing — that barely-there curve that means he lost and he doesn't mind. That means he'd eat a hundred terrible airport burgers if it meant sitting across from us while he did it.
The engine hums. The mountains fall away below us. Reid pops another chocolate chip. Offers one to Blake. Blake takes it.
"See?" Reid says. "Joy."
"It's a chocolate chip."
"It's amoment, Blake. Learn to appreciate moments."
Blake's jaw works. He looks out at the aisle like it personally offended him. But he eats the chocolate chip, then holds his hand out for another one.
God, I came so close to losing this.
Not because of them. Because of me.
Because I was too scared to tell my parents the truth. Because I made Blake invisible for two days. Because I almost let the fear of losing my family cost me the family I chose.
Never again.
I squeeze both their hands at the same time. Reid squeezes back without pausing his monologue about airport dining options. Blake's grip tightens — brief, fierce, then settles.
I almost cost myself this. I almost costthemthis. Because being brave was too hard and being careful felt safer, and I forgot that careful is just a prettier word for hiding.
No more hiding. No more dropping hands. No more introducing Blake as Reid's friend or dodging questions or performing a version of my life that's easier for other people to swallow.
This is my life. These are my people. And I'm done being anything but proud of them.
55
BLAKE
14 Months Later
“So Tony tells dispatch we're ten minutes out, but we're actually twenty because he missed the exit. Again. And I'm in the back with this guy who's convinced he's having a heart attack but it's actually a panic attack, and I'm trying to talk him down while Tony's doing a U-turn on a one-way?—"
I'm working mineral oil into a walnut cutting board when Laine gets home. Hairline crack running through the grain — most people wouldn't notice, but I can feel it under my thumb. Good piece. Just needs attention.
Reid's on the island. Not at it. On it. Legs swinging, heels thudding the cabinet doors, shoveling dry Cheerios out of a mixing bowl while he recaps his shift.
