He strokes my back. “Would you feel better if you tell me about it?”
When he said he knew me, he wasn’t lying. I’ve always been a storyteller, and I’m sure my mother told him that. If I canretell things, or even tell them in ways they didn’t happen, I can make sense of the world—not completely.Nevercompletely. But enough so that I can rest easy in my own skin, at least for a time.
“Do you want to hear?”
“I want to hear every thought that enters your peculiar head, lass. And that’s a fact.”
“Peculiar, eh?” I smile.
“Very.” He kisses my hair again.
I let out a deep breath and begin—telling him what happened after I was dragged away by Peter’s shadow and held prisoner in the cave. He grows tenser as I go, and when I tell him about Peter trying to take advantage, I think he might levitate off the bed. But he calms as I tell him about how kind the Guardians were and how they vowed to protect me.
When I come to the end, to the part where I finally found him again, my brain goes nearly quiet. In his arms, that’s where I can finally rest, finally stop looking for meaning in a world that has none.
“I should’ve been there.” He sighs into my hair.
“You were.” I kiss his chest over his heart. “You were with me.”
“Sleep, lass.” His voice has gone lower, emotion coating the words. “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life.”
I close my eyes and drift off quickly. Over the next several hours I wake here and there. Hook is with me the first few times, his breathing steady as I snuggle against him. The next time, though, he’s gone. I want to get up and look for him, but sleep pulls me under again.
The next time I wake, Hook is standing over the table and setting out two plates as Cookson stumps in, a large platter of food in his hands.
My stomach growls.
“Glad ter hear you have your appetite.” Cookson smiles and places the platter on the table. Steam rises from it in tantalizing curls.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Glancing out the door, I find Smee giving me a dirty look. So, the usual.
Cookson gives me a little bow then leaves, closing the door behind him.
“That smells ridiculously good.” I go to stand, and my knees almost buckle.
Hook’s in front of me in half a second, his hands steadying me as his blue eyes meet mine. “Not too fast, lass. Take it easy. How’s your head?”
“I’m all right. I think the food is what I need.” With a silly lunge, I reach for it.
He laughs. “Come on, before you tear the ship apart.” He helps me to a chair and puts my napkin in my lap, then sits across from me and begins serving me.
Cookson has prepared a roasted chicken with vegetables and what looks like a healthy-size scoop of mashed potatoes. I can smell the garlic and almost taste the butter from here.
“Poor Cookson. You know how much he likes to fawn over making my plate for me.” I take my fork.
“Not as much as I do.” He cuts off a piece of juicy chicken and adds it to my plate, then scoops up even more vegetables.
I spear a purple carrot and pop it into my mouth. It melts, its salty and savory taste so good on my tongue that I moan.
Hook pours me a large cup of water and sits across from me.
“You can’t just sit here and watch me eat. That’s creepy.” I push the second plate over to him. “Get to it.”
He shakes his head. “Once you’re done, I’ll?—”
“Oh, stop.” I take the plate and start adding vegetables to it.
“Fine, lass.” He pulls it from me and cuts himself a piece of the chicken, then tucks his napkin into his shirt in a way that makes me smile. “What?”
