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That’s Some Superhero Shit

I came to with a start, the fight surging awake with me. My heart thumped so hard it hurt, like it might bounce right out of my chest. I was lying down, and hell no I wasn’t about to let a bunch of goons kill me and my friends while I lay around doing nothing to prevent it. Even as I struggled to wrench open my eyes—so freaking heavy—I forced my body to sit up, and fuck if I didn’t hurt just about everywhere.

Hands pressed gingerly against my shoulders, holding me down. Before I trained my unfocused gaze on him, I recognized his touch.

Griffin .

Griffin was here.

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding eased out of me.

“Shhhhh,” he whispered, when he should have been screaming at the hired guns not to kill us.

Oh my God.

My mouth went slack as the shots rang through my memory. Five each for two of my friends— my fucking family . For a moment, I allowed my eyelids to drift closed—it was so much easier than trying to keep them open—and relived Layla shuddering as bullets tore through her torso, her body twisting and falling, suddenly lifeless; Hunt jolting as each bullet ripped through him, then crashing to the floor of the gymnasium and not moving again.

My heart ached even more, to the point of breaking. “Layyyylerrrr. Huuuunchtuh.” Why wasn’t my tongue working properly?

“Shhh,” Griffin repeated, guiding me to lie back down. “They’re alive. They’ll be fine.”

This time, when I got my eyes open, the face I loved more than any other was in better focus.

Griffin’s eyes were heavy and dark, the hazel that brightened them at times subdued. His forehead was furrowed, his beautiful lips pinched, and scruff darkened his face.

He smiled at me, soft and sad, his eyes glistening. “Hey there, Joss. It’s so fucking good to see you awake.”

He closed his eyes for several seconds, holding back whatever else he was feeling, thinking, unwilling to say. When he opened them again, the moisture was gone and the hazel blazed. Breathing hard, he simply stared down at me for several moments.

“Whatttt happeeedd?” I slurred, focusing on my surroundings, sensing what I’d missed before: the scent of disinfected cleanliness, but not as acrid; soothing, dim incandescent lighting; calming classical music playing softly. I recognized the song, knew it well, but its title was beyond my reach.

Griffin released my shoulders, clasping my hand instead. “Magnum Chase had his people set the gym on fire. Then he sent armed soldiers in to kill us.” He paused to unclench his jaw. “They killed all of you. After you”—he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing—“died, Brady went apeshit and they shot him too. So then I couldn’t do anything to them or I couldn’t be sure they’d bring you back. If they killed me too, then they might’ve left us all dead.”

His eyes were so tormented that I couldn’t look away from the greens, golds, and browns popping in his irises. It was clear that restraining himself in order to ensure we all lived had been more difficult for him than dying a second time.

I squeezed his hand but the effort was pitiful. Just the same, he glanced at where our hands met and laced our fingers together. When my attention followed, I noticed a tube snaking from a vein in my arm to an IV stand from which fluid bags hung. I was in a hospital bed. A blood pressure cuff, currently deflated, adorned my other arm, connected to a machine that silently recorded my vitals.

“You’re groggy and slurring ’cause they have you on a morphine drip. The slurring’ll stop soon, if what happened with Hunt and Lay’s any indication.”

I snapped my gaze to his face, and he read my unspoken question.

“They’re both awake. They’ve been awake. You …” He inhaled and exhaled deeply enough to make his chest visibly rise and fall. “You took longer.”

“Why?” I croaked. My throat was parched. Rough.

Again, Griffin understood. He rose and crossed the room to a small, slim table holding a crystalline pitcher filled with water, matching glasses beside it.

The room was about the size of my bedroom, with recessed lighting revealing warm gray walls. An ample window with a seat framed a clear blue sky. Daytime, then. The floor was carpeted in a plush cream—who the hell put light carpet in a hospital? The furniture—a twin bed and two armchairs—looked comfortable. The chairs were upholstered in sleek leather. A floor-to-ceiling armoire occupied one corner of the room, its wood a deep, rich black. Vivid orchids in pots adorned either side of the deep window seat. Everything about the decor screamed expensive elegance.

