James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - B3

JAMES

My phone buzzed again. I groaned, shifted in the passenger seat, and pulled it from the pocket of my hoodie. I was half-asleep, forehead pressed against the window, letting the desert stretch blur past outside.

Voicemail.

I tapped play.

"Look, kid. I don't know what kind of baby mamma drama you got going on at home, but you need to come get your kids. They're doing some weird shit, and I'm pretty sure I didn't smoke today..."

The woman's voice cracked like she hadn't slept in days — irritated, maybe a little scared — which honestly made sense. Considering the "kids" in question could bench press a vending machine or teleport through walls, "weird" was putting it mildly.

I played it again. And again.

"Mate," Noah muttered beside me, leaning closer to hear it a third time. "If she only bloody knew."

We were about twelve miles out from Arizona, packed in Derek's dysfunctional CRV. I sat up front with Derek, who was laser-focused on the road. The back row was a war zone — Grace squished in the middle, wedged between Noah and me, her earbuds in but clearly listening. Behind us, Mark sat by the window with Bryce next to him, both quiet. For now.

Mark tilted his head toward us, his arms crossed, sunglasses halfway down his nose. "You two have fun dealing with that disaster. Bryce and I are going to go find out how pissed off my dad is. And no, Noah, you're not invited."

I twisted in my seat to look at him. "Good luck with that, Mark. You fucked up."

Mark scoffed, pulled his shades back on. "Funny you say that, Noah." He tossed the insult lazily across the row like he couldn't be bothered to keep track of who was speaking.

Noah made a face. "Rude."

He waved a hand, and the stereo clicked on with a soft electrical snap — turned up by his damn mind again. The speakers crackled.

A beat dropped.

Noah grinned wide. That grin meant trouble.

"She's not with him tonight," he sang, surprisingly on-key. "She is not with Jim tonight. She is in the gym tonight..."

"Noah," Grace warned, deadpan.

"Workout in that pussy," Noah went on, louder now. "I'm gettin' ripped tonight. R.I.P. that—"

"SHUT UP!" All of us yelled at once — Grace smacked his chest, Bryce groaned like he was being tortured, and Derek, without breaking eye contact with the road, flicked on the turn signal and pulled hard into the nearest gas station.

The brakes squealed as he parked. "Everyone out. I need ten minutes without your voice, Noah."

Noah snorted, unbothered. "You're welcome."

I opened the door and stepped out onto hot gravel, stretching my arms over my head. The air smelled like heat and gasoline and dust. There was a vending machine buzzing nearby and a sun-faded picnic table under a crooked tree that offered zero shade.

Mark stepped out last, slamming the back door behind him. "You're lucky my dad's more worried about my life choices than yours," he muttered to Noah.

Noah grinned. "Please. I'm everyone's favorite disappointment."

Bryce sat on the hood, sipping from a lukewarm Gatorade. "You're definitely someone's disappointment," he said.

I looked over at Grace. She hadn't taken out her earbuds, but she raised one brow like she could hear every word. She could always hear every word.

Derek popped the trunk and leaned inside, grabbing a small cooler. "We've got about an hour before we hit the station. Everyone get your shit together now, because once we're there, it's no more jokes. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Noah said with mock sincerity, snapping a salute.

"Cut it out," Derek warned, pointing. "I'm not in the mood."

We hung around the gas station for another five or ten minutes, half of us pretending not to be nervous, the other half trying not to look like they were waiting for a fight. Because that's exactly what it felt like — like something was coming, and none of us knew how to stop it.

Grace finally pulled her earbuds out and walked over to stand next to me. "So, whose idea was it to visit Mark's father before we pick up the kiddos?"

I nodded toward Derek. "Blame our fearless leader."

She made a face and flicked her hair off her shoulder. "Next time, I'm riding with my father."

Mark called from across the lot. "He ditched you halfway through Nevada because you almost made Matthew, Henry and him crash along with a dozen other cars."

Grace didn't respond. She didn't need to.

Eventually, we all climbed back into the SUV. Noah tried to start singing again, but this time I slapped my hand over his mouth.

"Dude," I warned.

He licked my palm.

"Gross!"

Everyone groaned again. Grace shoved him. Derek cranked the volume on the actual music loud enough to drown out the chaos.

The desert rolled past the windows. Arizona got closer.

MARK

The Arizona sun didn't waste time making its presence known. As soon as we stepped out of Derek's SUV, it wrapped around us like we'd just opened the oven door. Bryce groaned beside me, tugging at the collar of his shirt, already sweating through the back.

"Welcome back to hell," I muttered, pushing my shades up and nudging his shoulder.

He smirked. "If this is hell, at least I'm getting laid." Bryce leaned in to peck me on the lips.

Noah snorted from behind us. "Gross."

