Chapter 39
REID
Ilet myself into Laine's apartment with my key. It’s quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft light of a lamp in the corner.
She’s curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. She doesn't even hear me come in until I drop my keys in the bowl.
"Hey, beautiful."
Laine looks up, and for a second, she looks startled. Then that smile, the one that makes my chest do stupid things, spreads across her face.
"You're here," she says, uncurling her legs to make room for me.
"Told you I'd come over." I drop onto the couch next to her, pulling her against my side. She melts into me, mostly. She's been tense the last little while. Maybe work's been rough. "It was quiet today, got out right on time. Missed you."
"Missed you too." She tilts her head up for a kiss, and fuck, there it is again. That rush. Five months and I still feel like a teenager when she looks at me like this.
"How was your shift?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Twelve-year-old threw up red Gatorade and pizza all over my scrub pants."
I wince. "Ouch. Poor kid. Was he mortified?"
"Crying harder than he was puking. Kept apologizing, poor thing."
That's my girl. Even when she's getting puked on, she's worried about the kid feeling embarrassed. "Stomach flu?"
"Going around Jefferson Middle. We had nine kids by the end of shift." She pauses. "Joyce made me drink real coffee afterward. She thinks I've been sleepwalking."
"Are you? I mean, are you feeling okay? You've seemed..." Now that she mentions it, she has been quieter lately. "Are you getting enough sleep?"
"I'm fine. Just tired, I think. Joyce worries too much."
But her tone feels off and it doesn’t sit right. She doesn't sound like my Laine.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" I catch her hand, thread our fingers together. "Work stuff, life stuff, whatever."
She squeezes my hand, looking down at our interlaced fingers.
"Actually, can we talk about something?"
Thank fuck. Thank fuck she's going to talk to me. I can't fix it if I don't know what's breaking.
"Always. Lay it on me, Baby."
She sits up straighter, puts a little distance between us. "It's about Blake."
"Blake?" Fuck. Was not expecting that. Why does it always come back to Blake? "What about him?"
"Reid, he doesn't like me."
I hold in the sigh. We've been over this. "Laine, that's not true. Blake's just... Blake. He's not great with new people. He needs time to warm up." Fucking Blake and his resting asshole face. Would it kill the guy to smile?
"It's been five months. I'm not new anymore." Her voice is quiet but certain. "He's made it pretty clear."
"Blake's protective of me," I say. I sound like a broken record, but it's true. "He's seen me get hurt before. Once he realizes you're not going anywhere—"
"Reid." The way she says my name stops me. "He told me I was a flight risk. To my face."
What the actual fuck? That can't be right. "When did he say that?"
"Last week. When he drove me home after my car broke down." She's still looking at our hands, refusing to meet my eyes. "He said I'm not built to stay. That I'm just... playing house until I get bored."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Flight risk.
I used those words. I told Blake that a few months ago, late one night when I was terrified I was falling too hard for a girl who lived out of suitcases. I told him that in confidence. I told him because I needed him to tell me I was being an idiot.
Everything is different now. And he knows it. And he threw it in her face?
"Jesus Christ." The anger hits me fast and hot. "He had no right to say that to you. None."
Laine goes very still. She slowly pulls her hand out of mine.
"So you did talk about me?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "You discussed my 'risk factors'?"
"I talked to him because you're important to me. He's my best friend, Laine. When something matters to me — when someone matters to me — I talk to him about it. That's what friends do."
Her brow furrows. "You told him about the suitcases? About how I moved around as a kid?"
"Yeah, I did. Because I was falling for you and I was scared and I needed someone to tell me I wasn't losing my mind.
" I drag a hand through my hair, yank a little too hard.
Blake should have kept his fucking mouth shut.
"But that was private. Between us. He had no business throwing that back at you. "
She nods slowly. This tiny, dip of her chin. No fight in it. No heat. Just — acceptance, like she expected this all along, like she'd already packed the bag in her head and was just waiting for the reason.
That's the nod that gets me. Not yelling. Not a door slam. Just that.
