Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Mandie
The controller in my hands felt heavier than it should have, plastic warm from use, buttons worn smooth under my thumbs. Donovan’s thigh pressed against mine, a steady, grounding pressure that made it hard to focus on the game.
Not that I was complaining. The heat of him seeped through my leggings, a slow, distracting warmth that had my pulse thrumming just a little faster than it should’ve been.
Johnny, ever the chaos gremlin, was sprawled across the other end of the couch.
His spiky blond hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction like he’d been electrocuted.
His green eyes were sharp with that competitive glint that meant he was about two seconds away from trash-talking someone into oblivion.
Roger was perched in the armchair like a king holding court.
His broad shoulders were tense as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers gripping his controller like it owed him money.
The man took everything too seriously, but goddamn if it wasn’t hot when he got that focused, commanding look in his eyes.
The game was in full swing. It was some hyper-violent shooter that Roger had insisted on, because of course he had.
The screen flashed with gunfire and explosions, the sound of virtual bullets ricocheting off metal and concrete filling the room.
Roger’s character was currently pinned behind a crumbling wall, his health bar blinking a warning red.
"Hut hut!" Roger barked suddenly, like we were in a war room instead of a living room.
I side-eyed him. "Are you seriously using football terminology right now?"
He didn’t even look at me. "Means move your ass, Weaver."
Johnny snickered, tossing a throw pillow at Roger’s head. It bounced off his shoulder harmlessly. "Damn, you’re insufferable. No one says hut hut outside of actual football, you ape."
Roger shot him a glare. "Shut up and flank, Boyd. Mandie, cover me. I’m pushing the high ground."
I rolled my eyes but did as he said, my character sprinting toward a cluster of crates. Donovan’s fingers flew over his controller, his character running across the screen, snatching an enemy’s rifle mid-air.
Johnny whooped, leaning forward. "Hell, yes, Flexel! That’s the shit I’m talking about!"
Donovan ducked his head, but I saw the way his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. His gray eyes flicked to me, then away, checking to see if I’d noticed. I had. I always noticed.
"Blitz the left side, now!" Roger shouted.
I groaned. "I am not your linebacker, Rattler."
"Just do it," he growled.
Fine. I lunged my character around the corner, fingers mashing the trigger. Three kills in rapid succession. The screen flashed VICTORY in bold, obnoxious letters.
Roger threw his arms up. "Yes! That’s how you do it!"
Johnny groaned, tossing his controller onto the couch like it had personally offended him. "Unbelievable. I got stuck with Mr. Elastic over here, and you two are out here running actual plays like this is the Super Bowl."
Donovan’s shoulders tensed. "Sorry. I could’ve done better."
I nudged him with my elbow, just hard enough to make him look at me. "You did fine. Johnny’s just butthurt because he lost."
Johnny flopped backward, draping an arm over his eyes dramatically. "I’m traumatized. I need a moment to recover from this betrayal."
Roger stood, stretching his arms over his head. The movement made his shirt ride up, exposing a sliver of toned stomach and the faint silver scar near his hipbone. My gaze flicked away before I could linger.
"Alright, I’m calling it. My knees can’t take another round of your whining, Boyd," Roger said.
Johnny peeked out from under his arm, grinning. "Aw, come on. Mandie, tell him to stay. We can do a rematch. Best two out of three."
I set my controller down, stretching my arms over my head. The hem of my sweatshirt rode up, exposing the tattoos snaking around my waist. Johnny’s gaze flicked down, then back up, fast. I ignored it.
"Nah. I had enough games with you kids today."
Donovan hesitated, his fingers tightening around his controller. "Yeah. Me too."
Roger clapped his hands together. "Then it’s settled. Night, losers." He shot Johnny a smirk. "Try not to cry yourself to sleep."
Johnny flipped him off, but he was smiling. "Love you too, Mr. America."
Roger laughed, shaking his head as he headed toward his room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the three of us in a sudden, heavy silence.
Johnny sat up, rubbing his face. He glanced at me, then Donovan, his green eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite read. "You two heading to bed too?"
Donovan’s fingers twitched against his thigh. "Uh. Yeah. The boss needs me to go with him to Canada. Not sure what for, but he said we are leaving early."
Johnny laughed dryly. "You know, we really need to start taking a vote on things rather than treating him like a king all the time."
Donovan stood and stretched. He looked over at me. He was close. Gray eyes dark in the low light, messy black hair falling onto his face. He smelled like soap and vanilla. My fingers itched to reach out, to tangle in his hair.
"I'd better get to bed. See you guys tomorrow."
I watched him go, annoyed that both he and Roger had left me alone. Well, not alone. But lonely.
