Chapter 21 #2
"I'm not saying it won't be weird." He shrugs, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "But you're right. You two need space to figure out what you are. Without me hovering."
I've wanted time alone with her since the first night Reid brought her home. The idea of actually having that—her attention, her focus, without guilt or secrecy—feels too big. Too fragile. Like holding a bird in my hands and knowing I could crush it without meaning to.
"I'd like that," I manage. "A lot."
Laine nods, then looks around the garage again. Avoiding eye contact. Delaying.
I can't let her delay. Not with this question burning a hole in my chest. The one I've been carrying since I got back. Since before I left. Since the night I destroyed everything and watched the fallout from eight thousand miles away.
"Laine."
She looks up.
"After everything—" I start, then stall out. My jaw clenches. Unclench it. Try again. "The things I said. The way I—"
Nope. The words won't line up. They're all tangled in my chest, sharp edges catching on each other.
"I just need to know if—"
Spit it the fuck out.
"Physically. Is that something. That you'd ever."
I sound like an idiot. I sound like a teenager asking a girl to prom and expecting to get laughed at.
Which, historically, is exactly what happened.
How the fuck do I ask her if she thinks she'll ever be okay letting me that close to her.
Sharing her body with me. It requires a fuck of a lot of trust, and that's not something we have.
Maybe never will thanks to the fucked up shit I did.
Reid glances between us but keeps his mouth shut. It's a fucking miracle.
Laine's quiet for a moment. Her brow furrows. Then she glances at Reid. He gives her a small nod.
"Blake." She turns back to me. "I'm not going to make promises I can't keep. I don't know what I'll be ready for, or when."
My chest tightens. There it is. The letdown. The gentle rejection.
"But." She takes a breath. A flush creeps up her neck despite the cold. "You're... you're very attractive. That was never the issue."
I blink.
"The night at the camp. When you were just yourself." She's looking at the pile of lumber now, not at me. "Helping with the patients, talking about your work. No walls. No cruelty. Just you." The flush deepens. "That version of Blake? I think about that version a lot."
My lungs forget how to work.
She thinks about me. That version of me. The one I barely remember how to be.
"The cruel stuff—that wasn't who you are." She looks up. Meets my eyes. "I know that now. It was you running scared. It still hurt. A lot. But I think I can separate who you were from who you're trying to be."
I nod. Can't speak. My throat's closed up.
"So no promises." Her voice steadies. "But I'm not ruling anything out. Just—don't be mean, okay? If something's bugging you, or you need space, you have to say it. No more shutting down and lashing out."
"Okay." It comes out rough. "Absolutely. Yeah."
Don't be mean. The bar is in hell and I still almost tripped over it. But she's giving me a chance. More than I deserve.
Reid clears his throat. "Since we're being honest about the awkward stuff..."
Laine groans. "There's more?"
I catch Reid's eye. Give him the look. The one that says we talked about this, don't make it weird right now, I swear to God.
Reid catches it. Hesitates. Recalibrates.
"Never mind. It can wait."
Laine looks between us. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That." She points from me to Reid. "The look. You two just had a whole conversation with your eyebrows."
"We did not have a conversation with our eyebrows," Reid says.
"You absolutely did. What were you going to say?"
Reid glances at me again. I shake my head. Don't. Too fucking fast.
"Sleeping arrangements," he admits. "But Blake's right. Way too early for that conversation."
Laine's face goes red. Bright red. The kind of red that spreads from her cheeks down her neck and probably keeps going. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Yeah. Not yet." She crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. Shoves her hands in her coat pockets. Pulls them out again. "Good call."
"See? I can do slow."
"That wasn't slow. That was you almost sprinting and then tripping at the last second."
"Still counts."
She's flustered. Embarrassed. Shivering in the damp cold, her nose going pink, her breath coming out in little white puffs.
I want to hold her.
The thought hits me square in the chest. Not sexual. Not complicated. Just—I want to pull her against me and wrap my arms around her and feel her breathe. Feel her warmth seeping through my flannel. Know she's real and here and not walking away.
But I can't just grab her. Can I?
After everything I did, she might flinch. She might step back. She might give me that guarded look she wore for months—the one that said I don't trust you and please don't hurt me at the same time.
I'd deserve it. Every bit of it.
My feet move before my brain catches up. One step toward her.
Then I stop.
What if she doesn't want you to touch her?
What if she pulls away?
What if you've ruined this permanently and the version of you she thinks about is gone, buried under every shitty thing you said, every wall you threw up, every time you chose cruelty because it was easier than letting her in?
My hands hang at my sides, useless. Twitching with the need to reach for her.
She's watching me. Head tilted. Waiting to see what I'll do.
The silence stretches. My jaw aches from clenching it.
Just do it, you fucking coward. The worst she can do is say no.
The worst she can do is confirm you've destroyed any chance of—
"Blake." Laine's voice cuts through the spiral. Soft. "You can touch me. If you want."
Oh.
I close the distance in two steps. My hands find her shoulders—just her shoulders, careful, giving her every chance to change her mind—
She steps into me before I can second-guess myself.
Her face presses against my chest. Her fingers curl into the flannel at my sides. She's shaking—from the cold or nerves, I can't tell. Maybe both.
I wrap my arms around her. Loose at first. Testing. Waiting for her to tense up, pull back, realize this was a mistake.
She doesn't.
