Chapter 36 #2
"Some days it's harder than others." I'm watching the seagull again.
It's fighting another seagull for the wrapper now.
Real territorial about garbage. I can relate.
"Some days I see him touch her and something in me wants to — I don't know.
Claim her. Which is a shitty way to feel about a person you love. "
"So you are jealous."
"Sometimes. Yeah."
The word lands and just sits there. I didn't mean to say it that plainly. Was planning something funnier, something with a better exit ramp. But there it is.
I'm jealous sometimes.
Not of Blake, exactly. Not of what he has with her.
More like—jealous of how easy it is for him to need her.
Blake doesn't filter it. Doesn't package it.
He just needs her, this raw, desperate, all-in way that I can't match because that's not how I'm built.
I'm the steady one. The easy one. The one who makes her laugh and keeps the wheels on. And most days that feels like enough.
Most days.
"And then I remember what it was like without them," I say, before Tony can push deeper. "Both of them. And the jealousy feels pretty fucking small compared to that."
Tony doesn't respond right away. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—somewhere between concern and something that might be respect. Or pity. Hard to tell with Tony.
"And Blake? He get jealous?"
"Blake gets jealous of the weather if it makes Laine smile and he didn't cause it."
That gets a surprised laugh out of him. Small, but real. "That tracks."
"We talk about it. A lot. Probably more than any normal couple does. I've had more conversations about feelings in the last two months than in my entire life before this."
"That doesn't sound like you."
"Yeah, well." I shrug. "People grow, Tony. It's a thing that happens."
"Like…do you…are you…" He drifts off, then makes a weird kind of cross with his forefingers.
"I have no idea what you're trying to ask me."
"Are you fucking Blake? Or is he fucking you? Shit. I'm not supposed to say that. Are you… are you gay?"
"Jesus Christ, Tony. Could you be any more awkward? No, I'm not suddenly gay. Blake and I are friends. That's all. The sex is with Laine, not each other."
His face goes red. He's quiet for a minute. "And it doesn't get weird? With the two of you both being with her?"
Every single day, I think. Every day is a little weird. But weird stopped being a bad thing about six weeks ago.
"We have rules. Boundaries. We talk about everything—and I mean everything. There is no thought too stupid or too ugly to say out loud in that house." I laugh, surprising myself. "It's exhausting, honestly. Like emotional CrossFit."
"Hmm." He's picking at his coffee lid now. Same nervous energy I've got. "And does anyone else know? At the station?"
"No. You're the first."
"Jesus." He laughs, and this one's got no humor at all. "Lucky me."
"We're not exactly putting out a press release."
"I noticed." He shoots me a look. "You know it's going to come out eventually, right? People talk. And if someone else sees what I saw—"
"I know."
"And what happens at the station when it does? You think Chief is gonna—"
"I don't know."
"Because people are gonna have opinions, Reid. Not everyone's gonna be cool about it."
"I know that too."
"And if it gets weird on calls? If it affects—"
"Tony." I hold up a hand. "I hear you."
He holds my gaze for a beat, then lets out a long breath through his nose. "I'm not gonna tell anyone. Just so you know."
"Thanks."
"But Reid—" He turns to face me fully. "If this blows up, it's gonna affect you on the job. And I need you sharp. I need my partner's head in the game, not worrying about who's sleeping where."
"My head's in the game."
"Right now, yeah. But what happens when she decides she only wants one of you?"
The seagulls are gone. The parking lot is just a parking lot again. Normal people walking in and out of a convenience store, living their normal lives with their normal relationships.
What happens when she picks one of you?
And there it is. The thing I don't look at. The door I keep closed.
But Tony kicked it open, and now I'm seeing it—just a flash, just a second—Laine's overnight bag on Blake's side of the house.
Blake's door closed. My room the way it was before she got there.
Empty bed. Empty nightstand. No hair ties on the bathroom counter, no half-drunk tea on the kitchen table, no weight beside me at 2 AM when I reach over just to check.
Just me again.
Just me in a house with my best friend and the woman he loves and no place left for me in the equation.
Shut the door, Reid.
I shut the door.
"I don't know," I say. "Hadn't really thought about it."
"Bullshit."
Yeah. Bullshit.
"What do you want me to say, Tony? That I've got it all figured out? That there's some playbook for this? There's not. We're winging it."
"That's your answer for everything today."
"Because it's the only honest one I've got."
He opens his mouth—probably question number forty-seven in what's clearly going to be an ongoing series—but the radio cuts in with a call.
Unit 7, respond to 1847 Calder Street. Chest pains, sixty-three-year-old male, conscious and breathing.
Tony grabs the radio. "Unit 7, copy. En route."
He pulls the rig out of the parking lot, lights on. I plug in the address. And just like that, the conversation's shelved. Not finished. Shelved.
We ride in silence for two blocks. Then Tony says, without looking at me:
"I've got more questions."
"I figured."
"A lot more."
"Can't wait."
Another block. He takes the turn onto Calder.
"The calendar thing. Seriously. You should look into that."
"Got it covered, Tony."
"I'm just saying. Organization is key in any relationship. I read that somewhere."
"You've never read anything in your life."
"I read the back of a cereal box this morning. Very informative. Lots of fiber."