Page 57 of What We Brave
But even in corpse pose, my brain won't stop.
Why did you kiss me?
Because I had to know.
Know what?
If it was real.
God. What is wrong with me? Reid is trying. Really trying. He apologized. He's giving me space. He's doing everything right. There's a possibility there. And what do I do? I kiss his best friend. His brother. The man who spent months making me feel worthless.
I kissed Blake Moore.
And oh my god, I want to do it again. This is so wrong. I'm so wrong.
"Okay," Jamila says as we roll up our mats. "You're really off today. Like, spectacularly off. Even for you."
"Thanks."
"I mean it." She studies my face with concern. "Smoothie? Breakfast? Both?"
"Yes," I say, and the desperation in my voice surprises us both. "Please. I need—yes."
Twenty minutes later, we're tucked into a corner booth at the same place Reid took me on our first date. The irony isn't lost on me. Jamila orders pancakes. I order coffee and nothing else because my stomach is a knot of shame and confusion.
"So," Jamila says, wrapping her hands around her mug. "Talk to me."
I stare at the scratched tabletop. "I don't know where to start."
"The beginning usually works."
"The beginning was months ago."
She waits. Patient. The way good friends wait. I haven't actually had a lot of good friends, but I'm learning.
"You know Reid and I broke up," I finally say.
"You mentioned. Vaguely. Once." There's something in her voice—a slight edge I haven't heard before.
"I know. I'm sorry. I should have?—"
"Laine." She sets down her mug. "We've been friends for months. We do yoga together twice a week. We get smoothies. We text about good books and terrible Netflix shows. And when you went through what was clearly something huge, you just... disappeared. Said you and Reid split, and then changed the subject every time I tried to ask about it."
The hurt in her eyes makes my chest ache.
"I didn't mean to shut you out."
"But you did."
"I know." I wrap my hands around my own mug, needing something to hold onto. "I'm not... I'm new at this. Having friends. Real ones. The kind you actually tell things to."
"What do you mean?"
"I moved every year growing up. Sometimes more. I learned to keep things surface-level because what's the point of going deep with someone you'll never see again?" The words come out rough. "And then I was a travel nurse for a decade, same thing. I had work friends, sure. People to grab drinks with. But not people I called when things fell apart."
Jamila's expression softens slightly. "I'm not a work friend, Laine."
"I know that now. I think I knew it then too, I just..." I take a shaky breath. "I didn't know how to let you in. I'm out of practice. Or maybe I never learned in the first place."