She burrows closer. Tucks her head under my chin like she belongs there.
I stop breathing.
This. This is what I wanted. Not sex, not romance, not any of the complicated shit I don't know how to navigate. Just this. Being the chest she hides against instead of the reason she's hiding. Feeling her trust me with her weight, her warmth, her presence.
Even if it's just for a minute. Even if she changes her mind tomorrow.
Right now, she's here. In my arms. And she's not pulling away.
"This is weird," Laine mumbles into my shirt.
My stomach bottoms out. "Good weird or bad weird?"
She's quiet for a beat. Her fingers tighten on my flannel.
"Good weird. I think."
I rest my chin on top of her head. Her hair smells like lavender. Same shampoo she's always used. I breathe it in and try to memorize it.
When I open my eyes, Reid's watching us. He's leaning against the stack of salvageable lumber, arms crossed, face carefully neutral.
Not angry. Not jealous. Just present. Waiting to see how this plays out.
Laine pulls back. Looks up at me. Then she turns and looks at Reid.
I see the decision cross her face before she moves. The deliberate squaring of her shoulders. The deep breath.
She steps out of my arms and crosses the garage to Reid. He opens automatically, instinctively, and she walks right into him. His arms wrap around her like they've done it a thousand times—because they have. His chin drops to her head. His eyes close.
They fit differently. More familiar. More practiced. They've held each other through bad shifts and hard days and all the normal relationship stuff I was never part of.
I wait for the jealousy.
It flickers. Hot and ugly, right behind my sternum. The old voice starts up: She went to him. She's more comfortable with him. You're the afterthought. You're always the fucking afterthought.
I clench my jaw. Breathe through it.
The voice is a liar. It's been lying to me for years. I'm done listening.
The jealousy fades. Doesn't disappear—I don't think it ever will completely—but it settles into background noise. Manageable. Because I'm not on the outside anymore. I'm not pressing my face into a pillow, trying not to hear them in the next room. I'm here. Part of this. Whatever this is.
Laine pulls back from Reid. Looks at him. Then she turns and looks at me.
Her eyes are searching. Analyzing. Testing.
She turns back to Reid. Rises on her toes.
And kisses him.
It's soft. Brief. A question more than a statement. Reid's hands tighten on her waist, and he makes a quiet sound against her mouth.
When she pulls back, her eyes find me immediately. Still searching. Still testing. Watching for the explosion.
I hold her gaze. Don't flinch. Don't look away.
She crosses back to me.
My heart's slamming against my ribs. She stops inches away, close enough that I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. The fear.
She's waiting for me to fuck this up. Waiting for the cruel version of Blake to resurface and ruin everything.
I stay still. Let her come to me. Let her set the pace.
She rises on her toes. Her hand finds my jaw—cold fingers against stubble—and tilts my face down toward hers.
Her lips brush mine.
It's barely a kiss. A ghost of contact. But it sends electricity straight down my spine, shorts out every circuit in my brain.
She pulls back. Searches my face.
I search hers. Looking for regret. For second thoughts. For the moment she realizes what she's done and takes it back.
Her eyes flick to Reid. Then back to me. Reid. Me. Gauging. Measuring.
Waiting for the fallout.
"It's okay," I say. My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "I'm not about to beat his ass out of jealousy. That'd be a waste of a perfectly good afternoon."
Reid snorts. "I'd like to see you try."
"I'd win."
"You would not win."
"I would absolutely win. You fight like a cheerleader."
"That's offensive to cheerleaders. Those girls could kick both our asses."
"Fair point."
Laine's laugh breaks through—bright and surprised and real. The tension shatters. All the fear and uncertainty and careful testing—gone. Replaced by three idiots standing in a half-demolished garage, arguing about cheerleaders.
"Oh my God." She presses her hands to her face. "You two are ridiculous."
"He started it," Reid says.
"You started it by existing."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Your face doesn't make sense."
Laine drops her hands. She's grinning. Actually grinning, despite the cold and the nerves and everything that just happened. "This is what I signed up for, isn't it? Mediating your bickering for the rest of my life. Um, I mean. Yeah. Well you know what I mean."
The rest of my life.
Want hits me hard and deep.
"Pretty much," Reid says cheerfully. "Hope you're ready."
"I worked pediatric ER for six months. I can handle you two."
"That's hurtful. We're way more mature than children."
"Debatable."
I shake my head. But I'm smiling. Can't help it. My face feels strange—like the muscles have forgotten how to do this.
"Tomorrow night," I say, before I can lose my nerve. "You free?"
Laine turns to me. "Tomorrow?"
"Dinner. Just us." I shove my hands in my pockets so she can't see them shaking. "If you want."
Her smile softens. Loses the manic edge, settles into something warm.
"Like a date?"
"Exactly like a date."
"Yes." She reaches out and touches my arm. Just a brush of fingers through flannel. "I'd like that."
"Good."
Reid claps his hands together, rubbing them for warmth. "Great. Amazing. Love this for us. Can we please go inside now? I can't feel my feet and I'm pretty sure hypothermia is setting in."
"It's forty-five degrees."
"I'm delicate, Blake. I have a delicate constitution."
"You once ate a gas station burrito that had been sitting out for six hours. And you were totally fine, you fucking freak of nature."
"That's different. That was a dare."
Laine laughs again. The happy sound wraps around my chest and squeezes.
"Yeah," she says, looking at both of us. "Let's go inside."