Chapter 28
LAINE
"You sure you don't mind me tagging along?" I ask Reid as we pull into the Pine Street camp parking area. "I know this is your thing with Danny."
"Our thing, Sunshine." Reid's already halfway out of the truck before the engine dies, grabbing the medical supply bag from behind his seat while somehow also checking his phone and unwrapping a granola bar.
"You've been coming longer than I have. Danny specifically requested you tonight.
I think he's trying to steal you from me.
Should I be worried? He's got that whole 'dedicated nonprofit guy' vibe going. "
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it." He grins at me over the hood of the truck, granola bar clenched in his teeth while he shoulders the supply bag. "Ready for another Saturday night in paradise?"
The Pine Street camp looks the same as always—a collection of tents and makeshift shelters tucked under the highway overpass. Not pretty, but dry and relatively safe. Danny's been building relationships here for three years. People trust him, which means they trust the medical care we provide.
"Laine! Reid!" Danny waves us over to where he's unloading supplies from his van. "Perfect timing. We've got a good crowd tonight."
"Danny boy!" Reid jogs over and claps him on the shoulder. "Please tell me someone brought food."
"There's pizza coming in an hour."
"You're a saint. An actual saint. I'm nominating you for something."
Maybe twenty people are already gathering around Danny's setup. Some I recognize—Margaret with her shopping cart full of everything she owns, James checking his blood sugar with the meter we helped him get last month, Tessa looking healthier than she did when she first showed up here.
And then I spot someone I wasn't expecting.
Blake.
He's crouched next to an older guy I don't recognize, talking low. The man's hands are shaking, jaw tight, but Blake's not rushing him. He's just there. Shoulders loose, head angled toward the guy like the rest of the room doesn't exist.
"Blake's here."
"Yeah, he comes when he can get away from work." Reid's already heading toward Danny with supplies. "He's good with the vets. Has a way of talking to guys who've been through similar stuff."
Blake speaks quietly, and the older man's shoulders ease down a fraction. Blake's hands are open, unhurried. Patient in a way I haven't seen from him in weeks. I want to hear what he's saying.
"You didn't mention he volunteered here."
Reid shrugs, tossing a box of bandages to Danny. "Didn't I? He doesn't come as often as us, but when he shows up, he's here for hours. Come on, Doc needs us."
I follow Reid, but I keep glancing back at Blake. The man he's talking to is calming down, nodding along.
I've been avoiding the man for a week. Luckily, Reid doesn't seem to care where we spend time together, so we've been at my place most of the time. I love it. It's like our own little nest where the world, and grumpy friends can't ruin it.
"Laine, can you help me with the blood pressure station?" Danny asks.
"Of course."
We set up our usual routine—two folding tables, one for basic medical care and one for blood pressure checks and medication management.
Reid bounces between tasks, cracking jokes with the regulars, stealing supplies from Danny's van with exaggerated stealth.
Everyone around him is smiling, and I get it. The guy's impossible to resist.
"How's everyone doing tonight?" I ask Margaret as she approaches our setup.
"Better now that you're here, honey." Her smile is genuine. "That ankle wrap you showed me last week has been a godsend."
"Good. Let me take a look at it."
I'm kneeling down, checking the tension on Margaret's wrap, when Blake's voice reaches me.
"The nightmares don't mean you're weak. They mean you're human. Your brain's trying to process stuff it was never meant to see."
I glance up without meaning to. A younger man is sitting across from Blake, nodding slowly, and I watch some of the tension leave his shoulders. Blake's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, like there's nowhere else he needs to be.
"You're staring," Margaret observes quietly.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. "I didn't know he volunteered here."
"Oh, he's been coming for months. Maybe a year?" Margaret follows my gaze. "He's good with the military boys. Understands things the rest of us don't." She shakes her head. "Such awful things those boys saw. Too much death. Too much blood. You can't blame them for being a little squirrely."
No. I guess you can't. I'll never really understand the horrors they faced. And Blake's out here connecting with them. The man has layers.
