Page 13 of What We Brave
Three months. Blake's been gone three months. He said Afghanistan, but I don't even know if that's still true. I don't know anything. He could be dead in a ditch somewhere and none of us would?—
Stop. He's not dead.
He can't be dead.
For all his cruelty, Blake was Reid's family. Reid must be drowning without him. You don't just turn your back on decades of brotherhood. Those two were so close, so tangled together, losing Blake must feel like missing a limb.
And whose fault is that?
Not mine. I didn't cause this.
But I should have checked on Reid. I should have talked to him weeks ago instead of hiding behind my hurt feelings. I shouldn't have assumed they'd fix it themselves.
Stubborn, stubborn jerks. Both of them.
I close my eyes and try to sleep. It doesn't work.
Too many hours later, I'm staring at the ceiling, gritty-eyed.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Reid's face from that night at his house. The confusion. The desperation when I told him it was over.
Mixed with Blake's face. Split lip. Hollow eyes. Telling me he was leaving like it was a death sentence.
So much pain. In both of them.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm pulling on jeans and a sweater, grabbing my keys. This is dumb. I don't even know if he's working today. But I'm in luck. The fire station parking lot is nearly full. Shift change. Reid's truck sits near the back and I park two spaces away, hands locked on the steering wheel.
What am I doing here?
This is exactly the behavior I criticized him for. Showing up unannounced. Waiting in parking lots. I spent two months being furious about it, and now here I am, being a hypocrite in a Honda Civic.
But it's been a month since he stopped. A whole month of silence. No flowers, no texts, no glimpses of his truck outside my apartment. I got exactly what I asked for.
Merry Christmas to me.
I spent the holiday eating takeout and watching bad Hallmark movies, telling myself it was peaceful. It wasn't peaceful. It was lonely. And the whole time, I kept wondering if Reid was alone too. If Blake was alive. If anyone was okay.
Because I'm not.
Twenty minutes pass before the station doors open. I spot Reid immediately—tall, broad shoulders, that walk I'd know?—
Except it's not his walk. He's moving wrong. Slower. Shoulders curved in like he's bracing against wind that isn't there.
Maybe he just had a bad shift. Maybe?—
I get out of the car.
"Reid."
He freezes. Turns.
Oh God.
I press my fingers against my mouth before the sound can escape. He lookswasted. That's the only word. His face is all angles now, cheekbones sharp where they used to be soft. Purple circles under hiseyes. His uniform hangs on him like he shrank in the wash instead of the shirt.
This isn't one bad shift. This is bad everything.
"Laine." His voice is careful. Flat. He doesn't step closer—deliberately keeping distance. Respecting the boundaries I set.
