Superheroes Anonymous (21 page)

“Wanna go a few more rounds?”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “Uh, I'm flattered, but I've seen you punch through brick walls.”

“I've got bracelets that would make us pretty evenly matched.” But he jerked a shoulder, so we started walking away from the training rooms and back toward the residential part of the complex.

“How does that work?” I asked as I dug my water bottle out.

“I'm not sure. Davenport designed them, and I never questioned it. They wear off, and it's nice to be able to beat on a punching bag without having to worry about the structural integrity of the building.”

“So it's not a secret compound from whatever caused your powers? I heard it was meteors.”

“Where'd you hear about that?”

Another evasive answer, I thought. He wasn't confirming or denying. “I read it on the Domino. They had a whole series about perceived weaknesses in some of the big-­name heroes. Yours was a compound that robbed you of your strength.”

“Irresponsible journalism at its finest.” Guy shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I'm not a fan of the Domino if you can't tell.”

“But they love you,” I said, drawing the word out like Vicki always did. Guy gave me a mock scowl for it. By the time we'd reached his apartment and he had dug out all of the ingredients for something French—­Châteaubriand, whatever that was—­he had managed to dismantle most of the Domino's theories from that article though he hadn't said anything more about his own origins.

“I can chop vegetables or something,” I said, watching him prep the meat. He waved me off. “Territorial, huh?”

“One of my many flaws.”

“Clearly, you have a lot of those. I mean, between holding down a full-­time job, being an accomplished cook, and that superhero gig, you're just riddled with them.”

“Hey, I have flaws.” He finished dusting the cut of beef with spices and moved over to wash his hands. “Deep, awful flaws.”

“Like what? And don't say being a redhead. I know some very nice redheads.”

Guy wrinkled his nose at me. “That one's not on the list.”

“Okay, so we're agreed. Redhead: not a flaw. What are the others?”

“Temper.” Guy selected a knife and began to chop a carrot, julienne-­style. “It's not usually bad, but it can be. I sometimes fall asleep in movie theaters. My ex told me that could be annoying.”

“Okay, that's a little more understandable. But, really, isn't it the movies' fault for not being interesting enough?”

“My point exactly. And I'm not always the quickest on my feet, talking-­wise. I get—­I get tongue-­tied.”

I snitched a bit of carrot. “Tongue-­tied, huh?”

“It's a problem. One I'm going to shut up about, ironically enough.” He moved the cutting board away when I went to steal a second piece of carrot, and gave me a sly grin instead. “What would you say my flaws are, since you seem so knowledgeable?”

“You're too tall, for one thing,” I said right away. “I have to crane my neck to look up at you.”

“That one I can't help.”

“Fine. Then you always lead with your left.”

His head shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you're punching villains. You always have. I thought once that maybe you wore a signet ring on your finger or something, so you could brand it into their cheeks, but with my new, sophisticated knowledge, I realized you're just lazy. I mean, if the villains pick up on that little quirk, you're screwed, too. I only know because of our long and storied history together.”

Guy rocked back on his heels, closing his eyes. “Angélica is going to have such a field day with that.”

I tilted my head at him. “That's if she finds out. What's my silence worth to you?”

“Dinner?”

“Sold. Are you sure you don't need any help? I feel kind of lazy sitting here, stinking up the place.”

“No—­and you don't stink. I mean, well, you kind of do, but it's okay.” Guy shrugged sheepishly. He pulled out another carrot and diced it up quickly before he dared to look up at me. “Sorry for saying you stink.”

“No, it's fairly obvious that I do. I can run back to my place real quick and grab a shower if it's bothering you.”

“It's fine. My sense of smell is actually a little duller than most ­people's, so I can barely smell it.” He pulled a bottle of ranch dressing out of the refrigerator and a plate from the cabinet.

“Really? So you're like the opposite of me in that way, then?”

One corner of his mouth curled up as he passed the carrot, ranch dressing, and plate over to me. “Right. So if one of us has to be the canary in the mineshaft . . .”

