Only With You (Knights #2)

39

LANDON

“You don’t have to do that…” Julianna tips her head back, eyes fluttering, and a contented sigh escapes her lips as I gently massage her body with my soapy loofah. “I can do it.”

“I know, but I want to take care of you.” I work the loofah across her chest, making sure to lather it well before I descend.

The sound of her immerses me in the colours her voice always evokes. Mesmerising fickle rays of curtains float. They swirl and move unpredictably the way our relationship has.

That sparks something formidable in my chest, but it dwindles away when I squint and she graces me with my favourite soft smile.

I hate how shitty my eyesight is. I had to take my contacts off before getting in the shower.

“But you already did.”

“Taking care of your sexual needs doesn’t count.” Once I’m satisfied that she’s lathered and the soapy foam covers the front of her body, I spin her and massage the sponge across her neck and shoulders and work my way down. “This is me just taking care of you. Not because I need to, but because I want to.”

I don’t want her to misinterpret why I’m doing it. And I hope my voice does enough to convey just how much I like doing this. And I hope the way I’m working the loofah is okay, because I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.

I’m not great with words, but I’m good at being useful. This is the bare minimum, but still, I hope she can feel that I’m doing my best. I hope I’m not fucking this up, because I’ve never done this. I’ve never taken care of someone who wasn’t drunk.

There’s a fleeting moment of silence before she tucks a loose, damp tendril from her bun behind her ear. “Landon?”

“Yeah?”

I hear her swallow and I think she’s shifting on her feet. “What are we doing?”

My hand freezes at the weight that question holds. I know what she’s asking, because I’ve found myself asking the same thing. One day, we’re hating each other, not able to be in the same room, sharing glares and arguing like our lives depend on it, to…this.

Subtle glances when we’re in public. Nights, beds, and words we share when we’re alone.

“I don’t know, but I like whatever this is,” I honestly reply.

“Yeah, me too.” Her voice is almost a soft whisper as she leans into me, her back against my chest.

After hanging the sponge, I thread my arms around her front and draw her in so that the hot water cascades over our bodies, washing the soap off. We stand under the stream in silence until Julianna slips her fingers between mine and frees my hold from her.

She spins, slipping her hands over my chest and around my shoulders. I squint again to get a good look at her and she giggles.

I blankly stare at her.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, but you look cute.” her voice softens, making my chest expand.

“I hate that I can’t see you well.”

I hear the sharp intake of her breath. “But you can feel me. And hear me. Just focus on the sound of my voice and the colors you see. I always do…”

“You always do what?”

“I think about your voice and how it makes me feel…”

My heart tightens and I want to ask more, but I know I shouldn’t. Fuck. What are we doing? No, what am I doing?

She must sense my unease, because she clears her throat and changes the subject.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” I snake my arms around her waist and lift her, and she circles her legs around me.

She brushes my hair away from my forehead. “For taking care of me. I’ve never had anyone do this. So, thank you.”

My heart races and I swear the water somehow got hotter.

“Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum. It’s the least I could do.”

She stifles a laugh, perking a brown brow. “Again with the bare minimum?”

“I hope you raise your standards, because this is nothing.”

She mocks a salute, grinning. “It’ll be your fault when I can’t find someone who meets my standards.”

I should have been able to brush that off, but something ugly and envious rears itself and stays put in my chest.

“It’d be a pity if you did never find anyone,” I flatly say.

She glares at me, I think. “That’s not assuring.”

“Oh, my apologies.” I click my tongue. “Let me rephrase that. What a shame it’d be if you didn’t find anyone.”

“You dick. That didn’t sound any better.” She pulls the hair at the nape of my neck.

I pinch her arse and she jolts against me, but that’s a mistake because now that we’re not stuck in the sweet haze, it’s like my brain has become acutely aware of how very naked and wet we are. How her large tits and pussy are pressed against me and it seems like she’s also thinking the same thing, because her heavy-lidded gaze dips to my lips again.

Neither one of us says anything as I lower her until her warm, wet cunt glides against my length.

I stifle a groan, clenching my jaw when she slowly rocks her hips forward. “Julianna.”

It’s meant to come out as a warning, but it sounds more like a desperate plea for more.

A haughty smirk tips her lips because she knows she’s going to get her way.

