Page 80 of What We Brave
Reid's quiet for a long time. Long enough that the house settles around us, the old pipes ticking in the walls.
"Like it made sense." He says it on a rush of breath. Almost a groan. "Watching you kiss him. It just... made sense. And I don't know what kind of person that makes me. And that's fucking me up worse than the kiss."
Like it made sense.
Yeah. It did. Both kisses — Reid warm and familiar, Blake desperate and new — and instead of guilt or confusion or the sick twisted feeling I was bracing for, there was just... oh. Right. Yes.
Both of them. At the same time. And it made sense.
My hands are shaking. I press them flat against my thighs.
Because I've been here before. This feeling. Hours ago at the night market — Reid clearing the crowd, Blake at my back, me moving in the space they made. This is how we're supposed to work. I thought that. I actually thought that and then spent two hours pretending I didn't.
Blake winning me the penguin. The look on his face when he handed it over, like he'd slayed something for me instead of throwing darts at balloons. Reid charging off to the basketball booth because he couldn't stand not winning me something too. Both of them. Orbiting.
Stop it. You don't get to want both.
That's been the rule since this whole mess started. You pick one. That's how it works. Wanting both is greedy. Wanting both is what broken people do so they never have to actually commit.
Except Reid just said watching me kiss Blake made sense. And I'msitting here with the taste of both of them still on my lips thinking the exact same thing.
So either we're all broken, or the rule is wrong.
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
I can't be thinking this. I grew up in church basements. My parents build churches for a living. Literally. Hammer and nails and steeples pointed at heaven. I can't maintain one normal relationship — I've never even tried until this year — and now I'm sitting here thinking what if one isn't the right number?
But I am thinking it.
I've been thinking it for longer than that, if I'm being honest with myself, which apparently I'm doing tonight whether I like it or not. In Costa Rica, Maria at the clinic break room table, shrugging like it was nothing:I just have two people I come home to instead of one.Eight years. Groceries and mortgage payments and fights about the bathroom. Real life. Boring, committed, real life.
That's not us, though. We are a disaster. Blake spent months making me feel crazy. Reid went off the rails after we broke up. I'm sitting between two emotionally wrecked veterans, heart beating out of my chest and I'm thinking about — what? A throuple? Is that even the word?
But what's the alternative? We all walk away. Blake already said it —that ship has sailed and sunk and is currently rusting at the bottom of the ocean.He's done. He'll never try again. And Reid, without his anchor, spiraling into whoever he becomes when the people he loves disappear. And me. Packing my two suitcases. Finding the next city. The next temporary everything. Because as much as I'm building a life here, I don't think I can stay here anymore with all of us broken. It's not healthy.
We've tried the normal options. Every single one ends with someone destroyed.
So maybe the question isn't whether this is crazy. Maybe the question is whether it's crazier than everything we've already tried.
I open my mouth. Close it. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth. This is insane. This is absolutely, certifiably?—
Just say it. The worst that happens is they think you're nuts. Andhonestly, after everything that's happened tonight, the bar for nuts is already underground.
"What if nobody had to be the martyr?"
They stare at me. Blank.
"I mean—" Nope. I had the shape of it and it's already gone. "What if the reason we can't figure this out is because we keep trying to make it fit into something it's not? Two people. A couple. One or the other. What if it's not..." I trail off.
I sound insane. I actually sound insane.
"What if it's not a two-person thing?" I finish weakly.
Reid frowns. "What do you mean?"
Blake just watches me. Unreadable.
"Okay, just—" I press my palms against my face. Breathe. Regroup. "There were these people I knew. In Costa Rica. Two women and a man. Maria, Sofia, and Andrés."