I dug in with vigor, happy to have food of any kind. “Your canary, reporting for duty. Hopefully minus the dying bit.”

“Hopefully.”

I looked from the vegetables to the rice simmering on the stovetop. It was the kind of meal that you would cook to impress someone, like a date, I realized. In fact, it almost felt like a date. There were appetizers—­I wasn't allowed alcohol yet, so I'd stuck to water—­good conversation, and hey, a really hot guy cooking for me.

Too bad I was in my workout clothes and probably looked really gross after hours of being thrown around the room by a speed-­freak Brazilian woman with the most terrifying biceps I'd ever seen. Because I really, I discovered, wouldn't mind if it were an actual date.

I swirled a carrot stick through the ranch dressing. “I've noticed something weird about being here. ­People used to insist all the time that you were my boyfriend.” Guy's head shot up. Interesting. “I mean, they were saying you were Jeremy, yeah, but it was still ‘Blaze is Hostage Girl's boyfriend' all the time. And now, every single person I've talked to at Davenport has called you my boyfriend. As Guy, not Blaze and—­whoa, holy hell!”

I rose halfway out of my stool in alarm when Guy brought the knife down on his hand. Visions of chopped-­off fingers danced in my head, but he only shook out his hand and gave the knife—­now horribly disfigured along its bladed edge—­a disgusted look. “Third one I've ruined this month,” he said.

“If I did that, I'd have lost half my hand. Are you okay?”

Guy held up his hand, which had a thin red mark spanning from his middle knuckle to the back of his thumb. It hadn't even broken the skin. “S'fine,” he said, looking down again.

“It's
fine
that you just tried to dismember yourself?”

“By accident. It happens. Benefits of being superhuman.” When I just continued to stare, he raised his head again. “Gail, it's fine. Really.”

I realized I was still half-­out of my stool, and sat back down, willing my heart to slow down. “If you say so. Though I have to admit, that's the first time being falsely accused of dating me has made somebody try to lose body parts.”

He glanced at me quickly, then back down at the drawer as he pulled out another knife, which he set to the side. “No, maybe they just lose their minds.”

“Are you saying they'd have to be crazy to date me?”

“No!” Abruptly, he turned the same shade of red as his tie. He cleared his throat. “I mean, um, no. I was trying to say they'd just lose their minds over how cool you are. Not that they're crazy and—­you're teasing me, aren't you?”

“Only a little.” I felt bad enough to reach across the countertop and pat his hand. “You kind of left yourself wide open. I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, his smile a touch rueful. “I'll forgive you this time.”

“Much obliged.”

He sighed and flexed his barely injured hand. Since I sensed it would be a bad time to interrupt or make a joke, I watched him and waited. He tapped the side of his thumb against the cutting board in clear agitation and finally cleared his throat.

“Look, I'm not good with words. Some of the others on the front line, they can banter with the villains and they're funny and insightful and they have the timing of comic geniuses, but I don't have that skill. I'm lucky if I can get two sentences out of my mouth in a row without sounding like a complete idiot.”

I started to point out that he was doing a pretty good job at this point, but he gave me a look, so I bit my lip instead.

“So I guess I'll cut to the heart of the matter,” he said. “Gail, are you being nice to me because I saved your life all those times as Blaze or because you like me? Guy Bookman, not Blaze.”

That was the last thing I expected him to say. And whatever good feelings had been rising to the top, they abruptly fled. “I like Guy more than I like Blaze.”

Guy stepped back in shock. “What?”

“You know what Blaze was to me?” I gave him a long look. This was something I had never shared with anybody, not even the therapist I'd gone to see for a few months, but he needed to know. “He was the one who came to save the day when once again, things were out of my control. He went through a lot of hell to get me out of some truly terrible situations, and I'm grateful for that, but you know what he wasn't?”

I leaned forward, and I put both hands on the countertop. “He wasn't the guy,” I said, “that
talked
to me.”

