Chapter 32 #2
"Broke the drawer pull. Off the dresser. Because he was gripping it too hard." I press my fingers against my eyes. "And he kept saying my name like it was the only word he knew and I just — I can't — it was—"
"Intense?"
"That word is doing so much work right now and it's still not enough."
Our pancakes arrive. I eat a bite without tasting it. Then another. Then a third, because stress eating is a valid coping mechanism and I will die on that hill.
"And then last night on the couch," I continue, mouth half full, which Jamila graciously ignores.
"Reid was playing with my hair and Blake started touching my leg and they just — it was like they planned it.
This coordinated—" I gesture again. Still conveying nothing.
"And I just... let them. Both of them. At the same time. "
I put my fork down. Stare at my pancakes.
"And it was incredible. Like, genuinely the most — I didn't know my body could DO that. And then I fell asleep between them and somebody carried me to the guest room and I woke up alone with white walls and my own thoughts and now I'm HERE."
I gesture at the diner. At the laminate table. At reality.
She sits back. Studies me.
"Okay," she says slowly. "So you had an incredible weekend with two men who clearly adore you. And now you're sitting in a diner looking like someone ran over your dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"Not the point, lady." She points her fork at me. "What's actually going on? Because the woman who suggested this arrangement doesn't look like someone who just got exactly what she asked for."
What IS going on?
I push a piece of pancake around my plate. Making tracks in the syrup.
"I don't know."
"Try."
"It's just—" I set down my fork. "Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Like a snow globe. And I keep waiting for someone to drop it."
"You think they're going to change their minds?"
"No. Maybe." I press my palms against my eyes. "It's not that. It's more like... I don't know how to exist in something this good. Every good thing I've ever had came with an expiration date. Every country, every apartment, every job."
"And this doesn't have an expiration date."
"No. And that should be great. That IS great. But my body doesn't know what to do with it. I keep waiting for the catch. The part where someone says okay, that was fun, time to go."
Jamila's quiet for a moment. Processing.
"Tell me about Blake," she says. "How did it feel? Being with him?"
Oh God. Feelings are hard.
"Like being seen all the way through." I stare at my coffee.
"He was... desperate. In the best way. Like he'd been holding back for so long and when he finally let go—" I shake my head.
"And then afterwards he washed my hair. In the shower.
Worked out all the tangles like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. "
"And Reid?"
"Safe. Home. The way it's always been with him." I wrap my hands around my mug. "Different from Blake. Warmer. Steadier. Reid makes me feel like I could fall and he'd catch me. Blake makes me feel like falling IS the point."
"So you have two men who make you feel two different things. Both good. Both real." Jamila tilts her head. "I'm not seeing the problem here."
"The problem is I don't know how to hold both at once." The words tumble out before I can arrange them. "When I'm with Reid I feel settled. Grounded. Like I know exactly who I am. And when I'm with Blake I feel... electric. Alive in a way I didn't know I could be. But together? All three of us?"
"What?"
"I don't know who I'm supposed to be. Which version. The steady one or the wild one." I laugh, but it sounds. a little manic. "And what happens when they realize I'm just... me? Regular me who eats too many pancakes and talks to herself in the car and doesn't know what she's doing?"
Jamila's lip curls. "Have you considered that maybe they want regular you?"
"They want the woman who was brave enough to suggest a throuple. That was a moment of temporary insanity, Jamila. That wasn't—"
"Was it?"
The question sits between us. Next to the syrup and the stolen coffee.
I think about Friday night. Reid's hands in my hair. The way he looked at me like I was precious. Saturday morning. Blake's raw need. Wanted this. Wanted you. So long. Last night on the couch. Both of them taking care of me. Neither asking for anything in return.
"I love them," I say quietly. "Both of them. I actually love Blake now — not just attraction, but real love — and that terrifies me because what if I can't love them equally? What if I love one more than the other and they figure it out and the whole thing collapses?"
"Who says you have to love them equally?"
I blink. "What?"
"You love your parents differently than you love me. Doesn't mean one love is less real." Jamila shrugs. "Maybe you love Reid and Blake differently too. Maybe that's the whole point."
Maybe that's the whole point.
Why does that suddenly make me feel like I can take a deep breath?
"I've never done this before," I say. "Any of it. The staying. The committing. The letting people see me when I'm not put together." I meet her eyes. "What if I'm not built for it? What if I'm like my parents — always needing to be somewhere else because staying still feels like suffocating?"
"Is that what staying with them feels like? Suffocating?"
"No." The answer is immediate. No thought required. "It feels like the opposite. Like finally breathing after years of holding my breath."
