Page 44 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Landon

Grant is acting weird.

He’s been really quiet the last few days—coming alive whenever we fuck and then clinging to me afterward like his life depends on it. I’ve asked what’s wrong, but he always says nothing. That he’s fine.

I’m acutely aware of everything he does now. I haven’t brought up the purging from his past again, but I have this feeling that there’s more to it. Something else that he’s not sharing with me.

I knew he had dark parts lurking inside of him, but being faced with the truth was still earth-shattering. To hear his guttural sobs—feel how they shook him. My body and mind had a visceral reaction. It ripped me open. Thinking about how he had been harboring these truths with no one in his corner.

He has friends at school, sure. He’s the most popular guy at King’s Heart. But none of those people actually know Grant. The soft, sad parts that he only shows me.

I swing the greasy brown paper bag as I happily walk down the hallway to our dorm.

There aren’t any carnivals in town right now, but I found a small ice cream shop a short bus ride away that makes fried Oreos. So since we have a day off from football practice, I dashed to the bus stop right after school and got him some, hoping it might help to cheer him up.

I’m giddy to see him. Without practice, there’s so much more time to fool around in our room, and I need it.

We have another scout coming from Calhoun University this Friday.

The school is only thirty minutes away. It would be a perfect scenario to keep my family close.

I’ve had such anxiety about it—really only relaxing when Grant is around to help me.

Just as I come up on our door, key card in hand, I freeze.

There’s a green-and-gold tie hanging on the doorknob.

My stomach does a weird, unsettling flutter.

I know what that means. I mean, most people do. It’s the international symbol for “I’m getting lucky—don’t come in.” But it’s a mistake because I’m right here. And he only gets lucky with me.

I propel myself forward, wanting to put myself out of my misery as quickly as possible, because it’s a fucking mistake anyway. Maybe a prank by some of the football guys.

I harshly whip the door open and let it bang against the wall behind it, scaring Trevor, who yelps and jumps from where he’s sitting on my bed , with hair that’s noticeably messy.

I feel a stab in my chest but swing my head to the other side of the room and watch Grant pull his T-shirt down over his abs, like I walked in right as he was putting his shirt back on.

Another stab.

An insane smile stretches across my face because… no. Just no. I’m obviously confused. I’m sorry about the cliché, but… this isn’t what it looks like.

“What the fuck is happening?” There’s a little more bite to my voice than I mean to have. Even with the crazy grin on my face.

Grant’s bored voice answers. “What does it look like? And you mean, ‘What the fuck happened ?’ Past tense. We’re all done.” He stares at me. A strange, soulless, blank gaze that feels all wrong.

“Grant—” My voice cuts out.

My brain feels too hot, the contents spinning around in an unsettling vortex. It makes me want to puke.

He shrugs at me and turns away, messing with his clothes or something on his side of the room. I honestly have no idea because I can’t focus for shit except to think that I must be fucking confused.

The confusion turns into red-hot anger. He knows. He knows exactly what the fuck I’m thinking. And he won’t just tell me it’s a misunderstanding—pretending like this is all no big deal. Like he’s so bored of this fucking interaction he has to fold his clothes or some shit.

“Grant. Tell me that I’m confused.” I can hear my voice rising in panic. “Tell me that this isn’t what it fucking looks like. Just tell me.”

He gives me the slightest attention over his shoulder. A cursory glance before he turns away again. “Why would I do that? I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Except when you told me you loved me,” I shoot back, letting my anger get the better of me.

His motions still for a fraction of a second, then he continues shuffling his clothes around, not offering any further comment.

I glare at his back. “You’re scared.” It’s quiet and growly, barely heard by even myself. But Grant hears.

He whirls around on me. “I’m not scared of shit.” His nostrils flare as that bright green gaze slices across my face. “You and I were fucking around. That’s it. We aren’t together. I can fuck someone else if I want.”

I scoff in his face as Trevor stands, his eyebrows pulled down. “Um. That’s not what?—”

Grant snaps his head in Trevor’s direction and barks, “Shut the fuck up, Trevor. And sit back down.”

Trevor’s eyes widen, a trace of confusion still etched into his brow, but he sits anyway.

My eyes sting. I blink hard to try and make it go away. But, fuck, it only makes it worse. There’s a lump in my throat. I feel like I’m choking on it.

Grant slowly turns his head to me, the blank look back in his eyes.

“You said you loved me.” I whisper it to him again, leaning in as far as I can, trying to make sure Trevor can’t hear the sad, desperation in my voice, but I’m sure he can. It’s a small room that is otherwise deadly silent.

A brief flicker of something passes over Grant’s face. I’ve seen it before on him. Sadness. Regret. Fucking despair.

Then it’s gone. The indifference back in its place. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs again.

That’s it.

My tears win. They build and spill over, carving a path down my cheeks.

“All I’ve ever done is be fucking there for you. After everything you’ve done to me,” I mutter around the tears, angrily staring at his face, waiting for him to realize how much he’s messed up. To have him beg for my forgiveness.

It never comes.

But that sad look makes another fleeting appearance, staying longer this time.

“Fuck you, Grant.” I spit the words out at him, trying to fill them with poison.

I hastily turn away, grabbing my gym bag and randomly stuffing some clothes out of my closet into it before hightailing it out of that room and slamming the door behind me.