“Gail—­”

“You might not be good with words, but for two years, I got kidnapped by every villain strolling through Chicago and hounded by reporters for details about a superhero who was all but a stranger to me. And it wasn't fun not having a single person believe me when I said I didn't know any more than they did. All I got from Blaze were long looks in the middle of the battle, the mistaken belief that maybe I had a secret admirer or was part of a tragic love story, and a rose with a little cartoon doodle when I wound up in the hospital yet again.”

Guy shut his mouth.

“And then you left. You left, and Jeremy left, and I didn't know
anything.
Just—­silence. The most I'd ever ‘talked' ”—­and I used air quotes—­“to Blaze was a walk we shared on some autumn night when I was working late, where you didn't say a word. So, yes, I like Guy a whole hell of a lot more than I like Blaze.”

I took a deep breath, and it sounded like an explosion in the stillness that had come over the kitchen. My hands shook. I'd kept those feelings bottled up for so long, down so deep that even I hadn't realized I'd been storing them up. But once the words had started to flow, I hadn't been able to stop them. And I didn't regret them, either. My chest felt hollow, and my stomach had leapt up to my throat, but I didn't look away from Guy's face.

Red splotches had appeared on his throat above his loosened tie, but I couldn't tell if it was fury or humiliation, as an emotionless mask had settled over his face. But his eyes were the same eyes that had always stared at me from behind Blaze's mask.

The silence reigned for nearly a full minute before Guy finally spoke. “You must have hated me.”

I ran a hand over my face. “No. Not even close. Never like that.”

“I thought—­” Agitated once more, he hooked his thumb under the knot in his tie and pulled it loose, yanking off the article of clothing like it had offended him. “I like you—­it wasn't a love thing when I was saving you, but I've always liked you, and I respected you, how brave you always were. And then you were here out of the blue one night, and paying attention to me, and it was great. You don't know how much I always—­that's not important right now.” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “The thing is, I didn't think I could handle it if you just liked Blaze and tolerated me as Guy out of pity. But I see I misunderstood everything, and I didn't even consider that there might be other perspectives.”

“Is that why you left the other day?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

His nod was shamefaced. “You were talking about the Great Superb-­O being an outed superhero, and I was . . . jealous. He had somebody that probably liked both sides of him. You knew I was lying, didn't you?”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

Guy balled up the tie and threw it toward the second floor. “Well, thank you for letting me have the dignity of my lie.”

“Thank you for owning up to it.”

“And I'm sorry.” He looked beyond uncomfortable now. The red splotches had traveled up to his cheeks. “For all of the pain my need to keep my identity hidden put you through. I am sorry for that.”

“Apology accepted,” I said.

“Really? Just like that?”

“When you've faced as many villains as I have and been given supercancer as a result, you learn not to waste time dwelling.” My hands were slowly ceasing to shake, thankfully, and I could feel my pulse calming. Now that that giant mess of emotion was off my chest, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. I hadn't realized I'd had that much darkness festering. “But maybe ask me next time rather than stewing about it. I'm direct, remember?”

“You are.” Surprisingly, his grin flashed, and the tense line of his shoulders eased. “It's cute.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I am many things, but cute is not one of them.”

“Nope. Adorable.” Guy leaned over and snatched up one of the carrot sticks, popping the whole thing in his mouth.

“If you were anything but nine feet tall and pure muscle, you'd understand why ‘adorable' is not actually the compliment you think it is.”

“So ‘precious' is out of the question?”

“Put those bracelets on, let's go a few rounds. I bet I can kick your ass.”

“And I bet it'll be darling.”

“Okay,” I said, finally laughing. “Now you're just pushing it. What's next? ‘Dainty'?”

“I was going to go with . . .” He cocked his head as he gave the matter some thought.

“You've run out of options.”

“No, I—­yes, I've got nothing beyond using ‘cute' again, so I concede the field. Hopefully without you kicking my ass, as you've already done that once tonight.” When I started to sink into my chair, he shook his head. “I deserved it. I'll wait until later to lick my wounds. Right now, I've got a dinner to serve.”