Page 30 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Grant

I sprint after him, moving my feet as fast as possible. My bag bounces against my body as I pump my arms, pushing my legs to their limit. But I have to get to him.

I’m almost to our dorm by the time I see his figure quickly walking across the manicured lawns, his hands shoved in the pockets of his track pants against the slight chill in the air.

“Landon! Landon!” I jump over a bush, practically falling over myself to catch up to him. “Wait! Landon!”

He whirls around, charging a few steps in my direction until he’s right in my face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’s definitely angry, but there’s an undercurrent of hurt in his expression. And I fucking hate it. I hate that it’s because of me.

He doesn’t give me time to answer his question before he continues his rant. “I bet you don’t have any answers for that, do you? You can never seem to answer me. Why do you hate me? Why do you treat me like shit? Why do you need sex from me? You can never tell me fucking anything.”

Spinning away, he continues walking, aggressively swiping his key card when he reaches the building’s entrance.

I follow him like a lost puppy. “I’m-I’m sorry,” I manage to spit out. “I don’t know why I said that stuff. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

The lie burns my tongue as it comes out. I very much know what’s wrong with me. Even though I don’t necessarily owe him that particular explanation.

No one knows. No one can ever know. It’s the whole reason I needed him gone, which suddenly doesn’t seem to matter. And yet, at times it still does.

Now’s not the moment to try to untangle my fuckwad of emotions.

He ignores me, angrily walking to our room and ripping the door open. Stomping over to his bed, he turns his bag over, emptying it out on his bedspread, before tipping his head back and letting out a frustrated groan.

“Fuck, Grant. You’ve got shit? You’ve got fucking issues? Well, guess what? So do I.” He holds his arms out to emphasize his next point. “We all fucking do. It doesn’t mean you get to shit on everyone to make yourself feel better.”

Walking around me, he grabs a handful of clothes from his closet and shoves them in his bag.

I scrunch my brow. “What’re you doing?”

“I was gonna visit my brother and sister for just tonight, but now I think I’ll stay for the weekend.”

“What? No.”

He lets out a joyless laugh. “Yes.”

Panic lances through my chest, cutting away whatever it is that’s left in there. “Landon—don’t-don’t do that—the whole weekend?”

“Yes, Grant. You get to be alone with your miserable self.” He zips up his bag and turns his eyes on me. Their warm cinnamon color bathes me in a bliss I don’t deserve.

“I said I was sorry,” I reiterate, my tone waffling toward irritation now. What else could he possibly need? What else could I do?

He scoffs. “Who gives a fuck? Sorry doesn’t mean shit when you keep doing the same thing over and over again.”

He goes to pull his bag on his shoulder, but I grab his arm and pull him into me. His body blankets mine, more of that bliss seeping into my skin.

I grab his face in my hands and kiss him hard, trying to tell him everything with my tongue that I can’t actually say.

He melts into me for a moment, forgetting everything he hates about me to kiss me back. Even though it’s short-lived, it’s remarkable, crystallizing the fact that I need him. With each swipe of his tongue that he gives me, that fact becomes more true, until it’s tattooed on my soul.

Then it’s over. He pulls back from me, breathing into my mouth as his broad chest brushes mine.

“Please,” I whisper, saying the word I know he likes to hear. “Please don’t leave, Landon.”

He swallows and licks the taste of me off his lips. “Have a good weekend, Grant.”

He grabs his bag and then he’s gone.

And just like he said, I’m alone. With my miserable self.