Page 64 of What We Brave
Don't.
"The plants," she clarifies, moving past me to the kitchen. "Everyone says succulents are easy, but they're finicky as hell. Too much water, they rot. Too little, they shrivel." She fills a kettle. "Tea?"
"Sure."
She won't look me in the eye. She's nervous.
Welcome to the fucking club.
"You can sit down," she says again. "You're making me anxious, hovering like that."
Right. Sitting. Like a normal person.
I lower myself onto the couch. Try to take up as little space as possible, which is fucking ridiculous given my size.
Laine brings two mugs. Hands me one. Sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her. We're still too close together. Just a little shuffle, and I could have my hands on her.
"I talked to Jamila," she says finally. "About everything. The kiss. You and Reid. All of it."
I don't know who Jamila is, but the fact that Laine told someone—that she needed to process this out loud with another person, calms my racing heart. She's been carrying it too. And I fucking hate that it makes me feel better.
"What did she say?"
Laine's mouth twists. "That I'm a mess. That the situation is impossible. That maybe I should walk away from both of you and figure out who I am without a man in the equation."
My hand clenches on my thigh. "Smart advice."
"Probably." She takes a sip of tea. Quiet for a moment. "I lied too. To myself, mostly. Pretending I didn't feel anything for you. Pretending the kiss was just—confusion, or adrenaline, or some kind of trauma response."
She sets her mug down. Stares at it.
"It wasn't."
So much for my heart calming down. The fucker's running a race.
"I know," I say.
"You know?"
"You told me. At the camp." I stare into my tea. "You said it felt like something. I haven't been able to stop hearing it."
"Neither have I." She pulls her knees up. Wraps her arms around them. "And I hate that."
The last word lands hard. Not angry. Tired. Like she's been fighting herself for four days straight and she's losing.
I feel the same fucking way.
"I lied to Reid," I say. Because if she's bleeding, I need to bleed too. "That night. He asked if anything happened, and I let him believe I was just triggered by the cold. By memories." The confession scrapes out raw. "I looked him in the eye, and I lied."
She makes a low sound.
"He told me he was proud of me." I laugh, but nothing about this is funny. "For volunteering. For helping people. And I just stood there and let him say it, knowing what I'd done."
"Whatwe'ddone," she corrects quietly.
"You didn't?—"
"I kissed you first. I made the choice. You pulled away." She meets my eyes. "We both did this."
