Page 265 of What We Brave
"Blake, please?—"
"I can't do it." I stare at the empty duffel. "I can't walk into their house and be nobody for a week."
"It wouldn't be a week, just a day or?—"
"You don't know that. You've had seven weeks and you haven't told them. What's going to change in two days?"
She doesn't have an answer. I can hear her crying behind me, the kind she's trying to muffle, and every sound is a hook in my chest but I can't turn around yet.
Reid's quiet. That scares me more than anything because Reid is never quiet.
"I'll stay home," I say. "You two go. Meet her parents. It's what they're expecting anyway."
"No." Laine's off the chair. The mattress dips behind me and then she's there, on her knees, shoving my empty duffel to the side. Her hands find mine and hold on. Her face is wrecked—red, wet, mascara smudged under her eyes. "No. You are not staying here. You're not."
I want to pull my hands back. I want to walk out to the shop and lock the door.
I don't move.
"Laine—"
"I did this. I know I did this. And it's awful and I'm so sorry, but you not coming is worse. That's worse than anything."
"For who?"
She flinches like I hit her.
Good.
"For who, Laine? Because from where I'm standing, it's a lot easier for everyone if I'm not there."
"It's not easier forme." Her hands tighten on mine. "I don't want to go without you. I can't go without you."
"You've been planning to go without me. That's what this is. You just wanted me in the building."
She breaks. Full sob, the kind that makes her whole body shake. She presses her forehead against our hands and cries, and I stand there holding her and hating myself for being right.
A man with any pride would pull his hands back. Pack his shit. Walk.
I don't.
Not because I've forgiven her. Not because I understand. Because her hands are warm and she's shaking and I can't be the reason someone I love is in pain. Even when she's the reason I'm in mine.
That's the fucking math. She can hurt me and I'll stand here. I'll stand here and take it because walking away feels worse than bleeding.
I don't know what that makes me.
"Blake." Reid's voice. Quiet but steady. "Look at me."
I don't want to. But I do. He's part of this. He fucking knew.
He's still on the bed. Elbows on his knees. He looks like shit — pale, jaw tight, eyes that know exactly how badly he fucked up.
"This is on both of us," he says. "Me and her. We should've told you. Full stop. No excuses."
"Reid—"
"Let me finish." He takes a breath. "But if we don't go — all three of us — then Laine never tells them. That's what happens. She puts it off again and again and this thing between her and her parents just gets bigger until it eats her alive."
