Page 19 of Sparrow

“That’s Orion,” Mars says, rather unnecessarily. “He’s my best friend. And roommate.”

There doesn’t seem to be a question there, so I keep my mouth shut, and when Mars says again that he’s going to show me to a room, I follow along quietly. His best friend and roommate.

And one, I think, who obviously doesn’t like that I’m here.

“This will be your room.”

Mars throws open a rough wooden door–the first on the right once we get upstairs–and then steps back to let me enter. I walk through it and see that it’s... charming.

It’s actually beautiful.

There’s a bed against the far wall, penned in by two beautiful end tables that much be hand carved. A dresser sits right underneath the window, effortlessly matched to the side tables, covered by several photographs and a plaid runner. Green and blue and white.

It matches the walls.

And it’s so incongruous, so unexpected, that I almost laugh. The place looks like it belongs in some sort of architectural magazine, not some small town in the woods where it belongs to a single man and his best friend-slash-roommate.

“There are clothes in the closet but I’m not sure if they’ll fit. I’ll buy you more tomorrow. Plenty of food in the kitchen. Plenty of coffee. For the morning, obviously, not for right now. I sleep down the hall and Orion sleeps downstairs. We do breakfast at 7, then work at the garage next door. You’re free to make the house your own for... as long as you stay.”

I turn around, mind rushing across all this information, and catch him standing too close to me. His body is nearly pressed against mine, the warmth of him so abrupt, so intoxicating, that I nearly gasp. He smells of exhaust and car grease and wood and the night air, and the combination of that and how close he is makes me feel dizzy.

I look up at him, my eyes traveling the expanse of his chest and shoulders until they get to his face, and find that he’s staring at me like I’m something precious. Something too delicate to touch.

Like he wants to reach his fingers out and make sure I’m real.

But he knows I am. Of course he knows. This man has known me for years.

Or rather...

He knew the version of me that lived in my father’s house.

He breathes out slowly, his lips pursed, and the air between us grows thick with something I don’t understand. It moves sluggishly against my skin as if I’m wading through syrup, and I lick my lips, suddenly nervous.

What the fuck is going on here?

When his eyes slick to my mouth and watching me licking my lips, I get myself together and take a step back.

“That’s very kind. I won’t be here for long, I promise.”

“Stay as long as you want,” he says gruffly. “You’ll be safe here. I promise.”

He turns and leaves before I can ask him how he could possibly know that, when the men who kidnapped me are presumably still in town–save the one Orion gave to this Rookie–and the door shuts while I’m still standing in the middle of the room.

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me wondering what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and whether it’s true.

Mars Hawke has always seemed larger than life to me.

But it feels like he’s just promised the impossible.

And to a girl he barely knows, and has no reason to protect.

Mars

Ilean against the door, my back to its surface, and try to breathe around the furious beating of my heart. It doesn’t help that I can practically hear her doing the same thing on the other side of the door, though, and for a moment I have a vivid picture of her standing behind me, her hand to the door right between my shoulder blades.

Right where she’d be touching me if this door wasn’t between us.

Shocked and more than a little horrified at the thought, I shove off the door and stalk toward the stairs, trying to get my mind to think about literally anything other than the girl I just brought home and installed in my best guest bedroom.