Page 52 of What We Brave
"You're something else, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
The heat lamp crackles. Somewhere behind us, the guitar player switches to a slower song. Blake's hand tightens around mine, just slightly, and I feel that tightening all the way up my arm.
"When I was over there," he says slowly, "I used to think about what I'd do if I made it home. Plans, you know? Lists. Stupid stuff, mostly. Learn to cook something besides eggs. Fix up a house so I finally had somewhere that was mine. Find someone who could put up with me."
"Did you? Find someone?" I am so screwed up. Why does the idea of him with someone bother me so much? I love Reid.
Love. Not loved. Because all those feeling are still there under the leftover hurt. So if I love Reid, why am I holding hands with Blake?
It's just platonic. I'm being a friend.
Liar liar pants on fire.
"Thought I wasn't looking anymore." His thumb traces a slow circle on my palm. "Figured I'd missed my window. Too damaged, too difficult, too?—"
"Too much?"
"Yeah." He exhales. "Too much. That's what my ex said, anyway. Before she left."
I didn't know there was an ex. Reid never mentioned it. Another thing I didn't ask about.
"When was that?"
"Long time ago. Before Jared. Before everything." He shrugs, the movement shifting me slightly on his knee. "Doesn't matter now."
But it does matter. It matters because Blake is opening up to me, telling me things I sense he doesn't tell anyone, and every word just makes me want to know more.
He's such a good man. Under all the harshness, all the walls, all the damage—he'sgood. He volunteers at a homeless camp. He took care of Reid without asking for anything in return. He held a dying soldier in his arms and still remembers his name, his family, his dreams.
And he hurt me. Deliberately, cruelly, because he didn't know how to handle what he was feeling.
But I'm starting to understand why.
Is this some version of Stockholm Syndrome? Am I delusional in thinking I could find my way to forgiving him?
Because I'm already mostly there. Not to mention the fact that I can't seem to stop myself from staring at his lips. His face is all sharp angles and harsh features, but his lips look so, so soft.
"Blake."
"Yeah?"
I should stop. Should think about what I'm doing, what it means, what happens next. Should consider Reid, consider the mess we've already made, consider all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
But Blake is looking at me with those stormy eyes, and his hand is warm around mine and the heat lamp is making everything glow orange and gold, and I'm so tired of thinking.
So tired of being careful.
So tired of not knowing.
I tug my hand from his and cup his face. His stubble scratches my palms. His breath catches and his eyes widen. But he doesn't pull away. If anything, he sways just a little bit closer.
That's as close to a yes as I'm going to get.
I kiss him.
Not a peck. Not a soft brush of our mouths that I could talk my way out of.Oh, sorry. I got a wee bit of the dizzy. My lips just fell on yours. Total accident. Oh. Um. I was grabbing your hair? Right. Well, I needed help balancing.