Griffin slid a hand behind my back and helped me lean forward, bringing the glass to my lips. I drank several sips, swallowing roughly.

“They intubated you,” he said, setting the glass down on a ledge. “That’s why your throat feels like that. They did it to me too, when I died.”

Quietly, I snorted. When the hell did our lives—and deaths— become so fucking absurd? It was our senior year in high school. We were supposed to be partying and living it up—not dying and resurrecting.

Inching the arm with the blood pressure cuff toward my forehead, I hesitated before running my fingers across the skin. Smooth as usual.

“What? I thought …” I cleared my throat. The words were starting to come more easily. “Last I remember, the guy was pointing a gun at my head.”

But that wasn’t actually the last thing I remembered …

… the desperation transformed Griffin’s face when I told him I loved him …

I’d told the man who was supposed to be no more than a friend—never more than that—that I loved him. Sure, he could have interpreted my declaration as I had his: an expression of platonic love in a dire, terrible moment. Then again, maybe he now knew that I’d broken the most significant unspoken rule among us.

My crew was too important to me to risk it. I’d upset the balance between us all, even if I was the only one aware I’d done it.

I glanced up at him—at the man I loved and shouldn’t—searching his face for clues. Had I screwed things up between us? Between all of us?

Ignorant of the new reason for my sudden tension, Griffin answered, “He ended up shooting you in the chest.” Pain, as obvious as if its cause were physical, flared in his eyes. His lips twisted into a snarl. “I’m guessing ’cause they didn’t want to leave a scar that couldn’t be easily hidden behind clothing.”

“Shit,” I murmured, not sure which messed-up part out of all of them I was lamenting.

Griffin’s hands curled into fists. “Five shots for each of you. Brady too. Though Brade didn’t need to be defibrillated to be brought back this time.”

“Really?” I tried to tilt upward.

Griffin piled the pillows under my head and shoulders before sitting beside me again. “Really.” He frowned, though surely that was a good thing. “Seems the first time’s the only time we need the extra juice.”

“And now we’ve all … died … and come back,” I said, trying the fact on for size.

“Yup.”

“Damn.”

“Yep. That about sums it up.”

I scooted farther up on the pillows, hooked the neck of my pale cotton gown, and peeked under it. Bandages covered my entire torso. I needed to get a look at the skin beneath. Soon. I released the gown to pat my thigh, the one that had been wrapped in a cast and now wasn’t.

Griffin nodded as if answering the question I was struggling to form. “The fractures are healed. They x-rayed the leg to confirm.”

“Wow,” I eventually said. “This is all … a lot.”

“Yeah. It is.” His lips pursed.

“So … this doesn’t look like the same hospital you guys were in.”

“That’s ’cause it’s not. We’re in a private facility.”

I arched my brows.

“Funded by Magnum Chase.”

My eyes widened, dispelling any remnants of my earlier sluggishness. “Say what now?”

He scowled. “Trust me, I’m no happier about it. None of us are. But he forced my hand.”

“I’ll just bet he did.”

“They took away the defibrillators. Told me I could take my chances with Ridgemore’s EMTs. Convince them to attempt to revive the four of you even when you were so clearly dead. Hope they’d do it, then try to explain how the five of us are all now ‘miracle kids.’ How we recover from mortal wounds no one should be able to come back from.”

My thoughts were coming faster now, sharper. “And putting ourselves at risk for some black, unmarked van with government plates to show up and cart us away.”

“Exactly.” He rubbed his neck; worry and lack of sleep darkened the skin beneath his eyes. “They wheeled in four stretchers and told me they had surgeons on standby, waiting to help my friends.” He snorted.

“That asshole’s got some balls on him,” I muttered.

