Chapter 26
LAINE
Iwake up slowly, awareness creeping in like warm honey. Reid's arm is around my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his steady breathing against my neck. For a moment I just lie there, letting myself feel completely content.
I didn't know this kind of happy existed. This knowing I'm right where I'm supposed to be, feeling totally at home kind of happy.
Reid stirs behind me, pressing a sleepy kiss to my shoulder. "Morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I turn in his arms so I can see his face. His hair is sticking up everywhere and there's a pillow crease on his cheek. He looks rumpled and perfect.
"Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." I trace the pillow line on his cheek with my finger. "You?"
"Best sleep I've had in years." Reid's smile is soft and content. "Though I think we're going to have to buy new sheets."
Heat crawls up my neck. "Why?"
"Because I'm never washing these ones. Evidence of the best night of my life."
I laugh and swat his chest. "That's disgusting."
"Worth it." Reid pulls me closer and kisses me, slow and sweet. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. "I love you."
The words still make my heart skip, and I hope that never goes away. "I love you too."
We lie there for a few more minutes, just holding each other, but eventually I start to smell coffee drifting up from the kitchen.
The sound of the front door closing echoes up from downstairs.
"Blake's heading out early," Reid says, glancing toward the window. "Probably going to pick up supplies."
Perfect. Coast is clear.
"I'll go grab us some coffee," I say, already heading for the door. "Be right back."
"You're amazing," Reid calls after me.
I slip into Reid's discarded t-shirt from last night, the fabric soft and smelling like him. It hits me mid-thigh, long enough to be decent since Blake's gone for the day. I pad downstairs barefoot, looking forward to bringing Reid coffee in bed and maybe crawling back under the covers with him.
Definitely crawling back under the covers.
But when I round the corner into the kitchen, Blake is still there, standing at the counter with his back to me.
My stomach drops. Crap, I thought I heard him leave. Maybe it was just the workshop door, or maybe I misheard completely.
He looks rough. Rougher than usual. His clothes are wrinkled like he slept in them, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. There's something different about him this morning, something that makes unease prickle along my spine.
Blake turns around, and when he sees me his eyes widen for just a second before his expression goes carefully neutral. I'm suddenly very aware of how little I'm wearing, how the shirt barely covers my thighs.
"Shoot." This is a huge mistake. Why the heck didn't I put pants on. "Morning," I say, wishing I could disappear into the floor.
Blake's gaze flickers down and back up again before he looks away completely. "Morning," he says, his voice low and tight.
I'm tempted to just turn and run back upstairs, and avoid all this awkward. But then I'll have to explain to Reid why I didn't come back with coffee. So pulling up my non-existent panties, I step closer to get coffee.
That's when I smell it. Under the sawdust and his usual soap, another scent is clinging to his clothes. Something floral. Feminine. Definitely not familiar.
Perfume. Another woman's perfume.
Blake was with someone last night. While Reid and I were upstairs, Blake was with another woman.
Why does that idea make my skin crawl?
Who he spends his time with is none of my business. He has every right to spend time with a woman. In fact, it's a good thing. He deserves someone to love.
Blake's watching me. He catches the moment I register the perfume, catches whatever crosses my face before I can smooth it away.
"I'm sorry," I say, too fast, already backpedaling. "For coming down here like this. I thought you'd left for the day, but I should have gotten dressed anyway."
Blake's jaw tightens. "Right. Of course."
I reach for the coffee pot. My hands aren't quite steady, and I focus on pouring like it's a task that requires my full attention. "So you were out last night?" I keep my voice light. Breezy. The kind of breezy that fools no one.
Blake lets out a short laugh. "Something like that."
The way he says it lands somewhere behind my ribs and stays there.
"Are you... seeing someone?" The words are out before I can stop them. This is none of my business. But I want to know. I need to know.
Blake's jaw works. He doesn't look at me. He gives the coffee pot a stare that I'm shocked doesn't make it explode.
"I handled it," he says, his voice flat.
Don't ask. Just leave it alone Laine. Be smart."Handled it?"
"I went to a bar. I found what I needed. It's done."
The cold, transactional way he says it makes my stomach turn. It sounds so... biological. So unlike the man who held that little girl's mom together yesterday, who was so gentle.
"Oh," I manage. "I didn't realize you were..." What? Sleeping with somebody? Paying attention to somebody? Does she get that gentle version of Blake? The kind one?
"Whatever you're picturing, stop." He snaps it, finally turning to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, hard. "I'm a grown man, Laine. I don't need a chaperone and I don't need the third degree just because I didn't come home to tuck you two in."
"Oh." Apparently that's all I'm capable of saying this morning. He makes me feel small and stupid. It makes no sense. Why is this such a big deal?
"Does that bother you?" Blake asks, tone sharp. Almost challenging.
"No," I nearly shout. "Of course not. You're free to—"
"Good." He sets his mug down harder than necessary. "Because I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable while you're standing there smelling like sex with my best friend."
I feel the hit before I process the words. That particular kind of precision cruelty, the kind that only lands because the person knows exactly where to aim. I've never heard Blake sound like that. His eyes are flat, closed off, like someone pulled a shade down behind them.
"Blake, I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean what? To interrogate me about my sex life while looking like you just rolled out of Reid's bed?" His voice is hard now. All traces of that careful gentleness stripped clean. "Sorry, Laine. I'm not in the mood for whatever this is."
I take a step closer before I even decide to move. That old reflex — smooth it over, fix it, make it okay. "Blake, I'm not judging you. I just—"
I just what? What do I think I'm doing here?
His eyes drop. Just for a split second, his gaze drags down the length of my bare legs, catching on where Reid's shirt ends mid-thigh. His throat bobs.
He's staring at my bare legs again, and this weird flippy feeling takes over my chest. I am so confused.
