Chapter 24
LAINE
I'm supposed to be ready by now.
Instead, I'm standing in front of my closet in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, hair scraped back in a ponytail that's already falling apart. My third outfit attempt lies crumpled on the bed. The first two didn't make it past the mirror.
Nothing fits right. Nothing looks right. I don't feel right.
The buzzer goes off.
No no no. Not yet. I needed another twenty minutes. Or another hour. Or possibly another lifetime.
I hit the intercom. "Come up." Darn it. I was supposed to ask who it is. Blake's going to be pissed. Luckily I'm not expecting Blake.
Reid knocks thirty seconds later. I open the door and his face does this thing — starts with a smile, shifts to concern, settles into something patient.
He's wearing a button-down. Navy blue. The one that makes his eyes look ridiculous. He even did something with his hair.
"Hey." He takes in my sweatpants. My disaster ponytail. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
I'm not fine. I'm irritated and tired and I really don't want to explain why.
Reid steps inside, closes the door behind him. "You don't look fine."
"Thanks. That's helpful."
He doesn't flinch at my tone. Just watches me with those steady eyes. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just —" I gesture vaguely at my closet, my bed, myself. "I couldn't figure out what to wear and now I'm annoyed about it and I know that's stupid but here we are."
I hear myself. Whiny. Petulant. Ugh.
"I'm being a brat. I'm aware."
"It's not stupid."
"It is stupid. It's a date. I've been on dates. I know how to get dressed." I drop onto the edge of my bed, shoving the rejected blouse aside. "I just — I had this whole plan. Cute outfit, good hair, fun Laine. And instead you're getting..." I gesture at myself. "This."
Reid leans against my doorframe, arms crossed. Not angry. Not impatient. Just... there.
"You don't have to perform for me," he says quietly.
"I'm not performing. I'm just —" Except I am. That's exactly what I was trying to do. Get dressed, put on the smile, be the charming date Laine who didn't spend 20 minutes crying in the breakroom.
"Do you know that? Because you look like you're beating yourself up for not being ready to smile and be charming."
I glare at him. He's right, which makes it worse.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say.
"Okay."
"I mean it. I don't know what's wrong. I'm just... grumpy. And I don't want to ruin our night by being grumpy, but I also don't want to fake being fine."
Reid pushes off the doorframe. "Then don't fake it. Come on."
"Come on where? I'm not dressed."
"You're perfect."
I snort. "I'm in sweatpants."
"Perfect sweatpants." He's already unbuttoning his nice shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Underneath, he's wearing a plain white t-shirt. He tosses the button-down onto my chair. "There. Now we match."
"Reid —"
"I know a place." He holds out his hand. "You don't have to talk. You don't have to be happy. You just have to come with me."
"Where?"
His mouth curves. "Somewhere you can hit things."
I stare at him. "What?"
"Trust me."
I shouldn't. I should shower and put on real clothes and be a functional human being who can handle a simple date night.
But Reid's standing there in his t-shirt, hand extended, looking at me like my mess doesn't scare him.
I take his hand.
"Fine," I say. "But if this is something weird, I'm leaving."
"Deal."
The batting cage smells like rubber and dust and someone else's sweat.
Reid found this place outside of town — one of those sad little recreational parks with a mini golf course that's seen better days and a row of pitching machines behind chain-link fencing.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz and flicker.
The batting helmet he hands me is slightly too big and definitely hasn't been sanitized since the Clinton administration.
"This is your idea of a date?" I adjust the helmet. It slides forward over my eyebrows.
"This is my idea of therapy." He grins through the chain-link. "Now get in there."
I've never done this before. The bat is heavier than I expected, and I have no idea where to put my hands. The machine clunks and whirs like it's thinking about it, then —
The ball rockets past me before I've even started to swing.
"You gotta be ready before the machine is ready," Reid calls. "Get your bat up."
I get my bat up. The machine clunks again.
Another ball. I swing. Miss by approximately three feet.
"Son of a —"
Another ball. Another miss. This one I at least get close to — I feel the air from it brush the end of the bat.
"You're dropping your elbow," Reid calls.
"I know." I don't know. I don't know what any part of my body is doing. I reset my stance, grip the bat tighter. The machine whirs.
Another ball. Another miss.
"Come ON!"
I was supposed to feel better by now. That was the whole point — hit things, feel things, get it out. Instead, every ball that flies past me feels like another failure in a day already full of them.
"This isn't working," I say, stepping back from the plate.