My controller hit the couch cushion with a dull thud. I flexed my fingers, the phantom vibration still humming in my palms. The TV screen flickered with the pause menu.
"How do you turn this thing off?"
Johnny zipped to the TV and back in a blur of motion, turning it off and sitting back down like he never left.
"You don’t like the boss much, do you?" The words came out before I could second-guess them. My voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.
Johnny’s thumb stuttered on his phone screen. He didn’t look up. "What makes you say that?"
I gestured vaguely at the space Donovan had vacated. "You keep pushing the guys to stand up to him. Not to mention, every time he is here, you get that weird look around him. Like you have something to say."
That got his attention. His head snapped up, green eyes sharp. "I don’t have a look."
"You do." I leaned forward. "It’s the same one you give Roger when he starts barking orders like we’re in basic training. Like you’re humoring him, but you’re also two seconds from flipping him off."
Johnny’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "Maybe I just don’t like people telling me what to do."
I tilted my head. "But it’s not just that. You’re fine with Roger most of the time. It’s him."
The way Johnny’s jaw tightened said he knew exactly who I meant. He shrugged, leather jacket creaking. "He’s alright. I just think he could try to be around more. You know, actually lead instead of just dropping orders and disappearing."
"Yeah? Well, that makes two of us."
"Really?" Johnny’s tone was dry.
"Yeah. It is because of him I am here. I can't leave, I can't see my friends. I can tell he is keeping secrets from me."
"Yeah. He is a little over-cautious."
I studied him. There was something beneath the sarcasm. Something raw.
"It's ridiculous, is what it is," I said.
For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he let out a short, humorless laugh. "The whole team treats me differently. Like I am the black sheep."
"Well, you are always the first to give people attitude."
"It's not that. It is because out of the whole group, I’m the only criminal here."
The words hung there, heavy and unexpected. I blinked. "Come again?"
"You heard me." He leaned back, stretching his arms along the top of the couch. "I’ve got a record. Well. Not officially. But if we’re being technical? Yeah. I’ve broken the law."
I crossed my arms. "We all have. What did you do? Run too fast in a thirty-five zone?"
"Not like this." His gaze flicked to mine, then away. "When I was younger, I used to help my dad rob banks."
The room tilted. Just a little. "You’re joking."
"Nope." He popped the “p,” too casual. "Armored trucks, too. Jewelry stores. The works."
I stared at him. Johnny Boyd, Pulsewave, the guy who could outrun a bullet, was sitting there telling me he used to be a bank robber. "Your dad made you do that?"
"Sort of. He raised me to do that, at least." He shook his head, a spike of hair falling into his eyes. "I thought it was fun. The adrenaline, the planning... Look, it’s not like we hurt anyone. We were good at it. In and out. No guns, no hostages. Just… redirection."
"Redirection," I repeated flatly.
"Yeah." He finally met my eyes, and the vulnerability there didn’t match the smirk. "Distract the guards, mess with the cameras, make sure no one gets a good look at us. That was my job. I was fast even before my powers fully kicked in. When I got faster, I started carrying stuff out."
"How old were you?"
He hesitated. "First time? Ten."
"Ten?" My voice cracked. "Jesus, Johnny."
"Hey, I turned out fine." He spread his hands.
"You robbed banks as a child."
"And now I stop bank robbers." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Full circle, right?"
"I guess."
Johnny’s smirk weakened. "Don’t look so shocked. You’re the one who said I had a look."
"I just didn’t think it was the ‘my dad’s a supervillain’ kind of look."
"That is why I am here as one of the good guys now. My dad, for some reason, wanted to join up with that Capital Punishment guy. Not sure what got into him. Capital Punishment’s plans include hurting innocent people.
I am not about that. I thought, maybe if I joined up with the heroes, I could somehow save him. Maybe he would follow me."
"I had no idea."
"Yeah, well, now you know."
I watched him for a long moment. The way his fingers twitched, like he was itching to run. The way his jaw was set, like he was daring me to judge him. And I did judge him. Not for the banks. But for the way he acted like it didn’t matter.
"You ever miss it?" I asked quietly.
The phone stilled in his hands. "Miss what?"
"The adrenaline. The rush. The fun you said you had."
He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, softly: "Actually, saving people is more fun. But don't tell anyone I said that."
"Oh, I am going to tell the whole world. Even Julie, whom I punched in the third grade."
That got a real laugh out of him, short and bright. "Well, if you do, I could never show my face around here. I’d have to shrink down and hide in your bra. And trust me, you do not want that."
I threw a throw pillow at him. He caught it easily, grinning. For a second, it was like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. Like he was just Johnny again, annoying, unpredictable, impossible to pin down.
But I’d seen the cracks now. And I knew, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t outrun them forever.