Chapter 48 #2
I don't answer. Pull out the last of it. Socks. Underwear. Stack it neat on the dresser because that's what I do. I make things neat and orderly even when everything else is falling apart.
"Blake, please—"
"I can't do it." I stare at the empty duffel. "I can't walk into their house and be nobody for a week."
"It wouldn't be a week, just a day or—"
"You don't know that. You've had seven weeks and you haven't told them. What's going to change in two days?"
She doesn't have an answer. I can hear her crying behind me, the kind she's trying to muffle, and every sound is a hook in my chest but I can't turn around yet.
Reid's quiet. That scares me more than anything because Reid is never quiet.
"I'll stay home," I say. "You two go. Meet her parents. It's what they're expecting anyway."
"No." Laine's off the chair. The mattress dips behind me and then she's there, on her knees, shoving my empty duffel to the side. Her hands find mine and hold on. Her face is wrecked—red, wet, mascara smudged under her eyes. "No. You are not staying here. You're not."
I want to pull my hands back. I want to walk out to the shop and lock the door.
I don't move.
"Laine—"
"I did this. I know I did this. And it's awful and I'm so sorry, but you not coming is worse. That's worse than anything."
"For who?"
She flinches like I hit her.
Good.
"For who, Laine? Because from where I'm standing, it's a lot easier for everyone if I'm not there."
"It's not easier for me." Her hands tighten on mine. "I don't want to go without you. I can't go without you."
"You've been planning to go without me. That's what this is. You just wanted me in the building."
She breaks. Full sob, the kind that makes her whole body shake. She presses her forehead against our hands and cries, and I stand there holding her and hating myself for being right.
A man with any pride would pull his hands back. Pack his shit. Walk.
I don't.
Not because I've forgiven her. Not because I understand. Because her hands are warm and she's shaking and I can't be the reason someone I love is in pain. Even when she's the reason I'm in mine.
That's the fucking math. She can hurt me and I'll stand here. I'll stand here and take it because walking away feels worse than bleeding.
I don't know what that makes me.
"Blake." Reid's voice. Quiet but steady. "Look at me."
I don't want to. But I do. He's part of this. He fucking knew.
He's still on the bed. Elbows on his knees. He looks like shit — pale, jaw tight, eyes that know exactly how badly he fucked up.
"This is on both of us," he says. "Me and her. We should've told you. Full stop. No excuses."
"Reid—"
"Let me finish." He takes a breath. "But if we don't go — all three of us — then Laine never tells them. That's what happens. She puts it off again and again and this thing between her and her parents just gets bigger until it eats her alive."
In this moment, it would be so easy to say yeah. To just go along with it for her. Not sure I could actually survive it though. "That's not my problem to solve."
"No. It's not. But you and me, we've walked into harder rooms than this.
We've walked into rooms where people were trying to kill us and we handled it.
" He leans forward. "Her parents aren't going to shoot at us.
They're going to be weird and religious and maybe they'll hate it.
But Laine needs to do this, and she needs us both there to do it. "
She needs us both there.
I look down at Laine. She's still pressed against my hands, breathing in hitches, holding on like I'm the only solid thing in the room.
You could stay. You could hold this line. This is the healthy choice. The only survivable choice.
But Laine's shaking. And Reid's right — if not now, when?
She'll dodge this for another year, another five years, and the secret will just grow around all of us like a vine until nobody can move.
And that's if we even survive this. Because I'm not sure I can be the secret and not fall into a fucking bottle.
And the truth underneath all of it, the thing I don't want to look at: I can't stand the idea of them going without me. Of sitting here in this house for a week knowing they're together in a place I was supposed to be.
That's the pattern. Someone needs something and you fold. Every fucking time.
I know.
They know it too.
"Two days," Laine says, lifting her head. Her eyes are swollen. She's gripping my hands so hard my knuckles ache. "Give me two days. Let them meet you. Let them see who you are. And then I tell them everything."
"And if you don't?"
"I will."
"Laine."
"I will. Two days. I promise."
I look at Reid. He holds my gaze. There's something in his face I don't like — he knows what this costs me. He knows I'm folding. And he's letting me do it anyway.
"This is pretty fucking unfair," I say. "You know that, right? Both of you. Asking me to walk in there and play the buddy. Like I'm back on the outside." I look at Laine. "Like I was before."
She doesn't look away. Doesn't defend herself. Just nods.
"Two days," I say. "If you don't tell them…I can't fucking live like that."
"You won't have to," she whispers. "I promise."
I nod. That's all I've got.
Laine's arms come around me and I let them, but I don't pull her in the way I usually do. Not yet.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Yeah."
Reid hasn't moved. I know he's watching. Waiting to see if we're okay. If he and I are okay.
I don't know yet. I'll let him know when I figure it out.
After a quiet supper we head to bed. Normal positions — Laine in the middle, me by the door, Reid by the window. The sheets are cool. The room is dark. Everything in its right place.
Except nothing is. This ball of pain in my chest won't go away. I thought I was having a fucking heart attack, but according to my watch, my heart's healthy as a fucking horse.
It's not a physical thing. And maybe it's fucked up, but I kind of wish it was. Then I'd have an excuse to bail on the fucking trip.
Laine falls asleep first. She always does — out in minutes, her breathing evening out, her body softening against mine. Reid takes longer, shifting a few times, but within twenty minutes he's gone too. That's his gift. The world can be falling apart and Reid will sleep through it.
Not me. Too many years of always being on alert. On edge. But there's no physical danger here tonight. I know that. This is worse.
I lie there.
Stare at the ceiling.
Reid's friend.
She's scared. You understand why she's scared. Her parents are everything to her. You'd be scared too.
Yeah. I would.
So let it go.
I can't.
Because the duffel is right there. The linen shirt she picked out is on the dresser where I left it.
A few hours ago I was looking forward to something — actually looking forward to it, not bracing, not white-knuckling, just genuinely wanting what was coming next.
That's new for me. That's so fucking new I don't even know what to do with it when it breaks.
Laine shifts in her sleep. Her hand finds my chest, warm and sure, holding tight. Reid's arm is draped across her waist, his fingers almost touching my side.
I should stay. I should close my eyes and breathe through it and be here in the morning like nothing happened.
I slide out from under Laine's hand. Careful. Slow. She murmurs something but doesn't wake. I pull on a sweatshirt and jeans in the dark, muscle memory, no lights.
The workshop door sticks in the humidity. Always does this time of year. I shoulder it open and stand there for a second, breathing sawdust and linseed oil.
The couch in the corner is old, ugly, and pretty fucking uncomfortable, but tonight it can give me something that big bed inside can't.
Space. And hopefully a little peace.
She promised. Two days. She'll tell them.
I hold onto that. Stare at the ceiling. Try to sleep.
Don't.