“He hasn’t even shown his face yet. I thought he’d be up in our business the second we got here, but nope.”

“I’m sure he’ll make an appearance before long,” I said, not bothering to conceal my bitterness. “So, where are the others?”

“Hunt woke up first. Well, long after Brady, who was only out for a few hours.”

I whistled. “A few hours?”

He nodded, his dark hair shifting atop his head. The strands stood up in parts, suggesting he’d been running his fingers through them over and again.

“That’s some superhero shit,” I whispered with a mixture of reverence and astonishment. “What the fuck, Griff?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know. I’m the one who had to watch you all come back. Layla came to a couple hours later. It took them a while, but once Hunt and Lay were able to be wheeled around, they all came here to wait for you. But …”

“But what?”

“But you’ve been out for three days.”

I blinked at him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, eyes heavy, revealing how exhausted he actually was. “They woke up that same day, that night. You … didn’t.”

He ran his fingers along the seam of his jeans, picking at it. “I haven’t left your side except to do quick checks on the others.”

Careful not to dislodge the IV needle, I placed my hand atop his. “I’m sorry.”

He jerked his gaze up to mine. “What the hell do you have to be sorry for? It’s the billionaire asshole who’s gonna get every ounce of my wrath the second I lay eyes on him.”

I rubbed my thumb across the back of his hand. “You thought I might not come back?”

He didn’t respond at first, following the movement of my finger across his skin. Then, he nodded jerkily.

“It crossed my mind a few thousand times.”

“That’s what I’m sorry for,” I said. “I remember all too well what it felt like to think I might’ve lost you. Shit, I won’t ever forget it.” More softly: “Though I hope I do. It was the worst moment of my life.”

Wow. Way to diss Brady, Joss.

He’d died too. And then we hadn’t yet known he’d come back to life, which made his death terrifyingly horrid. But believing I’d never see Griffin’s smile again was worse even than seeing a stick of rebar the circumference of my arm spearing Brady’s chest.

Griffin only nodded, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, he squeezed my hand as if coming to some internal conclusion. “Layla said she couldn’t stand another second of ‘ick’ and a hospital gown that showed her ass and left for her room to ‘uncrustify.’ Her words. Hunt and Brady went with her.”

Finally, a spark of that usual playfulness lit his tired eyes. “I think Brade was gonna try to help her take a sponge bath.”

I spit out a laugh before choking around my still-tender throat. After another sip of water, I smiled, aware the gesture felt somewhat forced. Wasn’t it wrong to laugh and smile when things had been so terribly tragic recently? Even if they’d had a lively ending?

Griffin’s smile was weary but real. “With how freaked out he’s been, he might actually go through with it. You shoulda seen him, Joss—he was frantic with the thought of losing her. Hunt, too, obviously. But it’s like Brady finally realized how lucky he is to have a twin.”

I leaned my head back on the pillows, gazing up at the ceiling—painted a smooth, understated cream to match the carpet. “He is lucky.” I looked back at Griff. “We’re all lucky to have each other.”

I’m lucky to have you. The admission hovered on my tongue, eager for me to share it aloud. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not after what I’d said in the gym. Not after what I’d already done.

Griffin slid nearer and bent forward so his face was only inches away from mine. He gripped my fingers harder, sliding our joined hands onto his thigh.

This close, his eyes seemed to swirl, entrancing me.

My heart beat faster, and I was grateful the heart-rate monitor was silent, or else Griffin would know the effect he was having on me. I swallowed around my tender throat and became overly aware of my breaths—deep with anticipation.

My nerves jumped, overshadowing the otherwise overwhelming ache that weighed down my entire body, as if I’d been shot everywhere at once instead of just my chest. The desire to rub at my wounds was gone. There was only him.

“Joss,” he said, and I licked my lips. He followed the path of my tongue, though I didn’t think he noticed he did. Or maybe he did. I didn’t actually know what he was thinking, and I desperately needed to.