Then his eyes snap back up to mine, and they are furious. Absolutely burning.
"Stop," he says, his voice like gravel. "Just... stop playing the concerned roommate."
"I'm trying to be your friend."
"I don't need another friend." He turns his back on me, grabbing his thermos. "And maybe next time put some pants on before you come down to play house."
Blake moves toward the door, and I take a step back, stinging from the venom in his voice. He pauses in the doorway, not looking back at me, and for a moment I think he's done.
I feel like I've been slapped. The cruelty in his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something distasteful, makes my eyes burn.
Yeah. He needs to go. But then what? Does this just simmer between us? Do we pretend it never happened the next time we're in the same room? I can't do that. I can't let him think these things about me. "I wasn't—" I start, my voice shaky.
Blake half-turns back toward me, and for just a second, there’s a flicker across his face - regret, maybe, or recognition of how harsh he was. But then we both hear Reid's voice booming from the stairway.
"Morning, beautiful people!"
Blake steps back into the kitchen and it's like watching someone hit a reset button.
The tension drops out of his shoulders. That hard line of his mouth goes easy.
The whole shift takes maybe two seconds, and if I hadn't just been standing on the other side of it, I wouldn't know it happened at all.
I have never been more grateful for an interruption in my life.
Reid wanders in, hair still wrecked from sleep, in his jeans and a t-shirt. He drops a kiss on my temple and reaches for a mug.
"Did Blake make his motor oil coffee again?" Reid asks, grinning at his friend.
"It's not that strong," Blake says calmly. I've got whiplash. How does he go from mean to calm like that? He's so good at pretending.
"Right. And I'm the Easter Bunny." Reid takes a sip and winces. "Jesus, Blake. Are you trying to kill us?"
Blake almost smiles at that, and I watch the two of them — the easy back-and-forth, the shorthand that comes from years of just being around each other. Reid has no idea what just happened.
"I should go," I say, setting down my barely touched coffee. "I need to get home, shower and change clothes. And I have a few things I have to get done before my shift tonight."
"You don't have to rush off," Reid says, frowning. "I was going to make breakfast. I'm getting better at it."
"I'm so sorry. Raincheck?" I can't look at Blake. Can't spend another minute in this kitchen pretending everything's fine.
"It's a date," Reid says, grinning. "I'll walk you out."
I shake my head. "It's okay. I can find my way."
Except I can't actually leave like this. I'm standing in his kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt.
"I need to get my clothes." My voice comes out strained, thinner than I want it to. Why can't I be as good at pretending as Blake? I never wished to be a good liar. Even when I was a kid sneaking treats from the kitchen, I never wished I was a liar.
But now, I wish I'd had a little more practice at faking it.
"I'll come with you," Reid says, frowning, his hand finding the small of my back.
Upstairs in his room, I start gathering my clothes from the night before — scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs leading back to an earlier version of me. That version that thought everything was going to go my way from here on out. So stupid.
My hands won't stop shaking as I pull on my jeans.
"Hey," Reid says softly, closing the door behind us. "What happened down there? You seem upset."
I pause with my sweater halfway over my head. Do I tell him? Do I explain how his best friend just made me feel like garbage? Do I explain that I got jealous for a second? God, what would he think of me? No. I just need to get out of here.
"Blake and I just had a weird moment," I say finally, pulling the sweater down. "It's probably nothing."
"What kind of weird moment?"
I sit on the edge of his bed to put on my shoes, trying to figure out how to explain without sounding dramatic.
"I shouldn't have been down there in a t-shirt.
That wasn't appropriate. So I apologized for that.
" I work my foot into the shoe. "But it was obvious he'd been with someone last night, so I asked him about it. "
Reid face goes still. "And what did he say?"
"That he was, but it's nothing special." I tie my shoelaces, keeping my eyes on the knot. "But he got kind of... cold about it."
"Cold how?"
"Just... dismissive. Like I was making something out of nothing." I stand up, smoothing down my sweater. "Maybe I was."
Reid sits on the bed and pulls me closer, his hands settling on my hips. "Blake can be intense sometimes. He's not great with... emotional stuff. Or talking about feelings."
"It wasn't really about feelings. But I feel like I stepped in it, and I was just trying to smooth things over. I wanted to make sure we could all hang out normally."
"And I'm sure we can. Blake probably just felt weird about you bringing it up at all." Reid's thumbs trace along my hipbones. "You know how guys are. We pretend awkward moments never happened instead of talking about them."
Maybe Reid's right. Maybe Blake just felt uncomfortable and that's why he came at me like that. Maybe I caught him off guard and he didn't know what to do with it.
God, I hope he's right. "You think that's all it was?"
"I'm sure that's all it was." Reid leans up and kisses me softly. "Blake's a good guy, Laine. He's just... private. And probably still adjusting to having someone else around the house."
That makes sense. Blake's lived with just Reid for years. Me showing up, sleeping over, folding myself into their routine — maybe that's harder for him than I thought.
"You're probably right," I say, and I want to believe it. I want to believe Blake isn't actually cruel. That there's some reasonable explanation for why he looked at me like that and made me feel two inches tall.
"I know I'm right." Reid stands up and pulls me into his arms. "Give him some time to adjust. He'll come around."
I nod against his chest, breathing him in. The familiar warmth of his shirt, the steady rise and fall underneath. Maybe this is just growing pains. Maybe Blake and I will figure out how to exist in the same space, and this morning will turn into some weird blip we laugh about later.
"I should get going," I say, pulling back to look at Reid. "I really do need to get home."
"Okay. But hey," Reid cups my face in his hands, "don't worry about Blake, okay? Everything's going to be fine."
I want to believe him. I really do.
But it doesn't feel fine.