Page 115 of What We Brave
"Every word."
I climb into bed fully clothed — too tired to care, too tired to do anything but kick my shoes off the edge. I prop the phone on the pillow beside me, mirroring her position. Her eyes are already drifting shut.
I tell her about the grease fire. The panicked college kid who tried to throw water on it — “water, Laine, on a grease fire” — and Tony's running commentary in the truck. The twisted ankle from a jogger who refused transport and tried to limp away like some kind of action hero.
Her breathing slows. Evens out.
I keep talking anyway, my voice dropping to a murmur. The sunset I caught from the rig — all orange and ridiculous, the kind you'd put on a postcard nobody believes is real. The good coffee at the station, actual good coffee, not the usual motor oil Tony brews.
Her lips part. Soft exhale.
Asleep.
I lie there watching her for a long moment. The rise and fall of her shoulders. The way her face goes completely slack, completely still, completely at peace.
"Goodnight," I whisper.
24
LAINE
I'm supposed to be ready by now.
Instead, I'm standing in front of my closet in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, hair scraped back in a ponytail that's already falling apart. My third outfit attempt lies crumpled on the bed. The first two didn't make it past the mirror.
Nothing fits right. Nothing looks right.Idon't feel right.
The buzzer goes off.
No no no.Not yet. I needed another twenty minutes. Or another hour. Or possibly another lifetime.
I hit the intercom. "Come up." Darn it. I was supposed to ask who it is. Blake's going to be pissed. Luckily I'm not expecting Blake.
Reid knocks thirty seconds later. I open the door and his face does this thing — starts with a smile, shifts to concern, settles into something patient.
He's wearing a button-down. Navy blue. The one that makes his eyes look ridiculous. He even did something with his hair.
"Hey." He takes in my sweatpants. My disaster ponytail. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
I'm not fine. I'm irritated and tired and I really don't want to explain why.
Reid steps inside, closes the door behind him. "You don't look fine."
"Thanks. That's helpful."
He doesn't flinch at my tone. Just watches me with those steady eyes. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just —" I gesture vaguely at my closet, my bed, myself. "I couldn't figure out what to wear and now I'm annoyed about it and I know that's stupid but here we are."
I hear myself. Whiny. Petulant.Ugh.
"I'm being a brat. I'm aware."
"It's not stupid."
"It is stupid. It's a date. I've been on dates. I know how to get dressed." I drop onto the edge of my bed, shoving the rejected blouse aside. "I just — I had this whole plan. Cute outfit, good hair, fun Laine. And instead you're getting..." I gesture at myself. "This."
