Page 292 of What We Brave
Every word lands like a nail driven flush. Because I've thought about it. Every fucking day. The looks she'll get. The explanations she'llhave to give. The doors that'll close. And the part that eats me alive — she'll carry it anyway. She'll carry it and smile and tell us she's fine, because that's who she is. And we'll let her, because we're selfish enough to stay.
"I'm not asking you to explain it to me. I don't need to understand it. That's between you three and God." David leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks at us — really looks, like he's stripping away the surface to the heart of us. "What I need to know — what I need tohear— is that you understand what you're asking her to carry. And that you're going to be there when it gets heavy."
The question hangs.
And it's the right fucking question.
Reid shifts beside me. I feel him wanting to answer, wanting to fill the space the way he always does. I keep my boot against his foot.
Not yet. This question deserves space. Time.
David waits. He's good at waiting. Is that a dad thing, or a missionary thing?
The sun is lower now. The shade has stretched across the field. Somewhere inside the building Mary is singing something I can't make out through the walls.
I open my mouth. Close it.
Say something real, Moore. For once in your miserable life, say something real.
"I can't promise I won't screw it up." My voice sounds like gravel. "I've already screwed it up. Badly. She knows that. Reid knows that."
Reid's hand finds my knee. Squeezes once.
"But I —" The words jam up. I breathe through it. "I'm not going anywhere. And I don't say that lightly. I know what it costs and I know what she's risking and I —" I look at my hands again. Scarred. Stained. Steady. "I will be there when it gets heavy. That's all I've got."
David's eyes stay on me. Reading. Measuring.
Reid leans forward. When he speaks, his voice is different — not the life of the party Reid, the one that would wear Tigger out in a hopping contest. The other one. The one who shows up when it matters.
"Mr. Mitchell, I love your daughter. Blake loves your daughter. Andwe —" He stops. Starts again. "I know how it looks. I know how it sounds. I can't make it make sense to anyone else because honestly, some days it doesn't make sense to me either." A breath. "But she's not confused and she's not settling and she's not being taken advantage of. Shechosethis. She chose us. And if you know Laine at all, you know nobody makes her do a damn thing she doesn't want to do."
Something moves across David's face.Recognition.He knows his daughter.
"What I can tell you," Reid says, slower now, "is that I will spend the rest of my life making sure that choice was worth it. Both of us will. And when the world isn't kind about it — because you're right, it won't be — she's not going to be standing there alone."
David sits with it. Doesn't rush. Doesn't nod or shake his head. Just sits.
It's fucking agonizing.Say no. Just say it so I can stop hoping.Because hope is the thing that kills you. Not the rejection — the waiting. The silence where you build a whole future and then watch someone take a breath and dismantle it with one fucking word.
Then he picks up his water bottle. Takes a long drink. Looks at both of us.
"Okay," he says.
My heart's beating so loud, it takes a second for the words to register.
My lungs unlock. I didn't realize I'd stopped breathing.Okay.Not yes. Not welcome to the family. Just — okay. And somehow that's better. Because okay is honest. Okay is a man leaving the door open instead of slamming it or throwing it wide before he's ready.
Not approval. Not blessing. It's more honest than that. We haven't really fixed anything. We've made promises, but the only thing that's going to reassure him is time.
Which is lucky, because I'm not going anywhere. He can take all the time he needs.
He stands. Folds his chair. Pauses.
"You're both coming to dinner. Mary's making grilled cheese."
"Yes sir," Reid says. Immediate.
David looks at me.
