Page 145 of Stormbreaker

My brows draw together. “Okay,” I say. “So tell me. I want to know everything about you.”

“Do you really?” he asks, something pointed in the question. “Because once you know, you can’t unlearn certain things.”

“This is very cryptic,” I say as anger twists in my stomach and I release his hand. “If you don’t want to ‘get closer,’ you don’t have to make stuff up just to scare me.”

“I’m not,” he answers with so much sincerity that I find myself believing him. “You and I come from different worlds, Poet.”

“I know that,” I say, blinking up at him. “You think I don’t know that?”

“There are so many things you don’t understand about the Wastes, and I’ve had to do some things I’m not proud of to survive. I worry once you know, you won’t look at me the way you are now.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll understand,” I insist. “I would never judge someone for surviving.”

He nods, though I’m not sure he’s convinced.

“You can tell me,” I say.

“Not yet,” he answers. “But I do want to get closer.”

“Even though I’m trouble?”

He smirks, leaning in, his big hand sliding into the curve of my lower back. “Even then. Your bed or mine?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say with a shrug, trying for casual and failing. Taking my hand, he tugs me toward my corner and drops down onto my mattress. He scoots back, and then I slide in beside him.

He folds me into the circle of his arms, and I trace a tiny scar on his chest. I think about what he just said, wondering what he’s endured living in a world so different from mine.

I want to find a way to earn his trust so he’ll let me in and share all his secrets, no matter how ugly they are.

“Okay?” he asks, and I nod, snuggling into him.

“It’s been so long since . . .” I swallow my words. I was about to say it’s been so long since I felt connected to anyone, but I barely know Rook, and I can’t say that out loud.

Still, I haven’t experienced any real sort of affection outside of Trinity in a long time, and lying in Rooks’s arms cracks open a fissure in my heart. Maybe it’s the way he’s been so kind, even though I don’t deserve it. Maybe I’m desperate for any sort of acceptance.

Maybe he understands what I’m not saying, because his arms tighten around me before he kisses the top of my head and mumbles, “Get some sleep, Poet.”

52

When my eyes peel open the following morning, the first thing I see is Rook, his hair tousled, his face soft. He lies on his back with one arm under me and a hand on his chest. My duvet hugs his hips, giving me an unobstructed view of his upper body, and I do my best not to linger. It works a little bit.

If anyone knew we’d slept in the same bed, they’d no doubt say the most awful things, but I’m having trouble caring. I also slept better than I have in months. Sunlight filters into the room, suggesting it’s a rare sunny day and that we must’ve slept late. It’s warm and cozy, and I really don’t want to move, but my bladder has other ideas.

Carefully, I extricate myself from Rook’s hold, trying not to wake him. When I come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees. He looks up, his gaze lingering over me in my sleep shorts and top. My cheeks heat at his perusal, but I have no desire to cover myself up.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice raw and husky. “How did you sleep?”

“Really well,” I say, and he smiles before he stands. He approaches, and I wonder if he’ll kiss me. Skies, his lips are all I’ll ever be able to think about again.

“Done in there?” he asks, pointing behind me.

“Yeah, of course,” I say, moving out of the way.

“How’s your arm feeling?” he asks as he brushes past, and I look down at the wrappings on my wrist. I circle it carefully.

“Better, I think.”

He nods and then closes the door, leaving me on the other side. The water turns on, and I realize I’m loitering outside the bathroom like a weirdo. So I retrieve my phone, almost dropping it when I see a notification from my mother. My hands shake as I click over to my messages.