Page 72 of Defended By Love

Just before impact, I slam my eyes closed. In the heartbeat between closing my eyes and being crushed, a certain brown-eyed face appears—my last thought before the cycle resets.

Except it doesn’t.

The crushing blow and the elevator-drop feeling never come. Grant’s face continues to shimmer from behind my closed eyes.

When I open my eyes, Grant’s standing in front of me with one hand on his spandexed hip, the other in the air. He’s holding one finger up and spinning the desk on it like it’s a basketball.

“Are you in need of assistance?” he asks in his Garnet Defender voice.

He’s playing this up for all that it’s worth and loving every second of it.

Me? Not so much. Picking up a mug (I think it’s Barry’s World’s Best Grandpa mug), I chuck it at him. It, of course, veers off at the last moment.

Not that Grant even seems to notice. He just keeps smiling on, his cape flying in the non-existent breeze, cool as can be. Granted, it’s easier to be cool now that objects have stopped hurtling at us.

“You’re late,” I scold.

“Miss me?” he asks, dripping with bravado. Then, he falters. “You didn’t get hurt though? I wasn’t that late, was I? It’s just that Marigold pepper sprayed me when I handed her those flowers and asked her to be my girlfriend—which, can I just say was an extremely mean pick for the day. I wasn’t going to make you watch the prequels, but I think you deserve—”

I wave him off. “Did your eyes still hurt? The feeling couldn’t have carried over, could it?”

Dominic’s chair goes hurtling past us and shatters against the wall.

“I know it was all in my head, but I just needed to wash out my eyes. When I got to the pharmacy, I realized I don’t have my wallet on me. I mean, obviously.” He gestures to his skin-tight spandex suit.

I laugh, remembering when I used to find the ensemble dashing.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. Just get me out of here.”

The desk floats up and away off his finger towards the ceiling, away from him as he pulls me through the air towards him. Grant catches me in his arms, his smile widening the second we touch.

“Allow me to sweep you off your feet.”

“Did you just come up with that?” I ask as we fly through the debris field and out the window.

Grant starts to answer and then closes his mouth. “In the spirit of not lying to you—”

“Being honest,” I interrupt.

“I’ll admit that I thought of it in the middle of the movie yesterday and wrote it down.”

I laugh. For some reason, that’s the best answer I could have hoped for. Of course he wrote it down.

“Dork,” I accuse.

“Always,” he promises.

Snuggling in against his heartbeat, I shield myself from the rain. For a moment, I’m awash with the feeling of contentment that this is how I get to start every day—safe and warm against the rain or whatever else comes my way.

Whatever it is, Grant’s got me.

Who needs an umbrella when I have Grant’s arms?

The thought ends as we fly towards my place and the sound of the building coming down echoes through the night. It doesn’t matter how right this all feels, the fact is that it’s wrong.

“Since I was late picking you up, I’ll let you choose for today,” Grant says, taking my mind off the destruction of my former identity. “Got anything in mind?”

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