Page 59 of Storm
Frankie hesitates, glancing at me as if for reassurance. I nod encouragingly.
"I, uh, I play the guitar," he says finally. "Not very well, but I've been teaching myself. My mom started teaching me before she got sick, and I kept it up after she... after she was gone."
"You never told me that," I say, genuinely surprised. Four years of friendship, and I never knew he played music.
He shrugs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "It never came up. Besides, I'd have to sneak out to play at the Omega House. No guitars allowed."
"No guitars?" Alexander asks, looking genuinely offended. "What kind of dystopian nightmare is this place?"
"The kind that thinks omegas might get too emotional if they hear music," I say dryly. "God forbid we feel things."
"Do you have a guitar now?" Alexander asks Frankie.
He shakes his head. "I had to sell it. After my mom died, there were bills and—" he breaks off, clearly uncomfortable with sharing so much.
"We'll get you a new one," Alexander declares, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "What kind do you play? Acoustic? Electric?"
Frankie seems overwhelmed by the offer. "You don't have to?—"
"I know I don't have to," Alexander cuts in smoothly. "I want to. Pack takes care of pack."
Jonathan and Reed exchange a look I can't quite decipher. Then, to my surprise, Jonathan nods.
"Alex is right," he says. "If you want a guitar, we'll get you one."
The genuine shock on Frankie's face would be comical if it weren't so sad. Has no one ever done anything nice for him before?
"Thank you," he says quietly. "That's... really kind."
"It's not kindness," Reed says, his voice gruff. "It's pack."
I roll my eyes at his tone, but I notice Frankie sit a little straighter, his scent shifting subtly to something warmer, more confident.
The conversation flows more easily after that, with Alexander asking questions that draw Frankie out of his shell bit by bit. Even Reed contributes occasionally, though he watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Jonathan remains mostly silent, observing rather than participating, but I catch him studying me when he thinks I'm not looking. There's something in his gaze I can't quite place. Not anger or annoyance, but something deeper.
As the meal winds down, I find myself surprisingly content, my belly full of food I've never had before, surrounded by a strange collection of people who, just for this moment, almost feel like they could be something resembling a pack.
I glance at Alexander, who catches my eye and gives me a warm smile that reaches all the way to those green eyes, so like his brother's, yet so different. In another life, in different circumstances, I think I could have been happy in his pack.
If only it didn't include the two assholes at the end of the table.
But then I think of Rook—his dark eyes, his protective arms around me, the way he always made me feel safe even when the world was falling apart. The memory is both comforting and painful, a reminder of what I've lost and what I'm still fighting for.
This isn't my pack. These aren't my people. No matter how many Chinese dinners we share or how much Alex makes me laugh or how Frankie's presence soothes my frayed nerves.
This is just temporary. A holding pattern until I can find my way back to where I truly belong.
I catch Frankie's eye and he gives me a small, genuine smile that reminds me of all the card games and whispered conversations that got me through four years of hell. The one constant in my life since I was taken.
And I know with absolute certainty. When I find my way back to Rook, Frankie's coming with me. He belongs with me, has since that first day he dealt cards with shaking hands. He's not just my beta guard or my friend. He's family. The kind you choose, the kind you fight for.
The kind you don't leave behind.
* * *
Hours later,I stand at my bedroom window, staring out at the glittering city below. Dinner ended with polite goodnights, everyone retreating to their respective corners of the penthouse. The lights of Crescent City stretch out like a galaxy of stars, each one representing a life I know nothing about, people with their own desires and struggles.
