Page 30 of What We Brave
Something catches in my throat. "You changed my sheets?"
Reid shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "Few weeks ago. I don't know. Just felt like I should."
He doesn't say the rest of it. Doesn't say that he was hoping I'd come back, that he kept my room ready just in case. But I hear it anyway.
"Thanks," I say quietly.
"Yeah, well." He clears his throat, looking everywhere but at me. "It's clean."
"Thanks."
We stand there for a moment. Neither of us sure how to end this night. The air between us still feels like walking on broken glass.
"We're gonna be okay," Reid says. It's not quite a question, but it’s not a promise either.
"Yeah." I nod slowly. "Different, but okay."
"Different is probably good."
"Probably."
He hesitates, then reaches out. He doesn't hug me. He just grips my shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle for one long, grounding second.
"I'm glad you're home, Blake."
"Me too."
He lets go and disappears down the hall. A moment later, his door clicks shut.
I stand alone in the kitchen, feeling the weight of the empty house pressing in on me. I'm home. This is where I'm supposed to be. But I still feel like a fucking stranger.
I clean up the pizza box, rinse out our coffee mugs, wipe down the counter. Small things. Normal things.
I head for my room. The bed is made with fresh sheets that smelllike the detergent Reid always buys. My books are still on the shelf. My clothes are still in the closet—the ones I didn't take, anyway.
I half expected that all my shit would be in a dumpster somewhere. I wouldn't have blamed him. But he didn't touch anything. Didn't pack it up or throw it out. Just... kept it. Kept all of it. Waiting.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall.
Reid thinks it’s over with Laine. He’s probably right.
But if he’s wrong... if she comes back... I just promised him I’d watch it happen. I promised I’d stand there and let it kill me.
I rub my face. My hand smells like pizza.
Mission accepted.
I kick off my boots and lie down in the dark.
7
LAINE
Iroll up my Yoga mat, letting the chatter in the room brush past me. Forty-five minutes of sun salutations and warrior poses, and I still can't shake the restless feeling that's been following me around for weeks.
Since I talked to Reid.
Jamila gives me a hug, and for a second, I rest my head on her shoulder. Thank God for her.
