What We Brave (The Breaking Duet #2)

Chapter 1

REID

Week One

Itext her seventeen times the first day. Seventeen. I count them later, staring at my phone screen, on the verge of puking, at the wall of blue bubbles with no response underneath.

Laine, please. Just let me explain.

I kicked him out. He's gone. It's just us now.

I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. I should have listened.

Please don't throw us away because of my mistakes.

The silence is deafening. No read receipts. No typing indicators. Nothing.

I drive to her apartment that night and sit in my truck for two hours, watching her windows. The lights are on, so I know she's home. I know she can see my truck if she looks out. But she doesn't come down.

Tony finds me on shift the next morning looking like I haven't slept. Which I haven't.

"Jesus, Reid. You look like hell."

"Blake's gone." The words taste like ash. "Laine broke up with me. It's over."

"What happened?"

I try to explain, but the words get tangled up. How do I tell him that my best friend spent three months systematically tearing apart the woman I love while I defended him? How do I admit that I chose Blake every single time she tried to tell me what was happening?

How do I admit that I failed her?

"Give her some space," Tony says. "Let her cool off."

But I can't. The thought of space, of silence, of letting her slip further away makes my chest feel like it's caving in.

I need to fix this. I need to make her understand that everything's different now.

That I was fucking blind, but not because I didn't love her.

Because I am a codependent piece of shit. But it was never about her.

I write her a letter that night. I haven't written a letter since a pen pal project in the eighth grade.

My handwriting sucks. But in the end, I have six pages of everything I should have said, everything I should have done.

I explain about Jared, about why I protected Blake, about how losing my brother made me desperate to keep what was left of my family together.

I pour my heart onto the page until my hand cramps.

I don't send it. Instead, I drive to her apartment again and sit in my truck, reading it over and over until the words blur together.

It's excuses. All of it. I shove it into the glovebox. She deserves more than excuses.

She deserves everything.

I go home, but the silence in the house is different now. It’s not just the lack of Laine’s laughter. It’s the silence coming from the backyard.

No table saw whining. No heavy boots on the stairs. No smell of sawdust.

I walk past the workshop window and force myself not to look. I’m still furious at him. The rage is a living thing in my gut. But then I remember where he’s going. I remember the look of his split lip and the blood on his hands.

Kabul.

He’s heading back to the sandbox because I told him to get out. I sent my brother back to hell because I couldn't handle the truth.

I shove that thought down deep. I can’t deal with Blake. Not yet. I have to fix Laine first. If I get Laine back, the rest of the world stops spinning.

Week Two

The florist knows me by name now. White roses on Monday because they mean new beginnings. Pink on Wednesday because they're less dramatic than red. Yellow on Friday because they're supposed to be friendly, non-threatening.

I have them delivered to the hospital. To her apartment. I even send a small arrangement to her yoga studio after remembering she mentioned taking classes there.

She doesn't respond to any of them. Am I shocked? No. But I'm sure as hell disappointed. I know she asked for space, but I can't just do nothing. So sitting in my empty house planning ways to win her back is the only thing I have.

"You sure about this strategy?" Tony asks on Thursday when I'm on my phone between calls, checking delivery confirmations.

"She just needs to know I'm not giving up." You don't walk away from a crashing patient. You don't stop compressions just because your arms are tired. You keep working the problem until you get a pulse. I just have to find the pulse.

"Or she needs you to actually give up."

I pretend I don't hear him. Why the fuck would I give up? You're not supposed to give up on people you love.

But what the hell do I know about love anymore. I thought Blake was family. I thought he loved me.

And still, he betrayed me.

There's a niggling voice that tries to tell me that he was hurting too. That I know the man he truly is. But it's hard to ignore everything he fucking did.

Ignoring shit is what lost me Laine.

I catch a glimpse of her during shift change on Friday.

She's walking out the employee entrance with Joyce, and for a second our eyes meet across the parking lot.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I start walking toward her, but she says something to Joyce and they both disappear back into the hospital.

I stand in the parking lot for ten minutes, waiting for her to come back out. She doesn't.

