Page 2 of What We Brave
I have them delivered to the hospital. To her apartment. I even send a small arrangement to her yoga studio after remembering she mentioned taking classes there.
She doesn't respond to any of them. Am I shocked? No. But I'm sure as hell disappointed. I know she asked for space, but I can't just do nothing. So sitting in my empty house planning ways to win her back is the only thing I have.
"You sure about this strategy?" Tony asks on Thursday when I'm on my phone between calls, checking delivery confirmations.
"She just needs to know I'm not giving up." You don't walk away from a crashing patient. You don't stop compressions just because your arms are tired. You keep working the problem until you get a pulse. I just have to find the pulse.
"Or she needs you to actually give up."
I pretend I don't hear him. Why the fuck would I give up? You're not supposed to give up on people you love.
But what the hell do I know about love anymore. I thought Blake was family. I thought he loved me.
And still, he betrayed me.
There's a niggling voice that tries to tell me that he was hurting too. That I know the man he truly is. But it's hard to ignore everything he fucking did.
Ignoring shit is what lost me Laine.
I catch a glimpse of her during shift change on Friday. She's walking out the employee entrance with Joyce, and for a second our eyes meet across the parking lot. My heart hammers against my ribs as I start walking toward her, but she says something to Joyce and they both disappear back into the hospital.
I stand in the parking lot for ten minutes, waiting for her to come back out. She doesn't.
Week Three
I time my calls better now. I know her schedule—night shift Tuesday through Saturday, off Sunday and Monday. I know she gets coffee from the machine on the third floor during her breaks. I know she parks in the east lot because it's closer to the employee entrance.
I'm not stalking her. I'm just... paying attention. Trying to find the right moment to talk to her when she can't just walk away.
And I realize that even thinking about stalking in the context of Laine is fucked. But I can't stop. I can't go back home and sit in that house.
If I go home, I have to look at the dark workshop. I have to listen to the silence. So I drive. I drive until my hands stop shaking, and somehow the truck always ends up on her street. I don't want to bother her. I just park two blocks away, look at the yellow light in her window, and pretend the world hasn't ended.
Because right now, I have nothing.
My phone battery is always dead by noon. I have two tabs open that I refresh constantly.
Tab one: Her Instagram. Dead silence.
Tab two: BBC World News. Afghanistan region.
There was a VBIED attack in Kandahar yesterday. Two contractors injured. No names released.
I stare at the screen for an hour, my thumb hovering over Hatch’s number in my contacts. I want to call. I want to ask if he's alive. But I can't press the button. If Hatch answers and tells me Blake is gone, it's over. I'm the one who sent him back to the sandbox. I'm the one who killed him.
I bypass Hatch's name and open my thread with Blake. My fingers are shaking so badly I drop the phone into my lap. I snatch it back up and type.
Where are you?
Hit send. The bubble turns green. Not blue. Green. His phone is off. Or destroyed.
Pick up the phone, Blake.
Green.
Don't do this.
Green.
