Page 277 of What We Brave
Christ.
I've seen Blake in a lot of situations. Combat. Grief. The worst night of both our lives and several runners-up. I've never seen him look like this. Not angry. Not hurt. Just...resigned.
Are you going to make me lie?
That's what his face says. Clear as glass. Clear as anything I've ever read on a call, any patient, any scene. Blake is looking at Laine and asking without words whether she's going to make him sit here and tell her mother he's alone.
My chest is tight. I'm not breathing right. I want to say something — crack a joke, break the tension, do the thing I always do — but this isn't mine to break. This is hers.
Come on, Sunshine. Open the door.
Laine's plate is in her lap. Her hands have gone still. She's staring at Blake and I can see it happening — the collapse, the wall coming down, every carefully constructed plan for the right moment and the right words crumbling because the right moment was always going to be one she couldn't plan for. There's no way to control all the variables. No way to do this in a way that won't hurt somehow.
"Mom." Her voice cracks on the word.
Mary turns to her. "What is it, sweetheart?"
David looks up from his plate.
Laine sets her food on the ground. Her hands are shaking. I can see them from here, trembling. I want to pull her onto my lap, cuddle her close, and make this better. But I can't. She has to do this on her own. Blake needs her to be strong.
I need her to be strong.
"Blake isn't — he's not just our friend."
Silence. The fire pops. Carlos's guitar drifts from somewhere behind us, faint and sweet.
"He's not Reid's friend who tagged along." She's looking at her hands now. Then she lifts her head. Looks at both of them. "We're together. All three of us. Reid and Blake and me. We love each other."
51
LAINE
The silence lasts three seconds. Maybe four.
Carlos's guitar finishes a phrase somewhere behind us. A child laughs. The fire pops and sends sparks up into nothing.
My heart is so loud I'm actually hearing the wooshing sound.
"What?" Mom says.
Not angry. Not yet. Just — it's like she's not processing my words. They don't compute.
"All three of us." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Too high. Too thin. "Reid and Blake and me. We're in a relationship. Together."
Mom stares at me. Her plate is still in her lap. Her fork is still in her hand. She looks like someone hit pause.
Breathe. You have to breathe.
Dad hasn't moved. I can't read his face in the firelight but his jaw has gone rigid — that thing he does, everything locked down until he decides what's allowed out.
I know that look. I grew up with that look.
"I don't—" Mom shakes her head. Sets her fork down carefully, like the placement matters. "Laine, I don't understand what you're telling me."
"I know." My hands won't stop shaking. I press them flat against my thighs and they shake anyway. "I know it's — I know."
"You're saying that both of these men are your?—"
