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“No. Get your own. You can afford it.”
“I’m not going to do anything untoward,” Burke said patiently. “Please, Mr. Bell.”
It was thepleasethat got him. He didn’t know why. He should’ve told Burke to piss off, but instead, he found himself reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and handing it over. Burke didn’t speak as he took it, fingers flying over the screen. Nick couldn’t see what he was doing, but before he could ask, Burke handed his phone back. “There. You now have my contact information. When you’re ready for the truth, you call me.”
Nick snatched his phone back, already climbing out of the car. “Not gonna happen, dude. You can go back to your tower and be creepy there. Don’t bother me again.” Since the last word was Nick’s greatest weapon, he slammed the door as hard as he could.
Except he didn’t get the last word.
Because the tinted rear window rolled down, and Simon Burkeleaned forward. “Concentra, wasn’t it? Yes, Concentra.” He grinned. “Helps one concentrate, or so the slogan goes. One of the biggest breakthroughs of Burke Pharmaceuticals. I do hope you’re reaping the benefits. Anthony, we’re done.”
Nick stood on the sidewalk, watching the limo as it pulled back into traffic and moved down the street until it turned a corner, out of sight.
Nick had his key in the door lock when he got a text from Dad saying he was on his way home, which surprised him. Dad’s new job as the head of the Extraordinaries Division led to some odd hours, and Nick thought he’d have to stay at the harbor even if Pyro Storm had finished, to make sure everything was on the up-and-up.
Nick typed back a confirmation, saying he’d see him soon. And since he couldn’tnot, he asked Dad to describe in great detail the heroics Pyro Storm had shown in rescuing those from the sinking barge. Dad sent back an emoji wearing sunglasses. So aggravating.
Frustrated, Nick unlocked the front door and stepped inside, closing it behind him before heading toward the kitchen. He slapped together a cheese-and-ketchup sandwich, intending to spread out his homework and get back to it. He made it three minutes before he set down his pencil and picked up his phone. Gnawing on his lip, he searchedConcentra.
Pages upon pages. Benefits. Side effects. Trials. Tests. FDA approval to be sold and distributed. Medical journals filled with incomprehensible jargon. Concentra, made by a company called Arc Medical Group.
Arc Medical Group, a subsidiary of Burke Pharmaceuticals.
“It’s just a company,” Nick muttered. “They probably make a billion things. Nothing to worry about.”
He ran another search about Extraordinaries in Nova City to see if there’d been any hits he’d missed about any potential threats or new superheroes, something he’d done with increasing frequency over the past few months. Like most other people, he’dexpected other Extraordinaries to appear after Pyro Storm and Shadow Star battled it out. Either there weren’t any, or they were choosing to remain hidden.
No sightings, no speculations, nothing. Even on the message boards dedicated to Extraordinaries across the world, there was no mention in the Nova City boards about anyone other than Pyro Storm and Shadow Star, with the occasional reference to Guardian, the superhero who had patrolled the streets of Nova City back in the early aughts before disappearing. No one knew who they’d been, not even their gender—only that they’d been telekinetic. The few pictures that had been taken of Guardian were blurry, only catching flashes of their cerulean-blue costume. They had either quit, moved on, or died. Nick didn’t know which was worse.
“If I was a hero, I’d never stop,” he whispered to himself, throwing his phone down on the kitchen table. He scrubbed his hands over his face. He was irritated, but he didn’t know at who. Seth, maybe, for saying he didn’t know if he wanted to be Pyro Storm anymore, but was that fair? Once, before all the crap had come out about who Seth and Owen were, Seth had told Nick how lonely it must be being an Extraordinary, how you couldn’t tell anyone about who you were or what you could do because they could become targets, or they might not understand and become scared. He’d practically given Nick a full confession, and Nick had responded by demanding they collaborate on a fic together.
Maybe he should clear his head by working onA Pleasure to Burn. He’d left Nash and Pyro Storm on a relatively sexy cliffhanger, and his readers would be demanding follow-through.
He was startled out of his fantasies of Pyro Storm whisperingI’ve never tried to use the costume for something so dirtywhen the front door opened. “Kid, you here?” Dad called out.
“Kitchen,” Nick said, looking down at his homework spread out before him. What a crappy Valentine’s Day.
Nick listened as Dad went to the hall closet. He heard the familiar beeps of the gun safe Dad kept for his service weapon.
Dad appeared in the entryway, smiling tiredly as he glanced down at the textbooks and papers on the table. “You eat yet?”
Any appetite he might have had was long gone. His headache, a low simmer, pulsed behind his right eye. “We’ve got leftovers. I can nuke it in the microwave for you if you want.”
Dad shook his head as he took off his coat, hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He rounded the table, resting a heavy hand on the back of Nick’s neck. He bent over and kissed the top of Nick’s head before going to the fridge. “How’s the homework coming?”
“Good. Fine. Almost done.” Not really, but there wasn’t anything due Monday. He had time.
Dad pulled Tupperware from the fridge. Lasagna from Mary Caplan. Mostly edible, but it had weird chunks ofsomethingin it that Nick never wanted to put in his mouth again. Mary was an awesome lady, but her cooking left something to be desired. Nick swiveled in his chair to watch Dad put the container in the microwave.
Dad turned, resting against the counter as the Tupperware spun in the microwave. He arched an eyebrow at his son. “So, more people know now.” He looked uncomfortable when he added, “And I know you have questions about … a lot of things. What Trey said. And I want you to know he has a point, as hard as it was for me to hear. Whatever Gibby’s and Jazz’s parents decide, we need to respect their decisions because—”
“Simon Burke,” Nick blurted.
Dad stiffened, eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms, the sleeves of his button-down straining against his biceps. “What about him?” He stared at Nick, and Nick didn’t dare look away for fear he’d miss any sign Dad might accidentally let slip.
“You knew him.” Saying those words was harder than Nick expected it to be. “Before.” He pushed through it, even though it hurt. “You and Mom—you knew him.”
Dad’s expression gave nothing away. “Who told you that?”
