Page 17 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Grant

During school, Coach Davis pulled the whole team out of second period to interrogate us about what happened to Landon today.

No one said a word. But that wasn’t surprising. None of them would ever go against me. The only one who could possibly have the guts is Javi, and he stayed tight-lipped, but I could feel the daggers he stared at my back the entire meeting.

Coach lingered a little too long on my face while he spoke, his eyes gazing over the black and blue splotches that Landon put there, but he said nothing. Maybe he could tell I’d been punished already. I’m not sure.

He finished his little meeting by emphasizing how we’re a team and that we look out for our own, then informed us that we would pay for it later in practice.

And we did.

He ran us ragged. Suicides. Sprints. Push-ups. Any and every punishment he could think of to make sure we learned our lesson, while Landon got to run some laid back drills with one of the assistant coaches.

And now, we’re continuing with normal practice. Although a lot of us are more sluggish than usual.

We have our game against Cranston Prep in two days, and I want to do good.

I actually do love football. Well, I love what it’s done for me.

Exerting myself to the point where it’s the only thing on my mind.

The distraction from everything else that usually haunts me.

The practices and games that kept me busy so no one else could have my time.

Football was an impulse decision when I was thirteen—sprouting up in height and weight and looking to get away.

Will I take it past high school? Probably not. By then, I’d like to find other distractions. And some place far away. But for right now, it’s everything I need.

I try to focus the rest of practice, zeroing in on Landon when I pass to him. And each time, the ball easily finds his hands. That same connection I felt the first day of practice resurfacing and chaining us together.

But every so often, I find myself unfocused, my mind picturing his face when he saw the banner. How it crumpled, his sadness bleeding out onto his features for everyone to see.

And then the anger . He was feral. Unhinged. Only focused on choking the life out of me.

Fuck. I’m a terrible person. But I just… can’t have him here.

Practice finally ends, and I walk my trembling legs to the locker room, quickly showering and leaving without speaking to anyone.

I’m tired tonight. I’m tired every night. But seeing the bane of your existence metaphorically filleted in front of everyone and then being almost choked to death by him because of it, brings out a different type of exhaustion in me apparently.

Swiping my keycard on my door, I whip it open and step inside.

I freeze.

There’s stuff .

Not my stuff. Someone else’s stuff.

There’s a bedspread on the other bed. I yank open the closet door and see it filled with unfamiliar clothes.

The sharp edges of panic start carving a path through each of my veins.

This is my fucking space. My sanctuary. It’s where I’m safe. I can’t share that with anyone.

No no no.

I hear the door open behind me and then a familiar, tired voice. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I turn around. There’s Landon. A clean black T-shirt on with low-slung gray sweatpants. Too low. A sliver of his taut stomach peeks out, and my eyes can’t help but look at it.

Even though this is terrible.

Even though it’s the worst thing that could possibly happen.

He brings his hand up to brush away his light brown curls, still wet from the after-practice shower.

“G-get the fuck out of my room,” I manage to stammer around my shock.

He sighs and walks past me, throwing his bag at the end of his bed. “This is my room too, Grant.”

“You can’t.”

He looks up at me from where he’s sat on the bed, untying his shoes, waiting for me to say more. But there’s nothing else. He just can’t. He can’t be here.

“Grant,” he starts, his voice flat. “I’m tired. Just let me go to sleep tonight, and you can complain to someone tomorrow.”

“I need you to fucking leave.”

He stands, stepping up to me. Way too close to my face. I can smell his soap. Just clean skin. I could inhale that forever.

He looks angry. “Why?” He raises his hands at the ceiling, looking around the room like someone else could give him the answer. “Why the fuck should I leave? Huh? Do you want to answer that fucking question?”

I stay silent, staring into his warm cinnamon eyes, trying to think of something to say, because I can’t tell him the truth.

“No? Yeah. You can never tell me why.”

I feel a little too exposed, so I do what any immature idiot would and push him away from me. “Get out of my fucking face,” I snarl.

He stumbles back a few steps but then only sighs again.

It’s long and slow, like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His voice is quiet and low when he speaks again, looking at the floor.

“Do you think I want to fucking be here? With you? The asshole who has done everything he can to fuck with my life?” He pauses and raises his eyes to look at me.

It’s too intense. He can see it all. Everything underneath.

I know he can. “Aren’t you tired?” he asks.

Yes. But I can’t be tired. I have to get him away. No one can know.

The urge swells up in me again. Stronger than it has been in a very long time. It almost makes me leave him to get rid of it.

“I’m going to bed,” he mutters, taking off his shirt and pants, leaving him in just a pair of tight boxer briefs. I don’t know if it shows on my face, but inside, I’m gaping. He’s so muscled. So flawless.

We’ve been in the locker room together, but I’ve never really looked. Everyone knows to keep your eyes to yourself there.

This is different. This is my private space. And he’s almost naked in it. I don’t even want to look, but my eyes greedily map every plane of skin that’s out anyway. “Please don’t smother me in my sleep,” he mumbles and then climbs under the covers and shuts his eyes, leaving me standing there.

I back up a few steps and sit on my bed. He falls asleep pretty quickly, and I’m still there, watching him, like a fucking creep.

He looks so peaceful. Completely at rest.

What’s it like to sleep without nightmares trying to pull you down every night?

I climb into bed and lay on my side to face him, making sure the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is the last thing I see before those nightmares take me under.