“Joss, I …” he said, trailing off.

“Yes?”

His stare drifted toward the wall behind my bed before returning to mine. “Before you …” He sighed heavily. “This is never gonna get easier to talk about, is it?”

Since I didn’t know what exactly the hell he was referring to, I didn’t answer, hoping he’d continue all on his own instead, and that he’d hurry the hell up while he was at it.

Again, he sighed. “Before you died …” Anger suddenly shrouded his eyes. “No, that’s not right either. Before that fucking sonofabitch killed you, fucking murdered you, and I don’t care one single shit that he thought you’d come back. Before that, you said something to me. You said—”

“I remember.”

His mouth twitched. He swallowed again.

Holy shit. Griffin Conway, who was smooth as silk and cool as ice, was fucking nervous .

Had I not been so interested in what he was going to say next, I might have drawn out the topic a bit, seen how long I could enjoy seeing him hopping around on proverbial hot coals.

But I was all but dying all over again to hear his next words.

His brows furrowed as his eyes seared their intensity into mine. “And you remember what I told you before I went over the cliff in Clyde?”

“Of course.” My response was barely a whisper. Jitters wriggled beneath my skin, erasing everything about my circumstances but him.

“And what do you think?”

“About what you said?” I asked, tipping my head to one side in confusion. “Or about what I said?”

“Both.”

“I know what I meant by what I said. I can only guess at what you meant.” Never in my life had I been so obtuse with the man. Our friendship had always been easy, blunt, straightforward. Fuck, had I already ruined that?

“And what did you mean by what you said to me?” he asked. “Did you mean that you love me as a friend or … ?”

There. It was out in the open. The fucker had put it all on me. Though, to be fair, he’d said the words to me first. Maybe this made us even.

His stare was unrelenting, and eventually I closed my eyes just to escape it for a moment while my insides melted and then clenched and then melted all over again.

Of course I knew my answer. How could I not, when now that I was being truthful with myself, I’d been in love with the man for months, probably even years? But once I confirmed my feelings, there’d be no going back. No more chance at claiming a platonic affection.

For fuck’s sake, Joss, you just survived literal death. You’ve never been a coward before. Now’s not the time to start being one.

Before I could chicken out, I snapped open my eyes and said, “I meant that I’m in love with you.”

The declaration was softer than I’d wanted, as if at the last moment a part of me had tried not to lay out my already clenching heart on the bed between us, a pulsing, aching, bloody, pulpy mess.

His breath hitched before he released a long, loud exhale. “Oh my God, Joss, I—”

The door to the room swung open. Layla and Hunt hobbled in, leaning on walking sticks and taking steps that were slow, careful, gentle. Brady, only slightly less spritely than his usual self, entered behind them, closing the door.

I’d forever be happy to know all three of them were alive and well, but right then I wanted to scream at them to leave and come back in ten minutes. Just ten measly minutes . Even one would maybe have been enough.

But Griffin had already turned to face them, breaking the moment between us, when Layla called out in a slightly hoarse voice, “Holy fuckballs, Joss! You’re finally awake. You about had us losing our shit when you wouldn’t wake the fuck up.”

Forcing myself to accept that Griffin would know exactly how I felt while I’d now have to wait to find out what he thought, I directed my attention to experiencing my genuine relief. It was there, for certain it was. Despite all odds, life had taken the nuttiest of turns for us all. And the five of us—my best friends, my crew, my family—had survived a small army’s assault.

Every single one of us was gloriously alive.

Beaming up at them, I grinned. “So fucking happy to see your gorgeous faces, guys. We def have gotta stop doing this.”

In slippers and scrubs, Layla and Hunt shuffled across the room, each claiming one of the armchairs and lowering themselves gingerly into them.

Brady plopped onto the guest bed, leaned over his thighs, and clasped his hands. “Now that everyone’s awake, we’ve gotta talk. Shit’s bad.”