Grace hopped out next, pulling her braid over her shoulder and wrinkling her nose. "Ugh. Arizona smells like asphalt and armpits."

"It's tradition," Derek muttered, stretching his back as he shut the driver's door. "And it never gets better."

Before we even made it to the sidewalk, a blur of white fur came charging across the lot.

"Gruffly incoming," James said, sidestepping the fluff missile.

The little dog launched himself right at me, yapping like we owed him rent. I caught him midair, his paws kicking against my chest like he'd been waiting for this reunion forever.

"Easy, soldier," I laughed, holding him close while he gave me a few dramatic sniffs.

Then he spotted Bryce.

"Oh no," Bryce said, backing up a step.

Gruffly launched again, this time wrapping around Bryce's ankle like a sentient mop.

"I think I'm being hazed," Bryce said, crouching down.

"He's testing you," I told him. "This is bonding."

"He's nibbling my shoelace," Bryce said.

"He loves you," I corrected.

The station door buzzed open, and there stood my dad—Chief Reignson—tan shirt sleeves rolled, hair a little more gray, but same steady eyes. He stepped out into the sun like he'd never stopped belonging to it.

"Well, would you look at that," he said, arms opening as he came down the steps. "You boys actually showed up."

He pulled me into a hug, strong and warm, that grounding kind that only comes from your dad.

"Good to see you, kiddo," he murmured. "Missed you more than I'll ever admit."

"Missed you too," I said.

He turned to the others, giving nods and firm handshakes.

"Derek."

Derek smirked. "Hey, chief."

"Grace," he added with a grin, "I've heard plenty about you."

"I'm not responsible for any of it," she said flatly.

"I'm sure," Dad chuckled.

Then he turned to Bryce. "So this is the infamous boyfriend."

Bryce froze mid-step, but Dad offered his hand first. "Chief Reignson. But you can just call me sir until I'm sure you're not a total screw-up."

Bryce laughed nervously, shaking his hand. "Fair enough, sir."

Noah leaned into James and stage-whispered, "He likes him. He hasn't threatened him yet."

James elbowed him, grinning.

Inside the station, the air was mercifully cool. Gruffly trotted along with us. We passed the front desk and stepped into the breakroom just in time for Garrison to rise from the table like a storm cloud.

"Mark!" he barked.

"Here we go," I muttered just before he pulled me into a chest-splitting hug.

"You look older," he said. "Still don't call enough."

"Been busy."

He looked past me and spotted Bryce. "This the guy?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "And yes, he's great."

Garrison stared at him for a beat too long, then gave a grunt and nodded. "Alright. I'll allow it."

We sat. The food smelled like home—barbecue ribs, cornbread, slaw, beans, all of it laid out like a welcome-back banner made of calories. Grace snuck two cornbread muffins. James was already two ribs in. Noah had iced tea and zero shame about drinking from the jug.

Then Dad glanced over his plate at me, voice quieting.

"So, Mark," he said. "Anything you wanna tell me?"

I set my fork down.

"Yeah... I've got powers now."

There was a beat of silence. Not tension—just breath held.

Dad blinked slowly, then nodded. "That explains a lot."

"It was Maximus," I said. "And Mia. That's where she is."

Garrison's face darkened instantly. Bryce shifted beside me, close, solid. His hand brushed my knee under the table—small, but grounding.

Dad didn't look angry. Just steady. "You okay?"

I nodded. "We're figuring it out."

He leaned back in his chair, exhaled through his nose. "Honestly, I thought you were gonna tell me you knocked someone up. Like Matthew's kid."

Everyone at the table groaned.

Grace gagged into her drink. "Ew, no. Mark's gay. And taken."

Bryce coughed. "Still right here, thank you."

Dad smiled, warmth cutting through the awkward. "Good. Because I really didn't wanna have the 'how to diaper a newborn' talk again like I did with your brother."

He looked at me, more serious this time. "You've always been the kind of kid who shoulders too much. Now that you've got powers, it'll only get heavier. But I'm proud of you. You didn't run."

"I almost did," I admitted.

"But you didn't," he said. "That matters more."

Noah lifted his cup. "To surviving weird powers and chaotic family reunions."

"To not being dead," Grace added.

"To Mark and Bryce," James said.

I glanced over at Bryce. He smiled at me, easy and real, like we'd found something in all the wreckage worth holding onto.

"To home," I said.

Gruffly barked like he agreed.

"Dad, as much as this was nice, we've got to track down James' children before Alexander does again, so if you'd excuse us—"

"You drive James, Noah," Derek said, holding out his car keys for him to take. You got your license, you two be safe and come pick us up when you're through."

Noah stared briefly as if questioning whether to take them. Then, he floated the keys his direction catching a few officers attention in the distance.