Never (Never, #1) (30)

“Nicely done.” Orson nods at Hook and then at me. “And you—braver than I pegged for a wee English lass.”

I give him a little glare, and Jamison juts his chin in my defence.

“Fuck off and houl yer wheest.”?

I look between them all. “Was that in English?”

“Aye,” Orson says as Jem nods.

“Barely.” Rye looks between then and then he gives me a look. “We should probably head back to the valley.”

“For yer help today, thank you.” Hook holds my eyes for a second. I flash him a quick smile because my cheeks feel hot, and I don’t know why they would, but either way, I don’t want anyone to notice.

Jamison nods once as he backs away. “Bow.”

I give him a smile I don’t mean to give him as I nod back. “Jem.”

And then he turns and leaves.

“Nicknames?” Rye asks, blinking.

I roll my eyes and walk ahead of him.

He jogs after me and lets out a laugh. “Do you know what ‘briefly’ means?”

I asked Peter about his day once I was home. His brow looked heavy, and his face looked complicated. Neither are things that suit him, and he said he couldn’t remember and that he’d be back in a minute, and then he flew away.

Once he was gone, immediately Rune zipped in, all light and sparkles, and she jingled into my ear so much more information than I wanted.

“Did they kiss?” I asked.

She tinkers no.

That was the only real relief her story offered me. He took Calla on an adventure: climbing trees, saving a baby tiger, make-believing she was drowning in a cave and the rest of the Lost Boys were the pirates trying to kill her. Rune said when Peter saved her in the end, Calla tried to kiss him, but his cheeks went red and he started laughing.

I couldn’t tell—truly—before he zipped off whether he actually couldn’t remember his day or whether his not remembering was a convenient way to avoid telling the truth.

And that much is true: it’s hard to remember some things here but not all things.

For instance, I can’t entirely remember what I had for dinner last night or the way Wendy smells, but I seem to be able to remember the feeling of my hand in Hook’s, and I can’t quite shake the glistening of the cleaver and the scared look in that boy’s eye.

When Peter comes back, his face is different, all light now with his dreamy sort of forgetfulness, and he floats me up to his room.

“What did you do today?” he asks me as he settles into his bed.

I pause for a fraction longer than natural. “Rye took me into the village.”

“Oh.” Peter nods. “What did you do?”

“Nothing really,” I say, too fast. I’d already felt like I was lying to him a bit, not telling him about Hook when I met him on that first day, and now I’m lying again.

othing really?

I suppose that’s technically true. We didn’t do anything specifically.

“We just wandered the town a little bit.” I force a smile.

“Did you see Hook?” Peter asks, staring up at the thatched roof.

I purse my lips. “Met him, actually.”*

Peter sharply turns to face me. “You met him?”

I nod, swallowing nervously.

He glares at me for a second, then rolls on his back again. “Dog,” Peter spits, and I frown up in the darkness.

“I didn’t think he was so bad.”

Peter head snaps in my direction with a sharpness that makes me nervous. “What did you say?”

“I mean—” I swallow. “I barely know him. I just…he seemed nice. He saved a boy.”

“I save boys,” he tells me gruffly.

“I’m sure you do.” I nod quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t by saying that he does.” I swallow. “He just…did. In front of me.”

“Show-off,” Peter says under his breath before he gives me a look. “Don’t see him again.”

I prop myself up on my elbows and frown. “Are you going to see Calla again?”

“Who?” Peter frowns, confused. “Tiger Lily, do you mean?”

“That’s not her name, Peter,” I remind him.

“I know her name!” he snaps. “And it’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“Because.” Peter eyes me. “Calla is my friend.”

I square my shoulders a bit. “Well, maybe Hook is mine.”

Peter stares over at me through the darkness, and even through it, I can see his light eyes clouding over. “I’m your friend.”

“Am I not allowed others?” I ask, and my voice goes up strangely at the end.

Peter lies back down as he shakes his head. He sighs impatiently. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” I lie back down next to him. I must admit, I do like being next to him. There’s no feeling exactly quite like it, but were I able to liken it to anything, I suppose it would be similar to the feeling of lying next to a lion. Scary and wonderful and dangerous and safe all at once.*

Peter says nothing for what feels like a long time before he looks over at me, brows as serious as I’ve ever seen them.