Page 13 of Dirty Fighter

“Hmm.”

She doesn’t sound convinced. And now that I’m actually thinking about it, I’m pretty sure these doors haven’t been locked once in my lifetime.

At some point, my dad may have said the same.

Shit.

Forty-five minutes later, we’re on our knees, aggravated, and taking petty delight in informing the other of whatever obvious thing they need to try before demanding another shot at it ourselves.

“Just— just move,” she says, shouldering into me like an opposing player. “I was getting somewhere.”

“You were getting nowhere.” I can feel the slightest give. The WD-40 is finally working. No way am I giving up the glory on this one.

I am going to be the fucking hero here. I have to be.

But then her hands are moving in as she tries to brush me out of the way. “I almost had it. You butted in.”

Her skin is so damned soft. “Uhh, pot, meet kettle.”

She snorts, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the smile she attempts to hide by turning away. “Can’t believe you just pot-and-kettled me.”

“If the shoe fits.” It’s just a smile.

“And now with the ‘shoe’ business too?” There’s a softness to her words that wasn’t there a minute ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say a fondness. “You sound like your dad.”

I swallow past the lump of emotion, managing a gruff, “Thank you.”

She nods.

And… click.

The key turns in my grasp— Or ours, really.

I let out a whoop, and Rowan squeaks, her eyes going wide as we look at each other and back to the lock that really did just need a minute, or forty-five of them, and then back to each other.

There’s no hiding her glee as she pushes to her feet, laughing with relief. “Oh my God, I thought⁠—”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to admit it, but I was getting nervous⁠—”

“Right? Can you even imagine⁠—”

“No way.” Jesus, that smile is something else. I ought to cut my younger self some slack for the way it tied me up. “I’d have had to sleep with one eye open.”

She sighs, looking more relaxed than she has since this whole fiasco started. “Damn straight.”

I get up too, tossing the key and catching it in my hand.

Wait. That was weird.

Rowan is reaching for the knob as I look down and⁠—

“Oh shit,” we say in unison.

Dread pools in my gut.

She turns an accusing glare on me. “You broke the lock?”

“Not exactly.” I open my palm. “I broke the key.”