Page 291 of What We Brave
By late in the afternoon, the kids have scattered. The field is empty except for the plastic chairs still sitting crooked in the dirt. Reid's pulling his shirt back on — sunburned, just like I told him — and I'm packing up the saw when David comes around the corner.
He's carrying three bottles of water. Hands one to Reid. One to me. Keeps the third.
"Sit with me a minute."
Here it comes.My chest locks up before I can stop it. Every time a man with authority sayssit down, it's never good news. Not in the Corps. Not anywhere.
It's not a question. Not a command either. Just — steady. The way everything about David Mitchell is steady. If he weren't Laine's dad, I probably would have spent more time with him. Fuck. That sounds bad. He seems like a really good guy.
Being on his shit list fucking sucks.
Reid glances at me. I give him nothing because I've don't have a fucking clue what we're walking into. Is he going to warn us off, tell us to stay away from his daughter? Seems likely.
We follow David to the shaded side of the addition and some folding chairs. David sits. Opens his water. Takes a long drink.
We sit.
The silence stretches. Reid's leg is bouncing. I can feel him loading up — some joke, some disarming comment, something to break the tension. I press my boot against his foot.Don't.Sometimes, the smartest thing to do is nothing.
He stops bouncing. I doubt it'll last long, but for now I'll take it.
David sets his water down and looks out at the empty field for a long time. The plastic chairs. The scuffed-up dirt.
"I've been doing this work for thirty-four years," he says. "Building things in places that are in…upheaval. You learn to read people fast because sometimes that's the only thing keeping your family safe."
He's not in a hurry. The words come out measured, deliberate. Nothing wasted.
"I've been watching you two all week. How you work. How you talk to each other. How you are with the kids." He rolls the water bottle between his palms. "I wanted to see it for myself. Not what Laine told us. Not what Mary thinks. What I think."
Watching.Of course he has. Every cut I've made, every word between me and Reid. Cataloging it. Building a case. I would too, if someone like me showed up wanting to love my daughter.
"Reid." David turns to him. "You're good with people. Genuine. You always seem to have time for them."
Reid's jaw works. He nods but doesn't speak. Might be the first time I've ever seen that happen.
"Blake." The eyes shift to me. Heavier. Longer. "You're careful.Skilled. You don't waste words or material or movement." A beat. "I watched you with that boy today."
I look at my hands.Don't.Don't make it into something. It was just a kid who needed someone to stand next to. That's not — that doesn't prove anything about what kind of man I am.
David takes another drink. Sets the bottle down carefully. "I'll be honest with you both. I've been turning this over since Laine told us. Praying on it. Losing sleep on it. Talking Mary's ear off about it, and she's been talking mine right back." The corner of his mouth moves — not quite a smile. Something tired. "We don't agree on everything. But we usually agree on the important things."
He looks out at the field again. A bird lands on one of the plastic chairs. Takes off. My stomach is churning. I spin the cap off my bottle and take a swig.
Fuck. That didn't help at all.
Laine chose us. I know that. But it still feels like this man holds our future in his hands. Like one word from him can break everything we've built.
Finally, he looks at us. "I believe the Lord is the only judge of men's hearts. I believe that. I've built my life on it." A pause. The steadiness in his face shifts — not cracking, but showing the weight underneath. "But I'm also her father. And this is not what I pictured for her life."
The honesty of it sits there. Plain. No malice in it. No judgment. Just a man telling the truth.
"I'm not going to tell you it's wrong. That's not my place. I know that." His voice drops. Quieter. "But I need you both to hear me. The world is not kind to things it doesn't understand. I've seen it. I've lived in places where being different gets people killed. And my daughter —"
His voice catches. Barely. He clears his throat and takes his time.
"My daughter is choosing a life that is going to cost her. Professionally. Socially. In ways she probably hasn't even thought about yet. Waysyouprobably haven't thought about yet."
Reid's breathing has gone shallow beside me.
