Chapter 30 #2
"You told me you were fine." His voice is level. Not cruel — just factual. "Every single day. I'm good, Blake. You don't have to stay. I'm handling it."
My jaw clenches.
"And every single day I looked at you and I knew you were full of shit." He tilts his head. "Sound familiar?"
Fuck.
"That was different—"
"How?" His eyes are steady. That immovable Blake thing that makes me want to punch him and hug him simultaneously. "You set this up for us. You walked out that door so I could have this morning. And I love you for it. But I'm not gonna sit here and watch you do what you always do."
"Which is what?"
"Pretend like shit isn't hard. Tell me you're fine." His jaw works. "I kicked down your door once, Reid. I'll do it again. Every time. So don't make me guess — what did it cost?"
The question sits in the air between us.
My knee stops bouncing.
What did it cost?
I stare at the floor. At Laine's bare feet poking out from under the blanket. At Blake's hand resting on her hair.
"I held Tony's kid," I say quietly. "And she fell asleep in my arms. And it was.
.. really nice. Perfect, actually. And then I put her down and got in my truck and the whole drive home I kept thinking—" I swallow.
"I kept thinking what if they're going to want it to be just them? What if there's no room for me?"
Blake doesn't say anything for a minute. Just looks at me with something so raw on his face that I have to fight the urge to crack a joke. Deflect. Make it light. Ha, pretty dark for a Saturday, right? Anyway, what's for dinner?
But I don't. Because he asked. And because this is Blake, and lying to Blake is like lying to a wall — pointless and exhausting and he just stares at you until you stop.
"Come here," Blake says.
"I'm right here."
"Closer."
I lean forward. Elbows on my knees.
Blake reaches out and grabs the back of my neck. Firm. Grounding. The same way he's done a hundred times — in barracks, in trucks, in hospital waiting rooms. His hand is warm and calloused and solid.
"You are not the outside of this," he says. Low and certain. "You hear me? You're not some fucking accessory."
"Blake—"
"This doesn't work without you. None of it. Not me and her. Not this house. Not any of it." His grip tightens. "I know you think your job is to take care of everyone else. I know that's how you're wired. But you don't get to set the table and then not sit down."
My eyes are burning. Shit.
"That's..." I clear my throat. Try to smile. It comes out crooked. "That's a pretty good metaphor for a guy who communicates in grunts."
"Learned from the best." He doesn't let go of my neck. "We good?"
"Yeah." My voice cracks on it. Just barely. I clear my throat again. "Yeah, we're good."
He holds on for another few seconds. Then releases me. Settles back against the couch. His hand finds Laine's hair again.
The tight thing in my chest loosens. Not all the way — I don't think it ever goes all the way. Hasn't in 7 years at least. But enough.
Enough to breathe.
Laine stirs about ten minutes later.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and sleepy. She sees me on the coffee table and her whole face changes. Softens. Something warm flooding in that makes my chest do that complicated thing again.
"Hey." Her voice is rough. Wrecked. "You're back."
"Hey yourself." I lean forward. "Heard you had a busy morning."
She blushes. Actually blushes. After everything she did today, and we did last night, she's blushing because I'm teasing her.
God, I love her.
"Blake's very thorough," she mumbles, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Blake grins. Smug bastard.
Laine reaches out from under the blanket. Finds my hand. And then she does something that cracks me open.
She tugs.
Not hard. Just a gentle, insistent pull. Come here. Come closer.
"There's no room on—"
"We'll make room."
I look at Blake. He shifts sideways without a word, making space on the couch. Like they planned it. Like they talked about this. Maybe they did.
I slide off the coffee table and onto the couch. It's too small for three people. I don't care. Laine immediately rearranges herself — head still in Blake's lap, but her legs swing across mine. She pulls my arm around her calves and tucks my hand under the blanket against her shin.
Warm. So warm under there.
"Better," she murmurs. Eyes already drooping again.
I look down at her. At my hand on her leg, at Blake's hand in her hair, at the way she's bridged between us like it's the most natural thing in the world.
This. This is what I was afraid of losing. Not the sex. Not the romance. This. Being included in the warm room instead of watching through the window.
"She talked about you," Blake says quietly over her head. "While you were gone."
"Yeah?"
"Wanted to make sure you were okay." His mouth quirks. "Told me we needed to be better for you."
"I don't need—"
"Shut up, Reid." Laine's voice is muffled. Eyes still closed. "Yes you do."
I huff a laugh. My hand squeezes her shin under the blanket.
"Bossy."