“Fucking brat,” I grunt, pinning her against the wall and pulling back, fisting my cock to align myself at her entrance. “I won’t be gentle,” I warn her as I tease her clit with my tip and then drag it down to where she wants it the most.

“I know,” she whimpers, dropping her back, and her breasts softly bounce.

My dick throbs at the sight, and I thrust hard inside of her.

I think I made a mistake.

It seemed right at that moment. No, it wasn’t just right, it was something I was completely and entirely sure of. But now as I stand in front of the counter, staring at an empty bowl, I think I got ahead of myself.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I brush my fingers along my chain, hoping that my galloping heartbeat and the tension that’s taken a hold of my chest will disappear. But when it doesn’t, I grip the counter until my knuckles turn white and let my head hang between my shoulders.

I thought the overwhelming sensation when I came was due to how intense I’d fucked Julianna. I thought that’s what it was, but after our shower, I still felt it. But it escalated when she started unpacking all her things.

I know I’m the one who invited her, pretty much forced her to come, and gave her no choice, but now that she’s finally here, in my safe space, with all her things, I don’t know what to think.

Drumming my anxious fingers along the counter, I blow out a weary breath and stand up straight.

What would Reid say about this?

He’d probably analyse the situation and say that I need to open up. I’m sure he’d say that I need to express myself, and not lock up whatever I’m feeling in the box I have buried deep in my brain because I’m uncomfortable.

During one of our sessions, he said I’ve suppressed my emotions after I opened up about Mum.

It’s not that I want to…I just need to box it all up, because sometimes it’s too much, and it makes me lose control of my feelings. It makes me lose control of myself and I don’t want to experience that again.

I don’t want to think of the what-ifs or the hypotheticals of my pathetic life because it happened; there’s no going back.

Sure, there’s a… bitter feeling about how the two people I wanted most in my life didn’t want me. Sometimes, it feels more than bitter, but I try not to mull over it because it’s pointless.

Just like what I’m feeling is pointless and ridiculous. I asked her to stay, I wanted her to be here, and despite my heart feeling close to imploding, I won’t change my mind.

Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I grab what I came to the kitchen for. While Julianna finished getting ready, I cleaned up the bed, and came downstairs for Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and vanilla ice cream.

It’s my comfort snack.

The guys still aren’t here and I’m glad because I don’t need their inquisition. The last thing I want or need is to be bombarded with questions. I get that not too long ago I wanted nothing to do with her, but I can’t be arsed about how I felt for her in the past, because now all I’m focusing on is how I feel about her now.

The thought makes my heart race again, and before I slip back into my bedroom, I get my emotions under wraps.

When I step inside, I pause at the doorway as the sound of my own voice assaults me and I see Julianna holding my sheet music. I meant to put it up, but she happened, and became all I couldn’t stop thinking about.

She pivots to look at me, setting the paper down back down on my desk. “I wasn’t snooping. It fell when I set my stuff down, but did you compose that?”

I’ve never talked to anyone about my music, but as I stride toward her and hand her a bowl, I nod.

“Yeah, I wrote that, but I’m still working on it.”

Her eyebrows arch, not in shock but with reverence. “If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear it. When it’s done, but that is if you want, of course. No pressure.”

“You want to hear it?”

I know I play for the people on YouTube, but they never see my face and it’s never my own music. Playing in front of her, something that I composed, that’s different.

She smiles, staring at me like I’ve said something absurd. “Yes, I bet it’s going to sound beautiful. You honestly keep amazing me.”

My cheeks grow warm at the fervent look in her gaze. “Uh, yeah, when I’m done with it, I’ll play it for you. But if you could just keep this between us. No one knows that I’m working on this and Jagger will lose his shit if he’s not one of the first to know.”

She smothers a smile.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s cute,” she coos. “I love how you always think about him. The bromance is unmatched. I’m here for it.”

I roll my eyes, and shift the conversation and my eyes to the TV where I’m singing “Yellow” by Coldplay. “Speaking of shit.”

She gasps loudly and when I slide my gaze to hers, she looks at me like I’ve slapped her across the face. “Absolutely not. You will not shit talk Haptic. I will leave, and don’t play with me because I’ll get an Uber.”

I raise one hand in surrender and pad over to my bed. When she stays standing, I pat her side of the bed. She stares at me for a beat before joining me.

“Don’t be an ass. He’s a really good singer,” she says before she shoves a spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and vanilla ice cream into her mouth.