Week Three

I time my calls better now. I know her schedule—night shift Tuesday through Saturday, off Sunday and Monday. I know she gets coffee from the machine on the third floor during her breaks. I know she parks in the east lot because it's closer to the employee entrance.

I'm not stalking her. I'm just... paying attention. Trying to find the right moment to talk to her when she can't just walk away.

And I realize that even thinking about stalking in the context of Laine is fucked. But I can't stop. I can't go back home and sit in that house.

If I go home, I have to look at the dark workshop.

I have to listen to the silence. So I drive.

I drive until my hands stop shaking, and somehow the truck always ends up on her street.

I don't want to bother her. I just park two blocks away, look at the yellow light in her window, and pretend the world hasn't ended.

Because right now, I have nothing.

My phone battery is always dead by noon. I have two tabs open that I refresh constantly.

Tab one: Her Instagram. Dead silence.

Tab two: BBC World News. Afghanistan region.

There was a VBIED attack in Kandahar yesterday. Two contractors injured. No names released.

I stare at the screen for an hour, my thumb hovering over Hatch’s number in my contacts. I want to call. I want to ask if he's alive. But I can't press the button. If Hatch answers and tells me Blake is gone, it's over. I'm the one who sent him back to the sandbox. I'm the one who killed him.

I bypass Hatch's name and open my thread with Blake. My fingers are shaking so badly I drop the phone into my lap. I snatch it back up and type.

Where are you?

Hit send. The bubble turns green. Not blue. Green. His phone is off. Or destroyed.

Pick up the phone, Blake.

Green.

Don't do this.

Green.

I drop my head against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a split second.

I grip my hair with both hands, pulling until it burns.

The silence from the phone is a physical weight, crushing my chest. It's Jared all over again.

The waiting. The not knowing. The absolute, terrifying void where my brother is supposed to be.

He's gone. He's really fucking gone, and he's not answering me.

The panic makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I'm bleeding out in the front seat of my truck, and I have no anchor. No Blake. No Laine. Just me and the ghosts.

I need a distraction. I need to do something. If I can just see her, if I can just get Laine to look at me, the world will stop spinning.

Wednesday night I take a night shift and I bring in a minor car accident—nothing serious, just a fender-bender with possible whiplash. It's not her patient, but I see her across the ER. She's helping an elderly man with his oxygen mask, her movements calm and efficient. Professional.

She used to light up when she saw me. Now she won't even look in my direction.

I linger after dropping off my patient, pretending to need supplies from the ambulance. Really, I'm hoping she'll come over. Hoping she'll say something, anything.

"Reid." Her voice behind me makes me spin around too fast. For a second, hope flares in my chest. God, I've missed the sound of her voice. Missed everything about her. She has to listen. I have to tell her how fucked this all was, how confused I am. And especially how sorry.

"Laine. God, I've been trying to—"

"Stop." She holds up a hand. "Stop sending flowers. Stop... this. Whatever this is."

I want to tug her into the supply room, hold her hands, and just fix all of this. But even I know that's crossing a line. "I just want to talk. Five minutes. Please."

"No." She looks tired. Thinner than she was a few weeks ago. "I can't do this at work. I can't do this anywhere. I need you to stop."

"But if you'd just let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain. I was there, Reid. I lived it."

She walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing by my ambulance like an idiot.

That wave of darkness I've been battling tries to wash over me, but I battle it back. This is going to work. It has to. Blake isn't answering, so she's all I have left. I just haven't found the right way to approach her yet.

Week Four

I start bringing her favorite coffee. Not to give her—I'm not that delusional yet—but just to have it ready in case the opportunity arises. In case she changes her mind and wants to talk.

The coffee gets cold every time.

I run into Dr. Martinez in the hallway on Thursday. We've worked together for years, he even joined my crew for golf once. He spent a lot of time sighing and shaking his head. But here, he's always been friendly.

"Reid." His tone is cooler than usual. "How's it going?"

"Good. Fine. Listen, if you see Laine—"

"I'm going to stop you right there." His mouth hardens into a flat line. "Whatever's going on between you two, leave it outside the hospital. This is her workplace. She shouldn't have to worry about personal stuff while she's trying to do her job."