Page 88 of What We Brave
Reid's quiet for a long moment. "Which part? Being with her? Or being with her while I'm also with her?"
"Both. Either." I scrub my hands over my face. "What if I fuck it up again? What if I hurt her?"
"You will."
I look up sharply.
"Not on purpose," Reid clarifies. "But nobody gets through a relationship without hurting people sometimes. That's not the question."
Did he somehow become a relationship expert while I was gone? "Then what is?"
"Whether you'll stay anyway. When it gets hard. When you're scared." His eyes meet mine. "Whether you'll cut and run or stay and fight."
The back of my neck gets hot, and the urge to yell is pretty fucking strong. "Either you're not being fair, or you really don't get me. Cutting and running's never been my MO, Reid. If it were, I would have left long before I did. I'm the guy that stays way too long." His jaw clenches, and I'm tempted to shut the fuck up. But if there's a chance we might do this, then we have to have this conversation. "Whenever I love somebody, I do anything for them. Even if it hurts me. I'm not capable of walking away. I know that's fucked up, but there it is."
He looks away, his jaw ticking. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."
"Running isn't going to be our problem. Not destroying each other from jealousy or fear will be." The raging jealousy, the dark moments where I imagined Reid gone, and me left to comfort Laine, haunt me. That shit was bad on so many levels. "I love her," I confess. "Really love her. Not just—it's not just attraction."
Another jaw clench. "I know."
"And are you going to be able to live with that?" I already know I can survive on crumbs. If I get more of Laine than I did before, I'm going to be okay.
Maybe not okay, but I'll survive. And honestly, that's better than the alternative. Some Laine is better than no Laine.
Reid groans and drops his head against the back of the chair. "Ask me tomorrow. Right now I'm too tired to feel anything except grateful she didn't walk away from both of us."
Fair enough.
19
LAINE
The ceiling fan in Jamila's living room has a wobble. I've been staring at it for twenty minutes, flat on my back on her hardwood floor, clutching an empty beer bottle to my boobs. Maybe if I lay here long enough, the fan will come loose and drop on my head, and boom, that would be it. I won't have to think about what I did last night.
Except with my luck, I'll just end up permanently maimed.
"You planning to tell me what's going on, or should I just keep refilling your drinks until you pass out?" Jamila asks.
Kerry appears in my peripheral vision, gently prying the empty from my fingers and replacing it with a cold one. She's wearing basketball shorts and a faded Celtics jersey, her short ponytail bobbing as she straightens up. I love Kerry. She's wonderful. And so easygoing. Why can't I just fall in love with someone like her? I could be Gay, I think. Dicks aren't that important, are they?
"Thanks," I manage.
Kerry leans down to kiss Jamila, who's curled in the armchair watching me with worried eyes. I want to tell her I'm fine so she doesn't have to stress, but I can't add lying on top of my sins right now. That might be the thing that tips me over the edge into doomed.Maybe I don't actually believe hell exists, even though sometimes I wish it did. But just in case. "I'll be upstairs with the game. You two have fun."
"Love you," Jamila calls after her.
"Love you more."
Darn it. This. Why can't I just skip to this? The comfortable with each other, no drama part. This part looks awesome.
But no. I had to go and fall for a guy who's basically in a platonic relationship with another man. And then I went and kissed that other guy. And then the guys broke up and went dark. Then I kissed them again, in front of each other. Who does that? Lunatics. That's who. I'm a lunatic.
Kerry heads out of the room, and Jamila turns to me. "Okay. You called me in a panic. Ate two helpings of my wife's Butter Chicken and you seemed okay. But you've had four beers and you're lying on my floor like a crime scene outline. Spill."
She's right. Nearly twenty-four hours since I lost my mind, and I'm spiraling. I have to talk it out. And this didn't seem like a thing to talk to Joyce about. And Bethany? Well since she moved on, we've barely spoken. She's not someone I'd trust with this stuff. But over and over, Jamila's proven to be the kind of friend that sticks. Also the kind of friend who will call you out on your poop. And I really need that right now. "You and Kerry seem perfect together."
"We're not," she says dryly, tucking her braid over her shoulder.