“Why defend a person you don’t know? A person whose face you’ve never seen?”

I don’t ask because I need a boost to my ego, but I’m genuinely curious. I’ve never heard anyone speak this passionately about me even though she doesn’t know it’s me.

I’m not famous by any means, and I have my haters, but it doesn’t deter me from posting. The more views I get, the more money I make.

“I don’t need to know a person or see what they look like to defend them. I know the songs aren’t his, but the way he sings them speaks to me.” She crosses her leg over the other, getting my jumper to hike up. “I can’t explain it, but he sings with purpose, and he doesn’t imitate the artists whose songs he’s singing. He adds his own twist to it and I love that. I love that he’s able to vulnerably express himself without being seen. Because sometimes, we don’t need to see something to feel it. I’m pretty certain that’s why he picked the name Haptic. I know it means a sense of touch, but if you think about it, that’s what his voice is doing to you, touching you. At least, that’s how I’ve interpreted it.”

Absentmindedly, I stir the spoon in the bowl, unsure how to respond because…well, she’s not wrong.

When the song changes to “Amen” by Amber Run, I almost tell her to shut it off, but I’d have to explain why and I can’t bring myself to be honest and tell her that this song was my goodbye letter to whoever cared.

It was my biggest moment of weakness.

I should have taken the song down when I had the chance, but I could never do it, because it’d only summon the memory of that night.

She must have taken my silence as an inclination to further prove her point by giving me a breakdown of the song and how I’m singing it.

“Before you continue to say it still sounds like shit, I just need you to understand why I’m so defensive. This song”—she inhales a laboured breath—“this song is deep and not just because of the lyrics, but because I think Haptic genuinely sounds like he’s in pain. His voice is so raw and poignant, and I think behind it all, he means what he’s singing…” She sighs, her voice melancholic. “Particularly this song and the lyrics. I think he meant it, him being dead. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but he didn’t post for a while after he uploaded that song.”

She pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t bring myself to utter a word. There’s a noose wrapped around my neck. I feel like I can’t breathe as those haunting memories I tried so hard to keep away come back so viciously, it makes me sick.

Late one night after I uploaded the video, I parked my car in the middle of the train tracks and waited for it to come and just end it all. I could have gone about attempting to commit suicide differently, but I didn’t want anyone to have my car after I worked so hard to fix it. And I knew Ashton would have kept it, so I was going to end it all with the only thing I cared about.

It didn’t happen because by some divine intervention, Jagger showed up.

He didn’t know I was there. He had snuck out to meet someone and saw my car. He sat in the passenger seat and said he wasn’t getting out until I moved the car. No questions, no why am I doing this, nothing but silence, and when I finally drove off the tracks, he said, “You matter to me Landon. Your life has so much purpose, and I’m thankful your my best friend. I’m here for you.” Then he hugged me and I let him. And that was the last time I’d let someone hug me.

That happened a few months before Julianna hit my car.

“It’s just an observation and I’m probably wrong. He probably just took a break, because who doesn’t need a break from social media from time to time? But I say this because maybe he sings because he’s alone, and this is the only way he can express himself or maybe he just likes to be private. Who knows, but don’t be an ass. You never know what anyone is going through.”

“I won’t,” is all that I manage to say.

She eyes me suspiciously, but she must see something because her expression softens. “What’s wrong?”

I blink, swallowing past the emotions clogging my throat. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Scepticism washes over her face. “I thought you’d be honest with me.”

I drag my tongue along my top teeth, forcing air into my lungs. I wished she didn’t notice the little things.

I go back and forth on what I want to say, but I promised her honesty. But only partial because that’s all I can bring myself to say.

“This song brought back memories of Mum.” she grabs my hand and squeezes it. “That’s the truth and please don’t sympathise with me, because I really don’t want it. This song is a reminder of—when I made myself be what my mum needed me to be.”

“And what was what?”

“Invisible.”

The weight of the word wedges between us, confiscating the last bit of oxygen. I feel the emotions, but I shut them down immediately because I don’t want to feel them again. I hate that they’re even back to begin with.

Her hand tightens over mine. I know she’s taking it in and most likely sympathising, feeling sorry, but I don’t want or need it.

“I’m ready to move on.” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and bring the spoon to my mouth despite losing my appetite. “Let’s talk about the test you have coming up this week.”