Page 38 of What We Brave
"She looked at you," Reid says suddenly.
I look out the windshield at the garage door. The paint is peeling. "She looked at both of us."
"Not like that." Reid shifts in his seat. "When you were talking about your feelings. When you admitted... what you admitted."
"She was surprised, Reid. She didn't know I was going to say it out loud." It was fucking selfish. But it's the last time I'll ever get to say those words to her, and I wanted to look into her eyes when I did it.
"It wasn't surprise." Reid shakes his head. "I know Laine. I know every expression she has. When she looks at me right now, she sees the past. She sees the hurt. But when she looked at you today... she saw something else. Something different."
"She sees a problem," I say flatly. "She sees the guy who was cruel to her. The guy who broke up her happy home."
"Maybe." Reid doesn't sound convinced. "Or maybe she?—"
"Don't." I open my door, letting the cold air rush into the cab. "Don't do that. You're the one she wants a future with. You're the one she's willing to consider forgiving. I'm just the demo crew."
"Blake—"
"Let's get the truck unloaded."
I step out into the rain before he can argue. The cold bites through my flannel shirt, grounding me. It's cold enough for a coat, but I spent three months in the heat and I can't get enough of the cold. I walk to the back of the truck and drop the tailgate with a metallic clang that echoes off the wet pavement.
Reid joins me a second later. He grabs a stack of 2x4s, hoisting them onto his shoulder. I grab the box of insulation.
We walk into the garage. Freezing. The concrete slab throwing cold up through my boots, the whole place smelling like dust and nothing. It's a mess. Half-finished project most people would've bailed on a long time ago.
But we don't bail.
Reid stacks the lumber, checking each board for warps, his movements steady. Precise. He's getting better. Learning to stand without leaning his whole weight on me.
But he's not there yet.
And that's the thing, isn't it. That's the thing I can't get around no matter how many times I try to think my way out of it.
Laine. The way she looked in that hardware store. Capable. Fierce. Building a life with her own two hands. I love her. God, I love her. And because I love her, I can't let Reid crumble again. I have to stay. I have to be the studs in the wall, the joists in the floor. Hidden. Structural. Necessary.
Even if it means I never get to be the one who lives in the house.
9
LAINE
The ER hits capacity at 11:47 PM.
Three-car pileup on the highway. Kitchen fire with smoke inhalation victims. A college student who mixed energy drinks with something he won't name. The board lights up like a Christmas tree and stays that way.
I love nights like this.
Not the suffering—never that. But the clarity. When everything moves this fast, there's no room for the noise in my head. No space to replay conversations or analyze what Blake meant when he said he loved me or wonder if Reid's really as okay as he says he is.
Just the work. Just the next patient. Just the thing I'm actually good at.
"Mitchell, bay four!" Dr. Martinez calls across the chaos. "Incoming trauma, two minutes out."
I'm already moving, checking supplies, prepping the space. Bay four is our primary trauma station—bigger, better equipped, closer to imaging. Whatever's coming is serious.
Joyce appears at my elbow with an IV kit. "Ambulance called ahead. Single vehicle rollover, driver ejected. They're bringing him in hot."
"Vitals?"
