Page 45 of What We Brave
But underneath it all, like a current running beneath the surface of a river, I keep coming back to the same thought.
I missed you too.
10
BLAKE
“Keep it elevated when you sleep, okay? And if the swelling gets worse, you need to get to urgent care."
Her voice cuts through the noise of the camp like a blade, and my whole body goes still. I'm halfway through unloading boxes of canned goods from Danny's truck, a case of beans in my hands, and I just... stop.
Fuck.
I knew she'd come back eventually. Danny mentioned she'd signed up for more shifts, said it like it was good news I should be happy about. And I am. I am happy. She's not letting what happened with me and Reid destroy something she cares about.
But knowing she'd be here and actually hearing her voice are two very different things.
"Blake? You gonna stand there all night or what?"
Danny's watching me from the truck bed, eyebrows raised. I shake my head and set the box down on the supply table.
"Sorry. Got distracted."
"Uh-huh." He doesn't push, but there's a look in his eyes that says he knows exactly what distracted me. Danny doesn't miss much. "We've got about six more boxes, then I need someone to help get theheat lamps set up near the medical station. Weather's supposed to drop below forty tonight."
"I'll handle the lamps."
The words are out before I think them through. Stupid. The last thing I should be doing is volunteering to work anywhere near her. But the idea of Laine out here in the cold, fingers going numb while she tries to help someone, bothers me. A lot.
I grab another box and focus on the work. The camp's busier than usual tonight, maybe thirty people scattered across the clearing. Someone's got a fire going in one of the metal drums, and a handful of regulars are huddled around it, passing a thermos back and forth. The tarps we strung up last week are holding, but barely—the wind's picking up and I can see a couple spots where the grommets are starting to pull loose.
I'll add it all to the list.
I finish unloading the truck and head for the storage shed where we keep the heat lamps. The path takes me past the medical station, and I tell myself I'm not going to look. I'm just going to walk past like a normal fucking person and get the equipment and do my job.
I look.
She's kneeling on a foam pad next to an older woman I don't recognize, examining what looks like a nasty cut on the woman's leg. Her hair's pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands escaping around her face, and she's wearing a puffy jacket that's about two sizes too big for her. Probably borrowed. She never dresses warm enough.
The thought lands wrong. How do I know that? How do I know she runs cold, that she never dresses warm enough, that she wraps both hands around her coffee like she's trying to pull the heat straight through the ceramic?
I know because I watched her. Every second she was in our house, I was collecting shit I had no business collecting. Filing it away somewhere I had no right to keep it.
Her laugh. The way her head tilts when she's actually listening. How she takes her coffee — too much cream, barely any sugar. The way she looked at Reid like he hung the fucking moon.
I make my legs keep moving. Storage shed. Heat lamps. That's the job.
The shed's padlocked and I fuck around with the combination longer than I should. Fingers are stiff from the cold and my brain's not where it needs to be. I finally get it open, grab two of the portable propane heaters, and haul them back toward the medical station.
Laine looks up when I approach. Her expression doesn't change—no smile, no frown, just that steady nurse's gaze that takes in everything and gives nothing away. I wish she'd give me something. Some sign of how to talk to her. Do I give her space? Is she okay with me around her?
"Danny said you needed heat," I finally say. Smooth, asshole. Real eloquent.
"The temperature's dropping faster than they predicted." She gestures to a spot near the supply table. "Over there would be good. Mrs. Grady is shivering, and I've got three more people waiting who probably are too."
I set up the first heater, checking the propane level and adjusting the angle so it'll warm the treatment area without creating a fire hazard.
"Thank you," Laine says quietly. She's not looking at me, focused on wrapping the leg in gauze. I want her eyes on me.
