Page 85 of What We Brave
My head snaps up. "What?"
"Your jaw's doing that thing. The clenching." She waves vaguely at her own face. "You're disappearing into your head."
Reid shifts in his chair. "She's right. You've got that look."
That look. So much for being fucking unreadable.
"I just —" I stop. Start again. "I don't understand why you'd want this. With me. After everything."
Laine's expression softens into something that makes my head pound. "Blake?—"
"No, listen." I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved, pacing the length of the room. "You said it yourself. I made you feel like you were losing your mind. Formonths. I looked you in the eye and said things designed to break you, and now you're sitting there offering me a chance like I'm not?—"
"Like you're not what?" she interrupts.
The words stick in my throat.
Like I'm not broken. Poison. The kind of person who destroys everything he touches.
"Like I deserve it," I finally manage. "I don't."
The room goes quiet. Reid's watching me with that worried crease between his eyebrows.
Laine leans back and quirks an eyebrow. "You don't get to decide that, Big Guy."
My blood's pounding so hard her words honestly don't compute. "What?"
She stands, crossing the distance between us until she's close enough that I can smell her shampoo. Coconut and something floral. The scent I've tried to forget for months. The surface scent is always changing. I've spent too much time wondering why. Maybe she buys whatever's on sale. Maybe she gets tired of one smell, and moves on.
I want to know the reason why. I want to have the right to ask.
But underneath the surface, there's something just Laine. That's the scent that haunts my fucking dreams.
"Whether you deserve a chance. That's not your call." Her chin lifts and suddenly she's wearing a bossy expression I could totally picture her using at work. Having it directed at me though? I like it too fucking much. "It's mine. And Reid's. And we're both sitting here saying we want to try."
She's trying to make everything better. But this isn't some fucking fairytale. The shit I did won't go away. "You shouldn't."
"Probably not." She almost smiles. "But I'm tired ofshould. I spent my whole life doing what I should. Moving when I should. Leaving when I should. Playing it safe."
"This isn't safe," I warn her.
"No," she agrees. "It's terrifying. But so is watching you walk away again." Something shifts in Laine's expression. The softness hardens into steel. "You know what? No." She crosses her arms. "I'm done with this."
Reid and I exchange a glance. "Done with what?" he asks.
"This." She gestures between us. "The martyrdom contest. The self-flagellation Olympics. Both of you falling over yourselves to prove who's more unworthy."
"Laine—"
"I'm talking." Her voice cuts sharp enough to make me flinch. My dick does a completely inappropriate happy twitch. Something abouther yelling at me really does it for me. Not the yelling from before, when she was hurt and lashing out. But this bossy yelling? I'm here for it. "For months, I've been the one accommodating. The one tiptoeing. The one trying to make everyone else comfortable while I shrink into nothing. And now—now—when I finally say what I want, you're both too busy competing over who gets to sacrifice themselves?"
She's pacing now, all coiled energy and frustration. I've never seen her like this. Not the careful, measured Laine who weighs every word. This is someone new. Someone furious.
She's a fucking amazon warrior.
"I want this," she says. "Both of you. Is that so hard to understand?"
"It's complicated," Reid starts.