"I learned it from Blake."
"Hey," Blake says.
"It's true. You're a terrible influence." Her voice fades on the last syllable, then she's out again.
Blake looks at me over her head. Something passes between us — amusement, warmth, the bone-deep relief of being back on solid ground.
Yeah. We're okay.
We sit like that for a while. Laine drifts in and out, making sleepy sounds. Blake's hand moves in slow strokes through her hair. My thumb traces circles on her shin. The house settles around us — creaking wood, the hum of the refrigerator, wind against the windows.
"Been thinking about something," I say eventually.
"Dangerous," Blake says.
"Asshole." I scrub my free hand over my face. "I've been thinking about... watching."
Blake's hand stills in Laine's hair. "Watching what?"
"You and her." The words come out easier than I expected. Maybe because of what just happened — the honesty, the neck grab, the you're not the outside of this. "I think I'd like to see it. The two of you together."
He doesn't say anything for a long moment.
"That's..." He clears his throat. "You sure about that?"
"Been thinking about it all afternoon." I shrug. "Sitting at Tony's, holding his kid, my brain kept circling back to you two. What you might be doing. And I kept waiting for the jealousy to hit. Like bracing for a wave, you know? But it never came. Instead I was just..."
"Turned on?"
"Yeah." I meet his eyes. "Is that weird?"
"Probably." His mouth quirks. "But I've been thinking the same thing. About watching you with her."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He glances down at Laine. "Last night, when you two were upstairs — I could hear you through the wall. Her. And I was so sure I'd hate it. That it would gut me. Like before."
"But it didn't."
"No." He looks back at me. "It really didn't. I was maybe a little jealous, but that's it."
The last stubborn knot behind my ribs finally lets go.
"So we're both into it." I tap my fingers against Laine's shin. "That's... good. That's a lot of options."
"We should go slow with her, though." Blake's voice is careful. Protective. "She's new to this. All of it. We can't rush any of this. It matters too fucking much."
She's new to it? Yeah, she is. But it's not like I'm some expert in any of this shit. My life has been way too vanilla. I've never had a threesome and I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be on the bingo card. "Agreed. Totally. Let her set the pace. We follow her lead."
"She's good at that." He smiles — a real one, rare and warm. "Setting the pace. Taking what she wants."
"Yeah. She really is."
A beat.
"So," I say. "Logistics. The two of us. We should probably—"
"I love you," Blake cuts in. "But I have zero interest in touching your dick."
I bark out a laugh so loud Laine flinches in her sleep. I slap a hand over my mouth. She settles. I drop my hand.
"Thank fuck," I whisper. "Same. Jesus. Same."
"Good." He nods firmly. "That's settled."
"We can both be with her. Together. Same room. Same bed. But the two of us..."
"Brothers." He holds up his fist. "That's it."
I bump it with mine. "Brothers."
Laine shifts. Mumbles something. Her eyes flutter half-open.
"Are you two doing a fist bump over my sleeping body?"
"Maybe," I say.
"Were you talking about me?"
"Definitely," Blake says.
She sighs. Closes her eyes again. "I'm too tired to deal with both of you right now."
"Get some more sleep," I tell her. "We'll wake you for dinner."
"Mmm." She squeezes my hand under the blanket. "Don't go anywhere."
"Not going anywhere." I press my thumb against her shin. "Promise."
Her breathing evens out within a minute.
I look at Blake over her sleeping form. He looks back.
"So what's for dinner?" I ask.
"Do I look like I have any plan to get up?"
"Not fair. I made breakfast. It's your turn. I'm thinking roast beef and mashed potatoes with a side of caesar salad."
"Sounds fucking amazing. You do it."
"Nobody wants that. Admit it, a night at the emergency room would put a real damper on our weekend." I pat her shin under the blanket. "Right, Laine?"
Nothing. Dead asleep.
"She's out," Blake says.
"Yeah." I lean my head back against the couch. "We should probably let her sleep."
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
"Tacos?" I say.
"Sure."
"The good place or the bad place?"
"There's only one place, Reid."
"Right, but are we going to get the good version of that place or the bad version? Because last time—"
"I'm not having this conversation again."
"You never want to have the important conversations."
His mouth twitches. "Tacos are fine."
"See? Was that so hard?"
Laine mumbles something from his lap. We both freeze.
She rolls over, pulls the blanket tighter, and goes still again.
Blake raises an eyebrow at me. Keep it down.
I mouth tacos at him and give a thumbs up.
He shakes his head. But he's smiling.