Chapter 48 #2
Despite the fireplace, the air is cooler down here, and I’m wearing only the tank top I had on under my jacket. I shiver as goose bumps prick my skin and hug Teddy tighter to my chest.
I wonder how long Rook will be and if I should have gone with him. I hope no one tries to hurt him. But I’m lightheaded from the painkillers, and something tells me he can take care of himself. They don’t fear me, but Rook has proven several times already that he doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit.
I cradle Teddy and my sore arm, lying on the soft pillow. It swaddles my head as I nestle into it, and my eyelids instantly grow heavy.
My phone dings, and I open my eyes again.
It’s Domino checking on me. In fact, she’s sent me dozens of messages. Apparently, she was with Journey working on a project in her room when everything happened and had no idea what our roommates had planned.
I ask if she’s safe with them, but she assures me it will be fine.
I slide back to my messages to see that Trinity hasn’t sent me anything. Her friend Brick was there in that room. He helped push me down the stairs. Does she know? Does she care? I’m almost too scared to ask.
I have a text from Edward checking on me. At least he isn’t letting our Society divide come between us.
And a few from Silver and Hazel, who’ve temporarily revived our group chat.
silver: poet, girl. are you ok
hazel: I heard the Solitude rescued you??
silver: that’s not all he’s been doing . . . give us the scoop poe! did you really kiss him?
I sigh, wondering what took them so long to ask.
me: I’m fine, just a sprained wrist.
And that’s all I say, ignoring the question about Rook. It’s petty, but not knowing will eat them alive. I click off my phone and toss it on the nightstand while I lie back and stare at the ceiling.
I’m wide awake now. Frustrated and angry. I stand up and start pacing back and forth.
The door opens, and I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jump.
It’s Rook carrying an armful of my clothing. He stops when he sees me standing in the middle of the room.
“Miss me?” he asks, and I nod and catch myself before shaking my head as he smirks. Maybe I did miss him a little bit.
I step aside as he enters and dumps the entire lot onto one of the empty beds. He’s wearing my backpack over his shoulders, and he slides it off and sets it on the ground.
“It’s not everything, but it’s all I could carry in one trip. I can get the rest tomorrow, if that works?”
“Of course,” I say, suddenly intensely grateful. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this. I really appreciate your help. I really don’t have anyone, and . . .”
“I get it,” he says and heads for his corner of the room.
“Sorry. Yeah. I guess you do.”
I pick through the pile of clothing and start hanging a few things in the closet. I feel Rook glancing over as he kicks off his boots and lies back on the bed. I gasp in surprise when I see that he’s now holding . . . a book.
A real book, made from paper with a glossy cover, though it’s marred with numerous scratches and dents.
He notices where my attention has gone. “We have a few books out in the Wastes. I brought a couple of my favorites with me.”
I drop my face in my hands, feeling like a complete and total asshole.
“And I thought you couldn’t read,” I say, which earns me a genuine smile. It spreads across his face, a dimple forming in his cheek that does something funny and not wholly unwelcome to my insides.
“Here,” he says, holding it out.
I walk over and accept the book with the reverence it’s due. I flip through the softened pages as they tickle my fingertips. The cover reveals the title of a fantasy book from the Warming Age that was once very popular. It’s the same one the architect modeled Amery Academy after.
“You believe in elves?” I ask, scanning the page I’ve landed on. “Trees that talk?”
“I think we proved the supernatural doesn’t really exist,” he says, almost mournfully. “But I think it’s still fun to dream.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I agree.”
I close the book and hand it back, but he waves me off. “You should read it.”
Something hopeful lingers in his expression. Like he really wants me to say yes.
“You’d let me borrow it?” I ask, holding his gaze. “Are you sure? This is so precious.”
“Why not?” he says. “They once believed books were meant to be shared, and it’s a great story. I think you’ll like it.”
“Thank you,” I say, bringing it to my nose and inhaling deeply. I imagine I can taste its words and thoughts between the pages. “I know I keep saying it, but you have no idea how grateful I am for everything.”
“Sure,” he says as he opens his drawer, selects another book, and settles back with it. I don’t recognize the title, but I get the feeling he’s uncomfortable with my gratitude, so I leave him to it as I put away the rest of my things.
When I’m done, I grab a pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom to slide into shorts and a tank top. Then I exit to find Rook also dressed for sleep . . . though “dressed” might be too strong a word. He’s changed into a pair of soft black pants and nothing else.
He’s stretched on his bed, ankles crossed, with his book balanced on his chest. I stand momentarily paralyzed by the curve of his biceps and the swell of his shoulder.
His fingers tap against his flat stomach, and it’s the first time I’ve had the chance to really appreciate the tattoos covering his arms. Sinuous lines of rivers and jagged mountains spread over his skin like a map to lost treasure.
Sensing my attention, he glances over, and I quickly look away, my cheeks heating. I scurry to the other side of the room and slip under the covers, shivering as my skin hits the cool sheets.
“Let me put on a log,” Rook says into the dark. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say as he crosses the room and throws some wood on the fire. He pokes it a few times, blowing on the embers before the flames crackle to life.
“If you get cold at night, just shout,” he says. “I can put more on.”
I nod as our eyes meet, orange flames dancing in the forest-deep pools of his irises.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say thank you again, but I don’t think he wants that. Something tells me he likes to be needed. To be useful.
Finally, he turns away and returns to his bed.
We both fall silent, and I tuck my hands under my cheek, watching him read.
Between the painkillers and the events of the last few days, I feel like I could sleep forever.
“Good night, Rook,” I mumble as my eyelids grow heavy, hastened by the warm fire and the soft rustles from across the room.
“Night, Trouble,” are the last words I hear before I’m gone.