"Does he usually stay long?"
"Hours sometimes. There was this one night, must have been six months ago, when Jimmy was having a real bad episode. Blake sat with him until sunrise, just talking." Margaret's expression is fond. "He's a good boy, that one."
A good boy. A good man. I know that. I've seen it. I think that's what makes the things he said to me so confusing. To have such a good man say such horrible things makes it even harder to wrap my head around.
Makes it hurt that much harder.
"Margaret's ankle looks good," I tell Reid when he bounces over. "The wrap is working."
"Excellent. Gold star for Margaret." He's already reaching for the supply checklist, pen tucked behind his ear, somehow also eating a cookie that materialized from nowhere. "We've got enough stuff for the extra people tonight. Danny's pumped."
"Good." I hesitate. "Blake seems really good at this."
Reid grins. "Yeah. Just wait. Those guys worship him."
I watch Blake move to another veteran, this one older with graying hair. Blake listens more than he talks. He's just... present. Focused entirely on this person in front of him.
A little selfish part of me wishes he'd be as nice to me. I'm not a veteran. I don't need his help, so maybe I'm just out of luck.
"Laine?" James approaches with his blood sugar meter. "Can you help me figure out these numbers?"
"Of course."
I spend the next hour moving between patients—checking blood pressure, cleaning wounds, distributing medications. Steady work. The kind I love. Reid works the crowd like a politician, remembering names, making people laugh, somehow knowing exactly who needs a joke and who needs quiet.
But I keep catching glimpses of Blake. Three or four veterans gathered around him now.
"He's something, isn't he?" Danny appears beside me while I'm updating a chart.
"Blake? Yeah."
"When he first started coming, I thought he might be too intense." Danny gestures toward the group. "But these guys need someone who gets it. Someone who's been where they've been."
"He understands loss."
"Yeah. His best friend. And a bunch of others." Danny's voice is quiet. "That kind of loss changes you. But Blake's channeled it into something good."
I know he has. I saw it on the highway with Emma's mom. I saw the patience, the gentleness that Reid talks about.
But that just makes the other morning make even less sense.
He wasn't just distant. He was cruel. And it came out of nowhere.
Maybe I just caught him on a bad day. Maybe whatever memories Danny is talking about are closer to the surface right now, and I just happened to be the one standing in the line of fire.
God, I hope that’s all it is. Because if that wasn't just a bad mood—if that’s how he actually sees me—this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
Or maybe I'm just making excuses for someone who actually doesn't like me.
"Laine!" Reid calls from across the camp. "Can you grab the antiseptic? We've got a wound that needs cleaning."
I grab the supplies. As I'm walking past Blake's group, I hear him talking to the young veteran from earlier.
"The thing about guilt is that it tricks you into thinking you deserve to feel like shit. But you don't. You did your job in an impossible situation. You shouldn’t carry shame about that."
The young man's eyes are bright with unshed tears. "How do you get past it?"
"You don't get past it. You learn to carry it differently." Blake's voice is gentle but firm. "And you let people help you carry it."
I stop walking.
You let people help you carry it. Seriously, is he possessed?
"Laine?" Reid's voice. "The antiseptic?"
"Right. Sorry."
It happens so fast.
I'm organizing the antibiotic ointments, half-listening to Danny joke with a regular, when a sound rips through the air.
BANG.
Just a semi-truck backfiring on the overpass. A loud, sharp crack that echoes off the concrete pillars. I flinch, and Reid, who's handing out socks near the van, ducks his head before laughing it off.
But the man in the dirty army jacket doesn't laugh.
He drops to a crouch, eyes wide and white-rimmed, scanning the perimeter. His breathing goes shallow and rapid.
He's not here anymore. I can see it. He's somewhere else entirely.
"Incoming!" he screams. "Get down!"
He scrambles backward, knocking over a stack of crates, and backs right into Carol.
Carol, who is seventy years old and holding a cup of hot soup. The soup splashes. She cries out. And the man—reacting to sudden movement behind him—spins around and grabs her.
