Page 45 of Storm Caller

“I know,” I say. “I understand now that your purpose was so much bigger than that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice burning with sincerity. “I’m so fucking sorry that I ever made you feel like you were anything but one of the most important people in my life.”

I swallow thickly, lacing my fingers together.

“If Raine wasn’t dead, maybe the general wanted to help him?” Rook adds gently, though I can tell from his tone that he doesn’t really believe that’s what happened.

We both fall silent for a few moments before he says, “I’m also sorry you lost him in a fight he never started.”

“I just wish I could find some answers. I wish I understood what really happened that night.”

“Maybe with Sol here, we can find out.”

“Maybe.” I pick at a loose thread on the blanket.

“What do you think of my brother and sister?” Rook asks.

I smile. “They’re nice. Navy is very chatty. She reminds me of Journey a bit.”

“I thought so, too. I was sure Navy would love you.”

“She’s very sweet.”

“My family means everything to me, Poet. I want them to get to know you better.”

“Your father hates me. He doesn’t want me here.”

“He doesn’t. He hates where you came from. He hates your father.”

I snort at that. “So did you know who I was when you arrived?”

“I didn’t. Not really. I knew of the scions and assumed they might have children at Amery, but then I met you, and you were . . . nothing like I expected.”

“I’m exactly what you expected,” I say. “You told me that yourself.”

He smiles. “Maybe at first, but that changed very quickly.”

His tone is full of honesty, his words raw.

We watch each other in silence, and it feels like he wants to say more.

“Your sister thinks you’re in love with me,” I say, then blink, surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth. But this is what Rook has always done to me. Made me open up. Be vulnerable and honest.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Does she?”

“She said she can tell.”

He shrugs and then lays his head back down. He definitely isn’t denying it.

“My sister has always been able to read me very well,” he says.

“Oh,” I say, glancing out the window into the hallway. Someone passes by, carrying a tablet with a stylus tucked behind their ear.

“Is she . . . right?” I ask before he peers over at me.

“I promised to earn your trust back. Then I’ll tell you how I feel. Otherwise it’s like . . . eating the cone before licking the ice cream.”

He winks, and his smile turns goofy, making me wonder how strong those painkillers are. I laugh as the tightness in my chest eases.