Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
come home to me
SOREN
Finn called on a Tuesday afternoon while I was doing dishes at, and the second I heard his voice I knew he was grinning.
“Jamie made the talent show,” he announced without preamble. “School-wide thing. He's been practicing non-stop and he's been asking about you every single day. When can you come over?”
The pride in his voice made my chest go warm. “Yeah? That's fucking fantastic. When's the show?”
“Two weeks. But he wants to practice with you before then. He says you're the only one who gets it right.” Finn paused. “Also I think he just misses you. Kid's been talking about drums constantly.”
“I miss him too. Tell him I'll be there tomorrow if that works.”
“Perfect. See you at four?”
I hung up and found Rook watching me from the couch with a soft expression that meant he'd heard enough to know what was happening.
“Jamie's performing?” he asked.
“Yeah. School talent show. Finn says he's been working his ass off.” I dried my hands on a towel and leaned against the counter. “I'm really fucking proud of that kid.”
“He's lucky to have you teaching him.”
“I'm lucky to get to teach him.” I crossed to the couch and settled next to Rook, tucking myself against his side. “It feels good. Helping him find this thing that makes him light up. Knowing I had a part in that.”
Rook kissed the top of my head. “You're good at it. The teaching thing. You should do more of it.”
“Maybe I will.”
The next afternoon I showed up at Finn's grandfather's house with my practice pad and sticks, and Jamie nearly tackled me the second I walked through the door. His hands were flying in rapid sign language before I'd even set my bag down, and I had to laugh and sign back for him to slow down.
“I made the talent show! he signed, bouncing on his toes. “I’m going to play in front of the whole school!”
“I heard! That's amazing, bud. You ready to practice?”
“So ready. I've been working on the pattern you taught me. Want to see?”
We set up in the living room while Finn made tea in the kitchen and Rook settled into one of the armchairs with a book he probably wasn't reading. Jamie launched into the pattern immediately, his hands moving with confidence I hadn't seen a few months ago.
He'd gotten better. A lot better. The rhythm was clean, his timing was solid, and he was feeling the vibrations through the drum instead of just mechanically hitting it.
I watched him work through the entire sequence without a single mistake, and when he finished he looked up at me with an expression that was pure hope.
“How was that? “he signed.
“That was perfect, “ I signed back. “You've been practicing.”
“Every day. Gramps says I'm driving him crazy.” Jamie grinned. “But I want it to be really good for the show.”
“It's already really good. But let's make it even better.”
We worked for the next hour, refining the pattern and adding small flourishes that would make his performance stand out.
From the kitchen, I could hear Finn and Rook talking hockey. Their voices had that easy back-and-forth energy that came from people who genuinely liked each other, and I realized with some surprise that they'd become friends. Real ones, not just teammates who tolerated each other.
“—and then Tate fucking tripped over his own skate and took out two guys,” Finn was saying, and Rook's laugh echoed through the house.
“Classic Tate. Did Coach lose his mind?”
“Oh, completely. I thought he was going to bench him for the rest of the period.”
Jamie tapped my shoulder to get my attention back, and I refocused on him. We ran through the performance piece three more times, and on the final run he added his own variation at the end—a little flourish that was pure improvisation and completely perfect.
“Where did that come from?” I signed.
“I just felt like it should go there,” he signed back, looking slightly nervous. “Is that okay?”
“That's better than okay. That's you making it your own. Keep that.”
His face lit up like I'd just handed him the world, and Finn appeared in the doorway with two mugs of tea.
“He's killing it, isn't he?” Finn said, handing me a mug.
“He's a fucking natural. Kid's got rhythm most drummers spend years trying to find.” I took a sip of the tea and watched Jamie pack up the practice pad. “You should be proud of him.”
“I am. Every single day.” Finn's expression went soft in that way it always did when he talked about his brother. “Thanks for doing this. It means a lot to both of us.”
“You don't have to thank me. I love teaching him.”
Jamie came over and hugged me without warning, nearly knocking the tea out of my hand. I hugged him back and signed against his shoulder, “You're going to be amazing at that talent show.”
When he pulled away, he was grinning so wide I thought his face might split.
