under control; two, you’ve got your own mission to deal with.” That Bruce still hadn’t told Luke about.
Luke felt just a tinge guilty—just a tinge. Because aggravation aside, the idea of seeing Bruce go head-to-head with Catwoman…It made something in his stomach twist a bit. Just enough that he didn’t want Bruce coming home anytime soon, mission or no.
Bruce sighed tightly. “Call if you need anything.”
Luke debated reminding Bruce that he wasn’t some underling, but only said, “Sure, man.” Bruce terminated the call without further farewell.
Luke sighed, staring at the built-in oak shelves of his closet. No, he didn’t answer to Bruce. Never had and never would. But he did owe this city some semblance of safety.
Taking a moment to gather himself, Luke loosed a long breath before heading back into the living room. “Sorry about that,” he said, setting the phone on the coffee table before sitting on the couch once more.
Holly lifted a groomed brow. “Friend of yours?”
“He’s my boss, so…yeah?”
“I thought your father was the CEO.”
“He is, but it’s the Wayne family’s company.”
“And I suppose you and Bruce Wayne are card-carrying members of the Rich Kids Club.”
“And you’re not?”
She blinked at him. “It’s different for boys.”
He leaned back on the cushions. “Yeah, yeah. Says the girl who told me Europe was boring.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “A bit of posturing.”
“Why did you come here, then?”
The amusement on her face died. Went quiet. Those green eyes again wary and distant.
Luke pressed, wondering if he sounded like an idiot as he asked as casually as he could, “Bad breakup or something?”
Holly swallowed. “You could say that. I wanted…a fresh start.”
He tucked his hands behind his head. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Was that a nice thing you just said to me?”
Luke chuckled. “Smart-ass.” He pointed toward the TV with the remote. “Pick a movie. Any movie.”
A challenge and dare. Her green eyes flickered with it. “All right. Carousel.”
“The musical?”
“You know it?”
“I saw the revival on Broadway a few years back.” He shrugged. “Carousel it is.”
“No, no, let’s watch something you want—”
“Backing out of it now that I called your bluff?”
Holly crossed her arms. Luke chuckled, switching over to his streaming service and finding the movie. But as the overture started, he could have sworn he saw her smiling.
* * *
—
There was sand, and blood, and screaming.
His body was on fire, shrapnel turning into claws that dug deep and shredded. Limbs rained, blood sprayed, and he could do nothing while they died and died around him, while the world turned over and his ears hollowed out, and he knew he was never going home, would never see his mom or dad, would never make it home—
“Luke.”
He was going to die here, in this place where he’d come to prove something—to himself, his parents, the world. To prove he wasn’t some spoiled brat, to fill some hole inside himself. Now he was full of countless holes, bleeding out—
“Luke!”
He couldn’t stop it. The blood, the dying. Couldn’t move to help his friends, screaming in pain. Or the ones so still—not screaming at all.
“LUKE!”
The shouting tugged at him, but it was the pain that slammed him home.
His face stung, and he blinked, blinked and gasped for air, trying to reconfigure where he was, in the blue-lit dimness—
“You are in your apartment in Gotham City,” said a steady female voice. “You are alive.”
Luke shook, unable to halt the tremors, the mortification now burning up his face, or the nausea rising up in him—
He ran. Not for the bathroom but for the balcony.
Fresh air. He needed fresh air.
He reached the door when two strong, slim hands grabbed his shirt. Tugged him into a stop. “Luke—”
“Fresh air,” he got out.
Those hands loosened their grip, but remained steady on him. One slid around his waist.
Holly.
Holly Vanderhees.
She brought him to the railing. Let him brace his arms against it, head hanging in the brisk wind, peering toward the drop below as he rallied himself, steadied himself.
“You must have nodded off.” Right. After the movie had ended, he’d switched to regular cable news and she’d stayed to watch, and he’d been so warm and comfortable.
“What can I get you?” Her voice was a low, steady purr. And familiar. That tone. That calm—
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice raw. He must have been screaming. “It’s just the…” He sucked in another lungful, working through his breathing the way the therapist had taught him. “This happens. Since I came home.”