I pull the door shut behind me, and it closes with a boom that echoes through the cavernous space.
Griffin whirls around, his eyes wild and angry.
He does not look happy to see me.
“Why are you here?” His voice comes out rough.
“I came looking for you.”
As I say it, I realize how stupid I sound. Why am I playing nursemaid to someone who’s made it clear he wants space? I’m not his keeper. I’m not even really his friend yet. Griffin’s going through something I can’t begin to understand, and here I am, making it about me and my desire to fix something I have no business fixing.
“I just—” I dig my fingers into my breastbone. I can’t say that I thought seeing me would make him feel better. Not when he really wants Bonnie to be the one to find him and promise him that she’s okay. “I needed to see you were breathing. I needed to know you were okay because back there you weren’t moving and I thought you were—” My voice cracks.
Suddenly, Griffin doesn’t look angry anymore. “You got contaminated, too?”
“Not as much as you, but—” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah. I did.”
“Jesus Christ.” He claps a hand onto his head, walking across the gym all the way over to me. His chest heaves, sweat mingling with the ectoplasm seeping from his pores. “Eden, you shouldn’t be out here.”
“Neither should you. You’re hurt?—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding all over the floor and leaking ghost goo,” I say, cringing at how shaky my voice comes out sounding. “That’s not fine.”
His mouth quirks. Then his eyes narrow, really looking at me. “Wait. How bad are you feeling this?”
Bad. My skin is too tight, and there’s fire in my veins, and I might vibrate apart if I stand still for one more second.
But saying that feels embarrassing, so all I come up with is, “I’m managing.”
His eyes flare like he can see right through me. He curses and backs away.
“Go back to the house,” he says.
He throws another punch at the bag, then another, each one harder than the last. The bruises across his back make him look dangerous, like a wild animal that’s been caged too long.
Heat floods through me so suddenly, I sway. It starts low in my belly and spreads outward until every nerve ending is awake and screaming for something I can barely name.
Oh.
Oh no.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper, using the sharp pain to snap myself out of whatever is happening. The ectoplasm must be amplifying the longing, turning a passing thought into this overwhelming need that makes my hands shake. Coming out here was absolutely, spectacularly stupid, and I need to leave before I make it worse.
I turn toward the door, but his voice stops me before I can take a step.
“Wait.”
I glance back to see Griffin holding the punching bag still, his forehead pressed against the leather.
“Sorry,” he says, panting. “I’m just bad company right now.”
“Should you even be doing this?” I ask, gesturing at the punching bag. “Kickboxing when you just had a ghost inside your chest?”
“Sweating can accelerate the purging process.” He punches again. “Besides, this is the only thing keeping me from barging back in there and breaking Nico’sfucking face.”
He lands another punch that makes the whole bag swing. Nico did nothing to deserve being punched. He saved our lives, and was really gentle with Griffin—although I can’t judge, because I also punched Nico after he did absolutely nothing wrong.
