Page 24 of What We Brave
The words hang in the freezing air. For a second, my brain short-circuits. Then the rage hits, so fast and violent my vision actually spots.
"You used her." I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved, standing over him. "That's your excuse? You used the woman I love as a fucking human shield against your own feelings?"
Blake looks up at me, his jaw tight. "It was a tactical?—"
"Don't give me that military bullshit!" I roar. I don't care if the neighbors hear. I don't care about anything but the absolute, calculated cruelty of it. "You didn't just make her hate you, Blake. You made her think she was crazy. You stood in that workshop and let me defendyou while you systematically tore her down. You let me tell her she was overreacting!"
"I was trying to survive it, Reid."
"At her expense! Atmyexpense!" I kick the bumper of his truck, the metal biting into my boot. "You decided your guilt was more important than our reality. You played God with my life, and you broke her in the process."
Blake flinches. It's tiny, just a tightening around his eyes, but I see it.
I pace the length of the driveway, my chest heaving. The anger is burning me up from the inside out, but beneath it, the ugly, rotting truth I've been avoiding for three months finally claws its way to the surface.
"And the worst part?" I spin back to face him, my voice dropping to a raw scrape. "The absolute worst fucking part is that you got away with it because I let you."
Blake watches me, his face unreadable in the shadows. "What does that mean?"
"I missed it," I say to the darkness. "You were falling apart right in front of me. I remember now—the bottles in the recycling bin. The way you stopped eating dinner with us. The way you looked like you were haunting your own house. And I missed it."
"I hid it."
"Bullshit." I spin on my heel to face him. "I lived with you. I saw you every day. I’m a paramedic, Blake. I get paid to notice when people are in distress. I didn't see it because I didn'twantto see it."
Blake watches me, his face unreadable in the shadows. "What does that mean?"
"It means it was easier." The confession's sour. It’s the truth I’ve been dodging for three months, the rot at the center of this whole fucked up situation. "Believing you were fine. Because if something was wrong with you, I'd have to deal with it. I'd have to fix it."
"Reid—"
"No, listen." I point a finger at him. "You’ve been carrying me since Jared died. Years, Blake. You made sure I ate, you dragged me out of bed when I couldn't move. You were the rock. The constant. And thenLaine came along, and I got to be happy. For the first time in forever, I was just... happy."
I choke on the words, forcing them past the lump in my throat. "And you became background noise. I wanted you to function like a toaster. Or a truck. Reliable. Maintenance-free. So I wouldn't have to worry about you while I was happy with her."
Blake goes still, but there's a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. "A toaster?"
"You know what I mean." My voice cracks. "I used you. For years, I let you carry the load. And when your knees finally buckled, I looked the other way because it was inconvenient."
"You didn't use me." Blake’s voice is firm. Hard. "I chose it. I needed a mission. After Jared... keeping you alive was the only thing that made sense."
"That's not healthy."
He rubs at his jaw. "No shit."
"So why didn't you leave?"
He gives me this look, and my brain starts sifting through memories from the few months before everything blew up. The time he mentioned the job in Seattle. Or re-enlisting. Or moving.
"Fuck!" I throw my hands up. "I talked you out of it! Every single time! Why? Why did you listen to me if things were that bad? You’re the stubbornest son of a bitch I know. Since when do you do what I say?"
Blake looks away, jaw working. He stares at the dark window of his workshop. He doesn't answer.
"Blake." I step closer. "Why couldn't you leave?"
"Because I promised him."
The words are barely a whisper, carried away by the wind, but they land like a grenade at my feet.
