The cat says nothing. Obviously.
“I mean it. They’ll make it a whole thing.”
He bumps his head under my chin and holds it there, and the purr comes up through my hands, and I hold on to Muffin because I can’t be alone right now.
And Erik can never know.
Chapter 25
Brock
I fucking knew it.
I knew something was going on. Gunnar might be, well… him, but he sees things the rest of us don’t catch.
Gunnar’s question walks home with us.
Erik hasn’t answered yet. He’s just carrying the hardware bags like they weigh something, which they don’t, not to him, and Rayner’s got the door balanced on one shoulder. For two blocks it’s been nothing but the city and the feeling of eyes on us.
I could break the silence. I’m the one who usually does, but this one isn’t mine to break. Erik won’t answer until he’s good and ready and we all know it.
All of us do, except Gunnar.
“Well?” Gunnar says, finally. He wouldn’t be Gunnar if he didn’t.
Erik walks four more steps.
“She showed me the first one,” he says. “Four seconds after she opened her door. Asked me if I’d gotten one too.” Four more steps. “I said no.”
Nobody says anything to that.
“Then I asked her where it came from.”
Gunnar makes a sound. It sounds off, even for him.
“She’d already decided it was some brand being clever. Marketing. Not for her. Not really. She was sure.” Another step. “So I wrote the second one.”
He says it flat, like a report. But I know better.
Gunnar opens his mouth, and I already have an idea of what’s about to come out, because it’s the same question I’m holding in. He’s just louder.
“And when were you going to tell her?”
“When she’d believe it.”
“Why wouldn’t she believe it?” Gunnar, genuinely thrown, hands out like reality owes him an explanation. “Secret notes. Handwriting. Nice paper. Women love that. I have personally witnessed women loving that.”
Erik shakes his head. “You don’t know her. I’ve had three years.”
“Three years across a hall.”
“Shut up, Gunnar.”
Gunnar shuts up, which he only does when he’s already gotten what he wanted. He wanted Erik talking. Erik’s talking.
“She’s smart,” Erik says. Slower now, like he doesn’t want to be saying any of this, and he’s saying it anyway. “Smarter than she lets on. Head in the clouds half the day. And after Kyle, she—” He stops, like he’s trying to figure out how to say it. “She was never quite the same.”
“What happened with Kyle?” I ask.
