Page 62 of Life After You

Trey freezes. “FUCK OFF WITH THE GHOST SHIT!” He rips the headgear off like it’s suddenly cursed.

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. “Aww, I thought you looked cool, Trey.”

He pauses, torn between ego and paranoia. Then, with a dark mutter under his breath, he shoves it back on, angling it just right.

Logan grins, shaking his head. His electric-blue gaze flicks to me, heated, amused. And just like that, the room, the puzzle, everything else disappears for a second.

Yeah. We’re definitely not winning this game.

Once we’re all suited up, the staff lead us into a dimly lit hospital-themed room, complete with flickering lights, old medical charts, and a countdown clock above the door.

Sixty minutes.

The game is on.

Chace grabs the first thing he sees, which is an old, leather-bound notebook. “I think this is a clue.”

Sam rips open a drawer, finding a stethoscope. “Or this.”

Trey sighs. “Or maybe, just maybe, we should read the instructions first?”

Logan leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching us with pure amusement.

“If we die in here, it’s your fault,” I tell him.

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

We start searching the room, and its chaos.

Dean finds a cabinet full of glass vials.

Clay pulls a fake skeleton out of a closet and scares the hell out of Trey, who screams and nearly takes Chace down with him.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to decipher a riddle when Logan steps behind me again, his hands sliding to my waist.

“Need help, Doc?” His breath tickles my ear, and my brain short-circuits.

“Yes.” No. Wait. What was I saying?

Sam clears his throat. “Maybe keep your hands to yourself until we solve this thing?”

Logan just smirks, pressing a quick stolen kiss to my cheek, before grabbing a clipboard like he’s suddenly the most serious person in the room. “Alright, team. Let’s get out of here.”

We’re getting somewhere—but barely.

Thirty minutes left.

We’ve unlocked a hidden drawer, solved two riddles, and found half a key sealed in a fake organ jar labeled “Cerebrum.”

Trey refuses to touch it.

“Dude, it’s not real.” Chace shakes his head.

“I don’t care.” Trey backs away. “I don’t do brain surgery.”

Logan nudges me. “How much do you wanna bet we get out with two minutes to spare?”

I smirk. “I’d rather bet on what I get when we win.”

---