Page 97 of What We Brave
"You're also capable of rebuilding a stranger's wheelchair ramp for free. And mentoring twenty-year-old Marines who think they're invincible. And moving in with a friend because he's spiraling out."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because they can leave. A kid can't fire their dad for being—" He stops. Swallows whatever word was coming.
I fucking hate that he thinks this way about himself. That he can't see the good man he truly is. I know he'd be an amazing dad, but he's not going to hear me if I tell him that.
"We don't have to figure that out tonight," I say after a while.
"No."
"Or this year."
"Probably not."
"I just needed to say it out loud. That it matters to me. That I think about it."
"I know." His voice is rough. "And I'm not saying no. I'm saying I don't know. And that scares the shit out of me."
"I can work with 'I don't know.'" I pause. "'I don't know' is like, miles better than 'absolutely not, Reid, you delusional optimist.'"
Something that's almost a laugh escapes him. Almost.
More silence. But it's different now. Lighter somehow. Like we'vegotten past the worst parts — or at least enough of them to take a full breath.
I lean my head back against the wall again. The concrete is cool through my pants. Grounding.
"So where does this leave us?" I ask. "We don't have answers. We don't know if it'll work. We're both scared shitless. I'm sitting on your workshop floor like a teenager having a crisis?—"
"I'm having the crisis."
"We'rebothhaving a crisis. Don't hog the crisis." I look at him. "But we're doing it anyway? Trying?"
Blake takes his time. Studies me the way he studies a piece of wood before he starts working on it — checking for cracks, figuring out what it can hold.
"I'm willing," he says. "If you are."
"I'm willing."
"Okay."
"Okay." I push myself up off the floor. Brush concrete dust off my pants. "So we call Laine. Tomorrow. All three of us sit down and talk. For real."
"What time?"
"After work. Give her time to get home, settle in."
"Dinner?"
"Maybe not." I think about it. "Maybe we just talk first. Figure out where everyone's head is before we add food and seating arrangements and all that."
"Keep it simple."
"Yeah." I almost laugh. "When has anything about this been simple?"
"Never. Not once."
