“I sort of lost my phone.” Not entirely a lie. “What’s going on?”
“Mayhem.” He slid the phone across the table. “More than normal.”
The reporter had taken cover behind a pickup truck as the cameraman scurried close behind. The reporter pointed up, signaling for the cameraman to raise the camera. Over the tailgate, a duo in spandex robbed the bank in the business district. As the lady in spandex boltedfrom the building, she transformed into an eagle and carried her partner and the duffel bags of cash into the sky.
“Doesn’t that bank get robbed weekly?” I asked.
He reached over and flicked the screen. Security footage showed a man in blue leather launching spears made of ice at a cop car. When that didn’t frighten the officers, his hands turned blue, and the car frosted over.
“There’s a couple others. It’s like the villains are out in force.”
“Think the Centurions are going to show up?”
“It’d be the perfect time for them to debut.”
I closed out the video and spotted the HeroApp™ on his screen—sixty-eight new notifications. We knew more supervillains were showing up every day, but that seemed high for the last twenty-four hours. It seemed as if the Vanguard was being thrown into chaos before our eyes. I’d need to ask Orion if he had any theories… as soon as I dared to show my face in the office.
“About earlier, I need to explain.” I spat it out before my brain had time to stop me. That was twice Booker had caught Hellion—melose control. I feared what he might think. I had been entertaining the thought for a few days. It was time to be brave.
“You don’t need to explain yourself.”
I shook my head. “I do.”
He didn’t push, which made telling him even moreimportant. Booker made space, but he never pressed. I wanted to tell himsomething; I just didn’t know what.
“I’m not always a nice person.” Long sigh. It might not seem like much of a confession, but I had spent so long trying to be the perfect friend, the image of what I thought others needed. Even the smallest admission felt huge.
“I know.”
“You don’t understand.” He couldn’t and not be so blasé about it.
“I’ve understood it for a while.” He said it as if it were nothing more than emailing without a ‘Warm Regards’ at the end. I didn’t want to confess to frequent bone snapping or goading bad guys into fistfights, but I felt like I owed him a bit more of a confession.
Booker reached across the table, palms up. When I didn’t budge, he gestured to his wiggling fingers. His eyes were an almost brilliant green, and I couldn’t stop staring. The color might be the first thing people noticed, but it was the range of emotions they expressed. From curiosity to concern, it was almost as if they could show them all at once.
I caved. They were hot, almost clammy, as if he were the one confessing.
“You never need to explain yourself to me.” It had been the thesis of our relationship. At first, I thought it was the same tactic he used during his interviews. The thing I loved most about him had been the way he let me set the pace.He did it with such precision that, at times, I thought he could read my mind.
“I know.” Should I say thanks, or was admitting I understood his intentions enough? I wanted to add, “But I want to,” but I wasn’t quite there yet. I was more surprised that I was even entertaining the thought. With one confession, would the entire house of cards come falling down? With Booker… did I care?
“I need to confess something.”
His thumb traced a line between my knuckles. I wondered if he’d admit a deep, dark secret. Maybe it had something to do with his job. Or maybe it had to do with me? Did he know about Tint? Or Hellion. I said I wanted him to know, but with the possibility in the air, I could feel my pulse race.
“I—” He paused, eyebrow raised.
“Shit has hit the fan.” I recognized that disgruntled voice. Boots stomped across the pizza parlor to our table. Thankfully, the only other customer was tucked in a corner with headphones on as he ate. “I got back to my place, and somebody destroyed my house. While I packed, there was a knock at the door.”
Tia stood next to the table. She glanced in my direction, her lip curling in a snarl. I hadn’t asked about the card Booker gave her, thinking it might be the address of a safe house. I let go of his hands as our date went from personal confession to strictly business.
“Goons,” she barked. “They sent goons!”
Booker reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He started scribbling on a napkin. “This is the number of a friend. Danny’s somebody I’d trust with my life. Tell him it’s a Redline situation. He’ll know what it means.”
“Until when? You two figure out what’s going on?”
“We’re close.”
