Chapter 13 #2
"I feel like I should, though. I'm thirty-two. I should know what I want."
"Says who?" Jamila points her fork at me. "There's no rulebook. No timeline. You got out of a relationship that was hurting you, and now you're figuring out what comes next. That's allowed to be confusing."
I slump back against the booth. "What do I do now?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to go back in time and not kiss him." Lies.
"Not an option. Try again."
What do I really want? I can't get Reid's face when he said he still loved me out of my head. Or Blake's eyes in the orange glow of the heat lamp. The way my heart pulled toward both of them, in different directions, for different reasons.
"I don't know," I finally admit. "I need time. Space. I need to figure out if what I feel for Blake is real or just... adrenaline. Confusion. Some messed-up response to finally having him be vulnerable with me."
Jamila nods. "That sounds reasonable."
"And I need to figure out if I can trust Reid again. If we can rebuild something without Blake in the middle of it."
"Also reasonable."
"And I need to stop kissing people until I have my head on straight."
Jamila grins. "Now that I fully support."
I laugh—a real laugh this time—and steal a bite of her pancakes. She swats at my fork but doesn't actually stop me.
"For what it's worth," she says, "I think you're handling this better than you give yourself credit for. A few months ago, you would have already booked a flight to somewhere far away."
She's right. The old Laine would be halfway to the airport by now, running from the mess instead of sitting in it.
"I'm trying something new," I say. "Staying. Even when it's hard."
"Even when it's really, really complicated?"
"Especially then." I take another bite of her pancakes. "Though I reserve the right to hide in my apartment for a few days first."
Jamila sets down her fork. The playful energy from a moment ago drains away, replaced by something more serious.
"Okay, but Laine. I need to ask you something, and I need you to really think about it before you answer."
"That's ominous."
"It's practical." She leans forward, elbows on the table. "These two men. Reid and Blake. They're not just friends, right? From everything you've told me, they're essentially brothers. Years of history. Military service together. Living in the same house."
"I know."
"So help me understand how this works." Her voice is gentle but direct.
"Say you figure out your feelings. Say you decide you want to be with Reid again.
Blake is still there. At the house. At family dinners.
At every holiday, every barbecue, every random Tuesday night. You'd have to see him constantly."
My stomach clenches. "I've thought about that."
"And?"
"And I don't have an answer."
Jamila nods slowly. "Now flip it. Say you realize your feelings for Blake are real. That the kiss meant something. That you want to explore it. Reid is still his brother. Still lives with him. You'd be dating Blake while Reid watches from across the dinner table."
"I know." The words come out strangled.
"Both scenarios sound like torture, Laine." She's not being cruel. Just honest. "For everyone involved. You'd be trapped in this triangle forever, no matter which way you turn."
I stare at my coffee, gone cold now. She's right. I've been so focused on figuring out what I feel that I haven't really thought through what happens next. What it would actually look like to choose one of them.
"When Reid and I were together," I say slowly, "Blake was there. Obviously. And it was... hard. Even before he turned cruel, there was this tension. This awareness. I told myself I was imagining it, but—"
"You weren't."
"No. I wasn't." I push my mug away. "And now that I know he felt something too?
Now that I know the cruelty was him trying to push me away because he couldn't handle wanting me?
" I shake my head. "How do I go back to pretending?
How do I sit in that living room with Reid while Blake is in his workshop, knowing what I know? "
"You can't unknow it."
"Exactly."
Jamila is quiet for a moment. The diner hums around us—silverware clinking, the coffee machine hissing, someone laughing at the counter.
"There's another option," she says finally. "One you haven't mentioned."
"What?"
"Neither of them."
The words land like a punch. I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand.
"Hear me out. You spent months feeling like you were disappearing in that relationship.
Blake made you feel worthless. Reid didn't listen when you tried to tell him something was wrong.
And now you're sitting here trying to figure out which one of them you want, like those are your only choices.
" She reaches across the table and takes my hand.
"Maybe the answer is neither. Maybe you need to step back from both of them and figure out who you are without a man in the equation. "
"That's not—" I stop. Take a breath. "I was happy with Reid. Before everything went wrong. I was really happy."
"Were you? Or were you happy with the idea of finally having somewhere to belong?"
The question cuts deeper than I expect.
"That's not fair."
"I'm not trying to be fair. I'm trying to be your friend.
" Jamila squeezes my fingers. "You told me you moved your whole life.
Never stayed anywhere. Never put down roots.
Then you come to Eugene and suddenly you're buying real furniture and working a permanent job and falling for a guy who represents stability. That's a lot of 'firsts' all at once."
"Reid wasn't just about stability."
"I believe you. But can you honestly tell me you would have fallen for him the same way if you'd met him five years ago? When you were still hopping from city to city?"
I want to say yes. Want to defend what Reid and I had. But the truth is more complicated.
"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe not. I was different then. I wanted different things."
"Right. So maybe the question isn't 'Reid or Blake.' Maybe it's 'what do I actually want my life to look like, and does either of these men fit into that picture?'"
I pull my hand back, pressing my palms against my eyes. The headache that's been threatening all morning finally arrives, a dull throb behind my temples.
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not simple. It's just... clearer. If you step back far enough.
" Jamila's voice softens. "Look, I'm not telling you what to do.
I don't know Reid. I've never met Blake.
I only know what you've told me, and what you've told me is that both of these men hurt you in different ways.
That doesn't mean they're bad people. It doesn't mean you can't love them.
It just means maybe you need to love yourself first."
"That sounds like a self-help book."
"Self-help books exist for a reason." She grins, but it fades quickly.
"I'm serious, though. You said you came to Eugene to build a life.
A permanent one. And then Reid became part of that life so fast that you never really got to figure out what your life looks like on its own. Now you have a chance to do that."
"By being alone."
"By being with yourself." She shrugs. "It's different."
I think about my apartment. The furniture I picked out myself, piece by piece. The yoga classes and the volunteer work and the job I actually love. All the pieces of a life I've been building, brick by brick, like someone who has her act together.
Reid fits into that life. He did before, and he could again.
But Blake?
Blake is chaos. Blake is damage and intensity and the unknown. The untested. The thing I can't predict or control.
And Jamila's right. If I choose Blake, I still have to face Reid. Every day. Forever. Watch him watch us. Watch him hurt.
If I choose Reid, I still have to face Blake. Every day. Forever. Feel that pull. That awareness. That something between us that won't go away no matter how much I want it to.
And that's the best case scenario. Worst case, my choice blows up their relationship entirely, and someone is left standing outside in the cold. So what do I do? Pick the safe thing and spend the rest of my life wondering? Pick the dangerous thing and watch everything around me burn?
"It's a doomed situation," I say quietly. "Isn't it?" I was fooling myself. Just letting myself feel, go with my gut, but that's never going to work.
Jamila doesn't answer right away. She picks up her fork, pushes a piece of pancake around her plate.
"Maybe," she finally says. "Or maybe there's a version of this that works.
I don't know. I just know that you can't keep going the way you're going—kissing one man while you're still in love with the other, not talking to your friends, disappearing into your own head.
" She looks up at me. "That's not sustainable. "
"No. It's not."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I don't have a single clue."