Ship It(28)

“Especially since it seemed like, after we talked, you were maybe a little bit open to—”

“Totally.”

“—SmokeHeart being—”

“Claire, we’re keeping all our options open,” he says.

Why won’t he just let me speak? “Okay, so if someone else asks the question again…”

His phone buzzes. “I’m sorry, I gotta take this,” he says, picking up. “P-Dawg!”

I sigh. Did that go well? I can’t tell. I can feel the stress growing in my belly. I need a break from reality for a minute.

I know what I would normally do in this situation, but can I do it here? Surrounded by these people? I take a quick peek over my shoulder and see Forest and Rico are still deep in conversation. Everyone else is either working or sleeping because it’s still so early. I think it’s safe. I pull my laptop out, open a blank document, and start typing.


THE FIRST THING Smokey feels is pain, followed by relief. He’s alive. He tries to look around, but even moving his head releases stripes of searing agony down his side. He takes a beat to get his wits back and assess his situation. He can tell from the beeping machines over him that he’s in a hospital, but he has no memory of how he got here. The last thing he remembers is the Dreadful Gorgon bearing down on him, and his absolute certainty that he was about to die.

But he didn’t die.

Heart had been there, too, showing up in time to stop the demon portal from ushering in hell on earth, etc., etc. Heart had actually helped, but then he’d skedaddled as soon as the Dreadful Gorgon took flight, and Smokey didn’t blame him.

Smokey hears the door to his room open and a nurse appears over him. “How we feeling?” he asks, and Smokey fights through the cloud of painkillers in his brain to put together an answer that feels true.

“Shitty.”

The nurse smiles. “Yeah, I’d imagine. You were in pretty rough shape when they brought you in. Another few minutes and we might’ve lost you.”

“Did…” Smokey struggles to get the words out, and the nurse waits patiently for him to finish. “Did they find anyone else out there?” When the Dreadful Gorgon wakes from her slumber, she’s hungry and grumpy and willing to scorch the land in order to find some fresh meat. Also, she has thermal vision, so yeah, pretty hard to get away once you find yourself in her territory.

“Just you,” the nurse says gently.

Smokey thinks about Heart running away and wonders if he was able to escape. Maybe Smokey distracted the Gorgon long enough, maybe Heart found a hiding spot, but most likely…

Smokey closes his eyes against the thought. No. Heart can’t be dead.

“Well, you and the guy who brought you in.”

Smokey’s eyes snap open. The nurse nods his chin to the corner just behind him, out of his peripheral vision. Smokey turns his head, slowly, slowly, swallowing the pain, and hoping.

Curled into a chair next to his hospital bed, one arm in a sling, the other wrapped protectively around his stomach, looking at Smokey with a furrowed brow and two blackened eyes, is Heart.

He’s alive.

And he’s looking on with such tenderness, like Smokey is this wounded bird that he’s just willing to fly. Like he isn’t just as banged up as Smokey is.

“Hey,” Smokey says.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” the nurse says, wisely making his exit.

Heart saved him. Heart saved him.

Heart saved him.

“I thought…” Heart’s voice catches. He’s crying, Smokey thinks wildly. Heart composes himself. “I thought you were a goner.”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Smokey whispers.

“That’s for sure,” Heart says, and chokes out a laugh. Smokey’s in no shape to be moving for a while. But then Heart’s brow knits, and he gets serious again. “I’m not going anywhere either,” he says.

And even though it hurts, even though his whole body hollers at him not to move, Smokey lifts his arm and reaches his hand out. Heart spills over then, two tears running down his cheek as he uncurls his body and leans forward, gently taking Smokey’s hand in his good one and—


“WHATCHA WRITING?” FOREST plops down onto the seat next to me.

Why is he talking to me?

“A story.” I minimize the document so he can’t read it. But my desktop wallpaper is fanart of Smokey and Heart in each other’s arms, so I slam my laptop closed. When I finally get the courage to look up at him, Forest’s eyes are dancing. Ugh, did he see that? Is he going to make fun of me again?

“A story, huh? Anything I’d like?” He looks down at me with his bright blue eyes through long lashes. I blink hard to shake Smokey out of my mind. Ten seconds ago I was imagining him hurt in a hospital bed, leaning forward, about to kiss the love of his life, and now here he is, sitting next to me, his knee touching mine, warm and solid and real. But he’s not Smokey, he’s Forest. This is reality. He’s not wearing a leather jacket and carrying a battle-ax. Instead, he’s got on a weathered college sweatshirt from the University of Oklahoma that looks about forty years old, and he smells musty and sweet, and a little like coffee.

“I doubt it’s your style,” I say.