"Okay," she says.
Why does that one word feel like a door closing?
"Laine, wait. It's not like that. We don't sit around analyzing you. I was just... I was scared early on, and I talked to him. That's it."
"And now he uses it to tell me I don't belong."
"He shouldn't have said that. I'll talk to him." I reach for her again, but she stands up, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Is it okay if maybe you go home tonight? I think I'm just going to go to bed," she says. "I'm so tired."
Fuck. Fuck. It didn't used to matter if she was tired. She still welcomed me into her bed. She still let me hold her all night.
"Laine, come on. Don't shut me out." I'm on my feet too. "We'll figure it out. You two just need to spend more time together when I'm around. Maybe the three of us can do something this weekend. Dinner? Or a movie?"
"Sure," Laine says, but her eyes are dull.
She is shutting me out. I can feel the wall going up, brick by brick.
And the worst part is, Blake helped her build the damn thing.
"I love you," I tell her, because I need to say it. I need to remind both of us that we’re in this.
"I love you too," she says.
But there's the smallest hesitation before she says it. A hesitation that's never been there before.
It scares the shit out of me.
"You sure I can't stay. We can have a snuggle. I can rub your back till you fall asleep."
She bites her lip, and slowly shakes her head.
She can't slip away. I can't let her. "I'll call you tomorrow?" I ask.
Then I get a tiny smile. But it doesn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Kissing her cheek, I breathe her in. "Night Baby." Then I let myself out. Walking to my truck, the guilt churns in my stomach. I need to fix this. And to fix this, I need to talk to Blake.
I drive home with a pit in my stomach and find Blake in the workshop, bent over his workbench. The smell of wood stain and sawdust fills the air—usually comforting, but tonight it feels suffocating.
"Hey," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Blake looks up, pushes his safety glasses onto his forehead. He looks wrecked. Dark circles, tight jaw, like he hasn't slept in a week.
He's looked like that a lot lately. Fucker's got to take better care of himself.
"Hey. Thought you were staying at Laine’s."
"I was. But we need to talk."
Blake's whole body goes still. He sets down the sandpaper slowly, like he's bracing for impact. He's got to know what I'm going to say. "Yeah?"
"Laine thinks you don't like her."
I watch him closely. For a second, he doesn't breathe. He looks... waiting. Like he expects me to start yelling. But that's never been my style. Especially not with him. I can't even imagine being that angry with him. It would probably feel like yelling at my Dad or something.
"She says you've been cold," I continue. "She said you told her she was a flight risk."
Blake lets out a breath. His shoulders drop about an inch. It looks like relief? Or maybe resignation? I honestly have no idea.
"Is that all she said?" he asks.
"Isn't that enough? She feels unwelcome, Blake. She thinks we sit around analyzing her flaws."
"I don't hate her, Reid." He picks up a chisel, turning it over in his hands, staring at the steel edge. "But... maybe she's right. About the unwelcome part."
"What does that mean?" That's not what he was supposed to say.
I step into the workshop, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in.
"What the hell does that mean, Blake? And while we're at it - telling her she's a 'flight risk'?
That was between us, man. I told you that because I was scared and needed my best friend to talk me down.
I didn't give you permission to use it as ammunition against her. "
Blake rubs at the back of his neck, staring at the sawdust covered floor. "Reid—"
"No. You took something I shared with you and weaponized it. You hurt her with my own words. What the fuck, Blake?"
He won't look at me. Just keeps turning that chisel over and over like it's got all the answers.
"Jesus Christ." I run my hands through my hair. "She's the best thing that's happened to me, and you're what—trying to scare her off? Why would you do that?"
The silence stretches too long. My chest feels tight, like I can't get enough air in here with all the dust and fumes.
When he finally glances at me, his jaw is tight. "I think I need to clear out for a while."
My stomach drops. "Clear out?"
"I talked to Hatch," Blake says, not meeting my eyes. "He's got a contract. Security consulting for a reconstruction project in Afghanistan. Three months. Maybe four."
