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“Calm down,” Danny murmurs, and, weirdly, I do, taking a few deep breaths and lowering back to my chair. But then something else comes to me.
“You should have run it by me before you agreed to let them go shopping,” I snap. “And why the fuck do they need to go shopping for anyway? They can get everything they need online. Beau hates shopping.”
“Because a shopping trip is one tiny bit of normal wecanoffer.”
He’s right, of course, but I’m obviously not feeling very reasonable today. “You should have fucking asked.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Danny wanders over to the drinks cabinet and takes a couple bottles of water, bringing one to me. “Drink. You look parched.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, swiping the bottle from his hand. Fuck. He doesn’t think our own apartment is a good idea? I’ve been so focused on trying to give Beau what I think will fix us, I’ve forgotten what she might actuallywant. Problem is, I’m not certain what it is she actually wants. A baby? A badge? Our own place? This house is as fucked up as a house can get. And yet... it works. And, really, having so many friends and family close by is a comfort. Support. Respite in a world where there is little relief. “So you’re telling me I might have just wasted five million dollars?”
He smiles. “Plenty more where that came from, mate.”
The door knocks behind me, and I look back when Danny calls an okay to enter. Goldie walks in first, followed by Otto and Ringo. All have a quick scope of the room before settling on the couch in a line. “All right?” Ringo grunts, looking down his colossal nose at us.
“Fine,” Danny says.
“Fine,” I mutter moodily, firing off a quick email to the realtor telling him I can’t make our meeting today.
“In other news,” Danny says, his eyes on my silently uneasy form. “Sandy’s been in touch.”
“And what gifts has he offered to bring to the party?” Goldie asks. “Wait, don’t tell me—”
“No, no,” Ringo chirps. “I know the answer to this. Is it a cuddly toy?”
“And a Russian,” Danny confirms, eyeing me, waiting for me to react. How’s he being so fucking calm?
“A Russian?” Otto asks, looking between me and Danny, as does Goldie. I don’t need to answer.
“Sandy’s offered Volodya?” Goldie balks. “No. Kill Sandy. Kill the fucker or I will.” She stands, practically cracking her knuckles.
Danny’s hands rise in a pacifying way I’m not feeling, and Ringo reaches for Goldie’s arm, gently easing her back to the couch. “We’re taking a moment to decide how best to approach this.”
I know how. A machine gun and a few belts of bullets. Fuck, why did I think the apartment was a good idea?
“A meeting without me?” The door pushes open, and Brad stands on the threshold in his boxers looking sulky, his hair all over the place, his shoulder bandaged. Danny and I are both up from our chairs quickly, helping him across the office.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I mutter.
“I’m bored.”
“You’re shot.” I point out like a chump.
“Get off,” he grumbles, rolling his shoulders and hissing in pain as a result. “I’m fine.”
Danny looks across at me, jerks his head in signal, and we both link our arms behind him, making a little seat for him to perch on. “I said I’m fine!” he snaps.
“Sit the fuck down or I’ll drag you back to your room,” Danny retorts as everyone gets up, making space, Goldie perching on one arm, Ringo on the other, and Otto setting his laptop on Danny’s desk and taking one of the chairs.
“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Brad grumbles, relenting and lowering to the makeshift chair.
“You are an invalid, you dick,” Goldie says, plumping a pillow at her end as we carry him over. We lay him down, getting him comfy, and he gives each of us a filthy look.
“This is the worst. What’s going on?”
“Nothing important.” Ringo holds up his phone. “Want me to order you a coffee?”
“Oohhh, yeah.”