We stayed for another hour, drinking tea and eating the cookies Finn's grandfather had left out, and by the time Rook and I headed back to the car the sun was starting to set and the air had that golden quality that made everything look softer.
“You looked happy in there,” Rook said as we pulled out of the driveway.
“I was happy. Jamie's doing so well, and Finn's—” I paused, trying to find the right words. “He's good people. I'm glad you're friends.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Rook glanced over at me. “You have plans tonight?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Because I'm taking you on a date.”
I blinked. “A date?”
“Yeah. A proper one. Dinner, walking around, all that romantic bullshit you deserve and haven't gotten nearly enough of.” He said it casually, but I could see the hint of nervousness in the way his hands gripped the steering wheel.
“Rook Kincaid, are you asking me on a date?”
“I'm telling you we're going on a date. There's a difference.”
I laughed and reached over to lace my fingers through his. “Okay. Take me on a date, Captain.”
He drove us into the city and parked near a neighborhood I didn't recognize—tree-lined streets, small restaurants with outdoor seating, the kind of area that felt lived-in instead of touristy.
We walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, and Rook steered us toward a Italian place with string lights and checkered tablecloths visible through the windows.
The hostess seated us at a corner table, and I realized with a jolt that this was the first time we'd done this. Gone out to dinner like a normal couple, sat across from each other in a public restaurant, ordered wine and pasta like we had all the time in the world.
“This is nice,” I said, looking around at the warm lighting and the other couples scattered throughout the space. “Really fucking nice.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, a little. We haven't done this normal date stuff.”
Rook reached across the table and took my hand. “We're doing it now.”
Dinner was easy in ways I hadn't expected.
We talked about everything and nothing—the upcoming semifinals, the band's next gig, whether Poppy was going to survive her senior year without getting expelled for mouthing off to a teacher.
Rook ordered wine and I stole sips from his glass because I was trying to be better about drinking, and he let me without comment.
The food was incredible. Homemade pasta, sauce that tasted like someone's Italian grandmother had been cooking it all day, bread warm enough to melt the butter. I ate until I was uncomfortably full and Rook watched me with an expression that was pure fondness.
“What?” I asked around a mouthful of garlic bread.
“Nothing.” Rook shook his head and flagged down the waiter for the check. “Come on. We're not done yet.”
After dinner we walked through the neighborhood, and Rook kept finding excuses to touch me.
A hand at the small of my back when we crossed the street, fingers laced through mine, stealing a kiss when we stopped to look in the window of a bookstore.
It was all so casually affectionate, so openly claiming, and I realized this was what it looked like when Rook Kincaid decided he was done hiding.
We grabbed gelato from a place that was still open despite the late hour, and I got pistachio while Rook got something chocolate and obscene. We ate while walking, trading bites and arguing about whether my choice or his was better, and the whole thing felt light in a way I wasn't used to.
“You're really good at this,” I said eventually.
“At what?”
“The normal stuff. Dating. Being sweet. I didn't know if you'd be good at it or if it would all be intensity and brooding captain energy.”
He grinned. “I can do both. Depends on what you need.”
“What if I need both?”
“Then you get both.” He finished his gelato and tossed the cup in a trash bin. “Come on. One more stop.”
He drove us out of the city and I didn't say anything when the roads started narrowing and the trees crowded in, because I knew where we were going before we got there. I'd have known that turn in the dark. Some things don't leave you.
Rook killed the engine and we sat there in silence for a minute, both of us just looking.
We got out of the car and walked to the edge of the clearing where the view opened up.
The grass was overgrown and the old log we used to sit on was half-rotted, but the place still felt like it had all those years ago.
Sacred in a quiet way that had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with memory.
I sat down on the log despite its questionable structural integrity, and Rook settled next to me. Our shoulders pressed together, and I tilted my head back to look at the stars.
“We used to talk about running away,” I said quietly. “You remember that? We'd sit here and plan these elaborate escapes where we'd just leave everything behind and start over somewhere new.”
“I remember. You wanted to go to Vancouver. I wanted literally anywhere that wasn't here.”
“We were so fucking young.”
“We were.” He reached over and took my hand. “And we didn't know shit about what was coming.”