My blood runs cold.
Fuck. Here it is.
I should have seen it coming. It's the pattern.
We're coming up on seven years since Jared died, and Blake never handles the anniversary well.
Five years ago, he disappeared into the Bitterroots for a week and came back with frostbite.
Last year, he gutted the kitchen in four days, working until his hands bled so he wouldn't have to sleep.
He always tries to outrun the date. He thinks if he finds a war, the noise in his head will finally match the noise outside.
"You're joking," I say, but I know he isn't. This isn't just a camping trip. This is a death wish.
"Pay is good. Team is solid." He finally looks at me, and his eyes are bleak. "It's good timing, Reid. You and Laine are getting serious. You don't need your roommate hovering around. You need space."
He's saying the words, but there's a desperate edge to them. Like he's begging me to agree. Like he wants me to say, Yeah, get out, you're ruining this.
"No," I say.
"Reid—"
"No. Absolutely not." I step fully into the workshop. "You don't get to just run off to a war zone because things got a little awkward with my girlfriend."
"It's not running off. It's a job. And you're set here. You've got the girl, you've got the job—"
"I don't have shit if you leave right now!"
The shout echoes off the tools on the walls. Blake freezes.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm down, but I can't. The fear I've been pushing down all night bubbles up.
"You think I'm 'set'?" I ask, my voice shaking. "Blake, I am holding it together by a thread. Laine is... she's pulling away. I can feel it. Tonight, she looked at me like I was a stranger. And if she leaves? If I screw this up?"
"You won't screw it up."
"I might. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be the guy she needs." I look at him, pleading with him to understand. "You're my anchor, man. You're the only thing that's stayed steady since Jared died. If you leave for four months... I don't know if I can keep my head above water."
Blake closes his eyes. Not like he's thinking it over. Like I just pressed a lit match to his palm and told him to hold it.
I know that look. Cornered animal. Every muscle coiled toward the door, toward the exit, toward anywhere that isn't here with me blocking the way out.
I'm being selfish. I know I am. I'm the cage and the lock and the guy swallowing the key.
But if he goes back over there, he comes back less. Colder. Harder. Further from me than he already is, and he's already so far I can barely reach him on a good day. He thinks he needs the war to white-knuckle through the anniversary. He's wrong. He needs home.
I can't even let myself think about the other thing. The not-coming-back-at-all thing.
"Don't go," I say softly. "Please. I need you here."
Blake opens his eyes. The desperation's gone. What's left is worse — this flat, heavy nothing. Like he just shut a door behind his face and bolted it. My hands find the edge of the workbench and grip. This is so fucked up. We are so fucked up.
"Okay," he says roughly.
"Okay?"
"I'll tell Hatch no." He turns back to the workbench. Picks up the sandpaper. Runs his thumb across the grit like it's the most interesting thing in the room. "I'm not going anywhere."
The relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle. I lean into the doorframe, shoulder catching the wood, and just hang there for a second. Let the frame hold me up because my legs sure as hell aren't doing the job.
I don't look at the guilt. I don't look at the fact that I just strong-armed him into staying in a house he'd chew his own leg off to escape.
I don't look at any of it.
It's for his own good, though. We'll fix this. We'll make it okay.
"Thank you. Seriously. I just... I need you around."
"I know," Blake says to the wood. "I'm here."
"And the Laine thing?" I ask. "Can you just... try? For me?"
Blake's hand tightens on the sanding block until his knuckles turn white.
"Yeah, Reid. I'll try."
"Thanks, brother." I clap him on the shoulder. He doesn't lean into it. Doesn't give at all. Might as well be slapping a fence post. "I'm gonna crash. Long day."
"Night," Blake says.
He doesn't look up as I leave. He just starts sanding. Shhh-shhh-shhh.
I pause on the porch, listening to it. The rhythm is too fast. Too hard.
It sounds angry.
I don't fucking care. If he stays here, he's safe, and that's all that matters. Everything else we can figure out.