Chapter 29 #2
Silence. Comfortable. Warm. I run my fingers through her hair, working out the tangles as gently as I can. Same thing I'd do with a piece of wood—patient, careful, following the grain instead of fighting it.
This doesn't feel real.
Any of it. If someone told me yesterday that I'd wake up today and have Laine naked in my bed, choosing me, wanting me—I would've called them a liar. And then probably punched them for getting my hopes up.
And underneath the warmth, underneath the bone-deep satisfaction—there's the other thing. The thing I can never fully shut off. The voice that says this is temporary. You'll ruin it. You ruin everything good.
I tighten my arms around her. Like if I hold on hard enough, the voice can't take her.
"What are you thinking?" She tilts her head back to look at me.
That I don't deserve this. That I'm terrified I'll fuck it up. That I love you so much it feels like it's going to crush me.
"That Reid's gonna be smug as hell when he gets back."
She groans. "Oh god. He is, isn't he?"
"Absolutely insufferable."
"He planned this." She narrows her eyes. "Didn't he?"
I snort. "Yeah."
"That conniving little—"
"He gave us space." I shrug. "Knew I wouldn't make a move with him here. Knew you might not either."
"Still." She pokes my chest. "Sneaky."
"Yep." Thank you, Reid.
She settles back against me. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my stomach. Circles and swirls that make my muscles jump.
"Do you think he's okay?"
She doesn't say who. Doesn't have to.
"Reid?"
"He just... left. Handed us this morning like it was nothing." She's quiet for a beat. "Is he actually fine? Or is he doing that thing where he acts fine?"
Shit. The fact that she already knows Reid does that—that she's already learned to read him well enough to question the performance—is kind of a relief. Like looking out for him isn't just my job anymore.
"I don't know." I catch her hand. Bring it to my lips. Kiss her knuckles. Honest answer, even though it tastes bad. "He's good at hiding it. Better than anyone I've ever met."
"That's not reassuring."
"No. It's not."
I stare at the ceiling. The water stain in the corner that I keep meaning to fix. Reid joked about it looking like Abraham Lincoln last week. Made Laine laugh so hard she snorted.
"He puts everyone else first," I say. "Always has. Even when it costs him. Especially when it costs him. He'll light himself on fire to keep the people he loves warm and then tell you the burns don't hurt."
"That sounds like someone else I know."
I ignore that.
"We need to watch him." My thumb traces her knuckles. Back and forth. "Make sure he's not just... performing okay for our sake. Because he will. He'll smile and crack jokes and make it look easy, and meanwhile—"
I stop. Because I know what meanwhile looks like. I've seen it. Seven years of watching Reid hold himself together with duct tape and bad jokes while the cracks spread underneath.
"Meanwhile what?" Laine asks softly.
"Meanwhile he's the one standing alone."
She's quiet for a long time. Her fingers have stopped their patterns on my stomach. Just resting there. Still.
"He whispered something else to me," she says. "Before he left. When he crouched by my chair."
I wait.
"He said 'don't hold back with him. He needs this.'"
Fuck.
The words land like a punch. Right in the center of my chest where everything's still cracked open and raw.
Because that's Reid. That's exactly Reid. Orchestrating everyone else's happiness from the outside like he doesn't need any of his own.
And I just spent the morning in bed with his girl while he sat in someone's driveway pretending to help move furniture.
"Hey." Laine tips her head back. Reads my face. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Whatever's happening behind your eyes right now. That spiral. He chose this, Blake. He's not a martyr—he's a grown man who made a decision."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
I don't answer. Because she's right and she's wrong at the same time. Reid did choose this. He's not a victim. But Reid choosing to give doesn't mean the giving doesn't cost him, and I know that better than anyone alive.
"When he gets home," I say, "we make sure he knows. That he's not on the outside of this."
"How?"
"I don't know yet." I press a kiss to her temple. "But we figure it out. Together."
She nods against my chest.
"He's lucky to have you," she says quietly. "Both of you are lucky to have each other."
Lucky. The word doesn't fit right. Lucky is finding a twenty in your coat pocket. Lucky is making a green light. What Reid and I have—what we survived to get here—that's not luck. That's scar tissue and stubbornness and refusing to let go of each other even when we probably should have.
She relaxes against me. Lets out a long breath.
The fear is still there. Underneath everything. That voice saying you'll ruin it, you ruin everything good.
But right now she's here. Warm and real and pressed against my chest, her heartbeat tapping against my ribs. And somewhere out there, Reid is on his way home. To us. To this.
Right now is enough.
It has to be.
We eventually make it to the shower.
I carry her because her legs aren't working right. She wraps around me like a koala, laughing into my neck. Am I a little proud about that?
Fuck yeah.
"This is ridiculous," she says. "I'm not an invalid."
"You can barely walk. I did that." I adjust my grip on her thighs. "Let me have this."
She doesn't argue.
The shower is too small for both of us. We make it work. I wash her hair, careful and gentle, working out the tangles. She leans back against my chest and lets me.
This.
Not just the sex—though fuck, the sex. But this. The quiet after. Soap and water and her body against mine. The sound of her breathing. The way she tips her head back against my shoulder and trusts me to hold her up.
I've never had this. Not really. Hookups that burned out by morning. Relationships that never got past the surface because I wouldn't let them. Nothing that felt like coming home after years of sleeping in places that weren't mine.
Laine feels like home.
And that scares the shit out of me.
Because I know what I do to homes. I know what I've done to this one. To Reid. To her.
Stop. Don't do this now. Not now.
"What time is it?" she murmurs.
"No idea. Don't care."
"Reid's going to be back eventually."
"Let him." I press a kiss to her shoulder. "He knew what he was leaving us to."
"We should probably at least put clothes on."
"Nope."
She laughs. Tips her head back to look at me.
"You're very demanding, you know that?"
"You like it."
She hums. Neither confirmation nor denial.
I reach past her to shut off the water. Grab a towel. Wrap her in it like a burrito.
"Blake." She's squirming. "I can dry myself off."
"Don't want you to."
She stops squirming. Looks up at me with something soft in her eyes.
"You're different," she says quietly. "Than I expected."
"Bad different?"
"No." She reaches up. Touches my face. Her fingers trace my jaw, my cheekbone. Careful, like she's memorizing. "Good different. Really good different."
I lean into her palm.
Don't cry. Do not fucking cry, Moore.
"Come on." I clear my throat. It doesn't help. "Let's get you dried off and fed. You burned a lot of calories."
She grins. "Whose fault is that?"
"Mine." I grin back. "And I'm not even a little sorry."