Not her arm. He yanks her whole body in front of him. A human shield.
Oh god. Oh god oh god.
"Get back!" he roars at the camp. He's looking right at me, but he's looking through me. "I said get back!"
"Hey!" I step around the table. "Let her go. She's not a threat!"
"Stay away!" He tightens his grip. Carol whimpers. His forearm is pressed against her throat. Not choking her. But close.
If he squeezes any harder, he'll crush her windpipe. If he throws her, she'll break a hip.
I've dealt with confused patients. I've talked down people on bad trips. But this is different. He's not confused. He's scanning exits. Using Carol as cover.
He's tactical. And he's terrified.
That makes him twice as dangerous.
Reid is already moving from the van. The goofy energy is gone. His voice comes out sharp, projecting across the space. "Sir! Look at me. You're in a safe zone."
The man swings Carol around, keeping her between him and Reid. "Liars! You're compromised!"
Reid stops about ten feet away, hands up, palms open. "Nobody's compromised. We're friendlies. Look around you."
"Back off!" The man is shaking now. Vibrating. He's going to snap. I can feel it coming.
I can't just let it happen. I take a step forward. "Please." I keep my voice soft, the way I would with a scared patient. "You're hurting her. Look at her face."
He doesn't hear me. He's hyperventilating, his eyes darting everywhere.
Come on. Come on, look at her. She's just a scared old woman.
Then—movement to my left.
Blake.
He's not running. He's not shouting. He's just moving. Fast but silent.
How is he moving that fast without making a sound?
He skirts the edge of the concrete pillar, coming up on the man's blind side. His face is completely blank. Focused.
Reid sees him. I catch Reid's eyes flicking to Blake, then back to the man. Reid takes another step forward. A distraction.
"Hey! Eyes on me, soldier!"
The man jerks his head toward Reid.
Blake strikes.
His left hand comes down on the man's forearm—hard—and the grip on Carol breaks. In the same motion, Blake pushes Carol away. Gentle with her. Not gentle with him.
He drives his shoulder into the man's chest. The guy staggers back, winded, and swings a wild fist.
Blake ducks it like he knew it was coming. He spins the man around, kicks the back of his knee, and follows him down to the ground.
Jesus.
The whole thing takes maybe three seconds. The man is face-down in the dirt, arm wrenched up behind his back, Blake's knee pinning his spine.
He's not fighting him. He's just taken complete control. The man can't move. Can't threaten anyone else.
Who the hell are you?
"Stay down." Blake's voice is gravel and command. A voice I've never heard from him.
The man thrashes, screaming. Blake doesn't budge.
"Check your fire!" Blake yells, right in the guy's ear. "Check your fire, Marine! You are in a safe zone!"
This time, the military words seem to cut through the haze. The man stops thrashing. Still panting, but listening now.
"We are green," Blake says. His voice drops lower. Rhythmic. "Perimeter is secure. You're stateside. You're safe."
Reid appears beside me. He hasn't tried to help Blake. Hasn't interfered at all. He's just watching as he tugs me into his arms.
"Is he—" My voice catches. "He's hurting him."
"No." Reid's voice is quiet. "He's holding him together. Watch."
I look back. The man is sobbing now, his face pressed into the dirt. And Blake... shifts. He loosens his grip. He doesn't get up—he stays down there with him. Moves his hand from the guy's twisted arm to his shoulder.
He's not restraining him anymore. He's just... holding on.
"I know," Blake says. Barely audible over the highway noise above us. "I know, brother. You're okay. Just breathe."
Carol is shaking in Danny's arms, but she's okay. The immediate danger is over.
But I can't stop staring at Blake. At the way he's murmuring to this crying stranger in the dirt like nothing else exists.
Reid was the shield. Loud, bright, drawing attention.
But Blake—Blake is something else entirely.
He looks up then, scanning the area. His eyes find mine.
Just a quick assessment.
Is she safe? Yes. Reid's got her.
Then he looks away.