I open my mouth again.
“Friends who break down a door,” she says, mostly to herself now, working the problem, “which is a thing friends do. A certain kind of friend. A legitimate kind. An enthusiastic kind.” She nods. She’s sold. “We’re all friends here. Friendly.”
Nobody in the history of doors has broken one down in friendship. I’d know. I’ve broken more doors than anyone in this room and not one of them was friendly.
“And when friends visit, you—” She’s pushing up out of the blankets, shoving Erik like she can move him without him helping.
He lets her.
Of course he does.
“Coffee. I have coffee. I can make coffee. Do you want—”
She looks at the door. The door is in three pieces on the floor.
“—coffee,” she finishes, quieter.
She doesn’t look at us.
Not that I blame her, after what we did. Her door’s in pieces and she’s still offering us a drink.
Erik catches her by the elbow. “Hey, they’re with me. Friends, I swear — bad timing, that’s all. We’ll get the door fixed.”
“Yeah, friends…” she says. Not quite sold.
“Friends.”
She lets out a breath and my eyes move to his hand on her arm.
I don’t know why.
I don’t like it.
She looked about two seconds from climbing out a window.
But now —
“I’ll just—” She’s already moving. “Coffee. Right.”
She makes it to the kitchen doorway, catches the frame, and disappears around it.
And then it’s just us.
Sort of.
Rayner hasn’t said a word since the door came down. He’s just staring at the spot where she went. I snap my fingers in front of his face and get nothing.
Wonderful.
We came to recover one man and I’m watching us lose two more.
Speaking of.
“Where the fuck is Leif?”
Erik just shrugs, still grinning.
“He was in the box,” Brock says.