"So what's the actual fear? The real one. Under all the others."
I stare at my pancakes. Cold now. Syrup congealing into pools. Looks gross, but I'm still going to eat it. You don't waste pancakes.
"That I'll finally have everything I ever wanted—" My voice cracks.
I push through it. "And I'll destroy it.
Because I'll get scared and bolt at 3 AM.
Or I'll stay and be too much — too needy, too clingy, too—" I gesture at myself.
All of myself. "And one morning they'll look at each other and think this isn't worth the hassle.
And I'll be the one who made two good men's lives harder just by being in them. "
Jamila doesn't say anything for a long moment.
Then she leans forward. Elbows on the table.
"Kerry and I almost split up. Two years ago. Did I ever tell you that?"
I look up. "No." I can't even imagine them apart. They seem so solid. So in love.
"We did. I was in a bad place with work. Taking it out on her. Picking fights because it was easier to be angry than scared. And she was pulling away because I was pushing her and I was pushing her because she was pulling away and—" She waves her hand. "You get the cycle."
I nod.
"You know what saved us? It wasn't a big romantic gesture.
It wasn't a breakthrough conversation. It was the fact that she kept showing up.
" Jamila's voice goes soft in a way I've rarely heard from her.
"Every morning. Even when I was impossible.
Even when I was sure she was done. She just..
. kept being there. And eventually I realized that was the whole thing.
That's all love is. Showing up when it's hard and staying when it's scary. "
She reaches across the table. Takes my hand.
"From everything you've told me, Reid and Blake are showing up. The question is whether you're going to let them."
Show up. That's it. That's the whole thing. It can't be that easy, right?
Not be perfect. Not have all the answers. Not be the brave woman who suggests a throuple or the confident one who pulls it off. Just... be there. Present. Even when it's terrifying.
"I left this morning," I say. "Practically sprinted out the door. They definitely think I'm freaking out."
"Are you?"
"I'm having feelings. Which apparently I process by fleeing to diners and dumping everything on my friends over cold pancakes."
"That's literally what friends are for." She squeezes my hand. "Feel better?"
The panic is still there — I can feel it at the edges, that restless hum under my skin that whispers run. But underneath it, something else. Something steadier.
"Yeah," I say. "I think I do."
"Good." She pulls out her wallet. "Now go home to your boyfriends and tell them what you just told me. The fear. The doubt. All of it." She grins. "Communication. That thing healthy relationships are built on."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Therapy. Lots of therapy." She stands. Drops cash on the table. "Also I expect updates. Not sex stuff—" she holds up a hand. "I can live without those. But the emotional stuff. I want to know how this goes."
"Deal."
I hug her in the parking lot. Hold on maybe a little too long.
"Thank you," I mumble into her shoulder.
"Always." She pulls back. Looks at me with that steady, loving gaze that I am so grateful for. "You've got this, Laine. I mean that."
There's so much about my life here that I love. I can't remember the last time I had a friend like Jamila. Someone so present. Someone I could trust with the truth, all of it, even the messy embarrassing parts about breaking dressers and couch orgasms and loving two men at the same time.
This is what staying gets you. People who know you.
I get in my car. Check my phone.
Two texts. One from Reid.
Everything okay?
One from Blake.
Take the time you need. We're here.
We're here.
Even their texts are different. Reid checking in, needing to know, reaching for connection. Blake holding space, offering patience, saying I'll be right here when you're ready.
Two men. Two kinds of love. Both real. Both mine if I'm brave enough to keep them.
I start typing a response. Delete it. Start again.
Just tell them you're coming back. That's the whole thing. Show up.
On my way home.
I stare at the word. Home. I didn't mean to type that. I meant to type back. On my way back.
I send it anyway.
Then I sit in the parking lot for another thirty seconds because my eyes are blurry and I shouldn't drive while crying. Again. Twice in one weekend. New record.
Get it together, Mitchell. You're going home. That's all. You're just going home.
I put the car in reverse. Pull out of the parking lot. Head back to them.
The drive takes twelve minutes. My brain fills every single one of them.
What do I say when I walk in? "Hey, sorry I ran out of here like the house was haunted, I was just having a minor emotional crisis about whether I deserve happiness, anyway what's for lunch?"
Actually that might work. Reid would laugh. Blake would do that jaw thing where he's trying not to smile.
Okay. That's the plan. Walk in. Be honest. Don't run.
You can do this.
Probably.
I pull into the driveway. Reid's truck. Blake's truck. Both still here.
Of course they're still here. They said they would be.
I turn off the engine. Grab my keys. Take one more breath.
Show up, Mitchell. Just show up.
I go inside.