Page 305 of What We Brave
Not dramatic. Not a collapse. They just — stop holding me up. I catch myself on the vanity with one hand, knuckles white against the porcelain, and I slide down until my back hits the cabinet under the sink. The tile is cold through my jeans.
"Blake—" Laine turns, drops to her knees in front of me. Her hands find my face. "Blake. Hey. Look at me."
I'm looking. I can't stop looking. Her eyes are dark and wet and terrified and the only thing I can see.
"I'm okay," I say, but my voice doesn't sound right. Too thin. Too faraway. I'm not going to pass out. No fucking way. But fuck my head's floating.
Reid sits down on the floor next to me. Just folds right down, back against the tub, legs stretched out. His eyes are red. He's not crying yet but he's close.
The three of us. Sitting on the bathroom floor.
"So," Reid says. His voice is wrecked. "That's a positive."
"That's a positive," Laine whispers.
Something is building in my chest. Something massive and hot that's pressing against my ribs, trying to crack them open. I can't tell if it's terror or joy or grief or all three at once.
"Laine." My mouth is working ahead of my brain. The words are coming and I can't stop them. "Delivery. You'll be — there's blood. There's?—"
"Blake."
"I've seen blood. That's not — I can handle blood. But yours. If something?—"
"Hey." Her hands tighten on my face. "Stop."
"I can't—" My chest is heaving. "If something happened to you. If you were in pain and I couldn't?—"
"Blake Moore. Look at me."
I look at her.
"I'm a nurse. I will be in excellent medical care. Women do this literally every day. I am healthy and strong and I will be fine."
"The statistics—" Reid starts, and Laine whips her head toward him.
"Do not. Do not start with paramedic statistics right now, Reid Garrison."
"I wasn't going to?—"
"You were. I can see you doing the math. Stop it."
"Maternal mortality rates in Oregon are actually very?—"
"Reid."
He shuts his mouth. Presses his lips together. His knee is bouncing again.
"Low," he finishes in a whisper. "I was going to say low."
Fuck if that doesn't make me feel a little better.
Laine turns back to me. Her thumbs trace my cheekbones. Her touch is steady even though her hands were shaking thirty seconds ago.
"I'm going to be okay," she says. "The baby is going to be okay. We are going to figure this out the way we figure everything out."
"Badly at first and then better," Reid says from the floor next to me.
Ain't that the fucking truth.