Reid hits the pause button. The machine goes quiet. He ducks through the cage door and walks toward me, bat in hand.
Through the chain-link, I'd caught glimpses of his face while I was flailing — this big, dumb, delighted grin. Like watching me be terrible at something was the highlight of his week. Now he's trying to look serious and failing completely.
"Your form's all wrong," he says. "Here, let me help."
He moves behind me. Close. Too close.
"First, you gotta relax your shoulders." His voice drops an octave. His hands slide down my arms, repositioning them. "Like this."
"Reid. What are you doing?"
"Teaching you." He's using this ridiculous breathy tone. Like a bad movie. "Now bend your knees a little. That's it. Feel the power in your core."
"Are you... are you trying to seduce me right now?"
"I have no idea what you mean." His breath is hot on my ear. "Just focus on the ball. Let your body do what it knows how to do."
I snort. "You're insane."
"Mm-hmm." He adjusts my grip, fingers lingering. "Now when the ball comes, you want to really thrust into it —"
I start giggling. "Stop."
"Thrust, Laine. With your hips."
The giggle becomes a laugh. Then a snort. Then —
A sob.
It catches me off guard. One second I'm laughing at Reid's terrible seduction act, the next I'm crying. Not cute crying. Ugly crying. The kind that comes from somewhere deep and doesn't ask permission.
Reid drops the bat immediately. It clatters against the concrete. His arms wrap around me.
"Hey. Hey, hey." He pulls me against his chest. "I've got you."
I can't stop. The harder I try, the worse it gets. My whole body shakes with it — these awful, heaving sobs that sound like they're coming from someone else.
"Laine." His voice is gentle now. Real. No performance. "Talk to me. What happened today?"
"I don't —" I hiccup. "I can't —"
"Yeah you can. Come on. What happened?"
The words stick in my throat. Lodged there like something sharp.
"I lost a patient."
Reid's face shifts. Goes soft. "Oh, sweetheart."
"She was pregnant." My voice cracks. "Nineteen weeks. She came in with preeclampsia and we couldn't — we did everything but it was too fast and she —"
Another sob. Reid pulls me back against him.
"Her husband was there," I choke out. "He watched us work on her for forty-five minutes. And then we had to — tell him. That his wife was gone. And the baby."
Reid's arms tighten.
"He just... stood there. Looking at me. Like if he waited long enough, I'd say something different." I press my face into Reid's shirt. "He lost them both. In one day. Everything he had."
Reid doesn't say anything. Doesn't try to fix it or explain it or minimize it. He just holds me while I cry in a batting cage that smells like rubber and dust under buzzing fluorescent lights.
"We couldn't save them," I whisper. "I did everything right and it wasn't enough."
"That's not your fault."
"I know." I hiccup. "I know that. But knowing doesn't help. I still see his face. I still hear her monitors flat-lining. I still —"
My voice breaks again.
Reid cradles the back of my head. "Why didn't you tell me? Before?"
"Because I didn't want to ruin the date." I laugh, but it comes out wet and broken. "Stupid, right? I thought if I could just... push through. Be normal. Be fine."
"You don't have to be fine."
"I know."
"I mean it." He pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "This is what we do now. The three of us. We don't pretend. We don't push through."
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Gross. I don't care. At least I didn't wipe it on his shirt. Though something tells me he wouldn't have flinched if I did.
"I wanted tonight to be good," I say quietly. "For us."
"Laine." Reid's smile is the kind that makes you want to cry harder, which is really not what I need right now. "This is good. You trusting me with this? That's good."
And there go the tears again. I'm a mess. A complete, total, mascara-streaked mess.
"Come on." He takes my hand. "Let's get out of here."
"I still didn't hit a single ball."
"Next time." He squeezes my fingers. "Right now, I'm getting you ice cream."
"It's cold outside."
He just grins and starts pulling me toward the exit. "What flavor do you want?"
I sniff pathetically. "Chocolate. With chocolate sauce."
"That's my girl."
The ice cream is obscenely good.
We're parked in Reid's truck behind the shop, engine running for heat, wrapped in a wool blanket he pulled from behind the seat.
The windows are fogging up from our breath, and the dashboard glows soft blue-green, turning the cab into this strange little cocoon.
The heater rattles on its highest setting — not quite winning against the cold but trying hard.
"This is ridiculous," I say around a mouthful of chocolate. "It's freezing."
"You said chocolate with chocolate sauce." Reid gestures at my cup. "I delivered."
"You did." I take another bite. My teeth ache from the cold. Worth it.