Only With You (Knights #2)

40

LANDON

“Landon?”

I blink, clearing my blurred vision. “What?”

“You’ve dissociated again,” Reid says, his voice gentle. “Why don’t we take a moment to ground ourselves, think of that one thing or person who makes you feel your best and why don’t you tell me what your chain feels like?”

“Cold…solid…weighted…”

My paralyzed, frozen thoughts thaw out as Julianna slowly starts to take every inch of space in my mind.

The small, barely-there crease that indents the right side of her cheek when she smiles. The warmth in her eyes and how they brighten when she slips up and talks about music and teaching. The way her silky, smooth skin feels and glows, whether the sun or moon are out. Her melodic hums and how her delicate fingers move on any surface. But of all the things of her, from her, that wrap around my mind, ground me, drawing me in is her voice and the colours it provokes. That draws in everything that disconnected inside of me back to reality.

I steady my gaze on Reid. Like always, he stares at me patiently and empathetically.

“Do you want to talk about what made you feel that way?”

The tense bubble of silence we were in bursts. There’s a war inside my head, going back and forth about opening up. Logically, there’s nothing to talk about. My feelings are bullshit and I need to cut the noose that keeps pulling me back to my past.

Realistically, I know I need to talk, because said noose is pulling me underwater and I feel like I’m slowly drowning again.

Straightening myself, I sigh. “I felt overwhelmed this weekend, and I’m not sure how to process it. It doesn’t make sense to me because it wasn’t bad.”

It doesn’t make sense, because I’ve always associated feeling overwhelmed with something bad.

That pulls a half smile from him. “And what was it that you were doing this weekend?”

I almost smile when I remember how Julianna took my glasses off and set them on the nightstand when she thought I was asleep. And how her body pillow ended up on the floor and her leg thrown over mine.

“I was with Julianna.”

Reid clicks his tongue and smiles knowingly, then sets his notepad and pen on the table. He knows about the car accident, knows about our mutual hatred over the years, her moving in with the girls, me tutoring her, and somewhat opening up to her.

He stares at me for a beat, like he’s considering how he wants to approach what he wants to say. “Now, don’t shut me out, okay?”

My brows knit. “Okay?”

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and interlocks his fingers. He stares and smiles at me the way Jagger would, friendly and relaxed. “Do you think maybe you’re feeling that way because you like her romantically, and you feel like it all happened too fast?”

My back stiffens and breathing becomes shallow. “I, well, I, we…” I brush my fingers across my chain, stumbling over my words. What’s wrong with me? I don’t stutter.

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “I think you’ve developed feelings for her and it’s a little hard for you to process them. I think you feel overwhelmed, because it triggered memories and you panicked.”

I scrub a palm over my beard, dropping my gaze to the carpeted floor.

“ She came out of nowhere… ” I trail off, quietly chuckling to myself as I think back to the day I met her. “And I’m not referring to the car accident itself. She came out of nowhere and it was so unexpected. It’s not like getting a bucket of cold water poured on you. It’s unexpected in the way you see a picture of a breathtaking view. You know what to expect when you get there because you’ve already seen it, but once you get there, you realise the picture didn’t do the scene enough justice. Because once you’re there, once you’re really taking it all in, it’s much better than any picture or anyone could have ever described it.”

Blood rushes and my heart beats slow but hard. Each knock is near-deafening. The tips of my ears become warm, as do my cheeks, and slowly, the warmth descends down my body.

That’s what she does to me, how she makes me feel. She’s not the embodiment of the sun. She is the sun and all I want to do is keep rotating around it—around her.

Reid doesn’t say anything, but I can only assume he’s letting me absorb and process it all. I ruminate over my words and his. I’m not surprised when I finally acknowledge what I’ve been pushing away.

“I like her, but I can’t afford to emotionally attach myself to someone who might not feel the same. Someone who will eventually leave. I watched my father pack his stuff and promise me that he’d be back, but he left and never returned. My mum died in my arms. And I almost lost myself in the process of trying to keep myself tied to them. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

I catch the rebound and dunk the ball in the basket.

The arena erupts, cheering and chanting, and the band plays, only riling up the already erratic crowd. I can feel the vibrations from how hard they’re jumping beneath the sole of my shoes, heightening the adrenaline racing through my body.

There are ten minutes left before our first game of the season ends, and I can confidently say we’re going to win. And I don’t mean that in an arrogant, I’m-cocky-as-shit kind of way, but we’re up by twenty points and have been since the first half of the game.

I’m not going to diminish the efforts of our opposing team, Southern Dallas University. They have a strong shooter and their defence is good. Hell, for the team that they are, they’re pretty great. I’ve no doubt they could beat another team, but not us.

TJ may not be here, but we’re doing pretty great compared to how we did our first game last season. We almost choked up and that could’ve cost us our first win, but not tonight. It’s electrifying how everyone is playing. Even Malik, who I was hesitant about, is pulling his weight.

I shouldn’t have doubted them, but over the past few weeks, practice has been brutal. And it has nothing to do with Coach Warren and everything he has us do, but the guys. Something wasn’t clicking. Everyone was off, their minds off the court and on something or someone else, but tonight’s not like that.

We’re all working in sync, all knowing where we need to be and when, as if we were all telepathically communicating. The chemistry is amazing and I can tell Coach Warren is pleased, even with Saint, who’s made some risky shots tonight. But because Saint is Saint, somehow, he has managed to make them all. I’ve no idea how he does it, how he makes it look so effortless, makes it sound satisfying, too.

I still don’t understand why he didn’t enter the draft. He could’ve easily been one of the top five draft picks. But it doesn’t matter. He’s here and part of the reason for twenty-seven points, followed by Jagger, who’s made twenty-one.

By the end of the game, SDU manages to score a few extra points, but we still end up beating them by twenty-five and that only means one thing to everyone except for me.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Saint slings an arm over my shoulder before I can hide in my room.

I shrug his arm away. “I told you I’m not going.”

All the guys have decided to go to Liquid to celebrate, and while I’m all for them celebrating, I’d rather not. I put up with the loud noise at games because it’s going to happen whether I like it or not. It comes with the territory. But going out after a game, that’s where I’m drawing the line.

I need a break from the noise, because I’m feeling overstimulated, and I don’t want to smell alcohol tonight. After opening up to Julianna, I’ve been feeling more of what I’ve been trying to push away. Being around drunks and liquor is only going to mess with my head.

Speaking of Julianna, we’ve not seen each other since Wednesday. Not by choice, but we’ve both been busy, me with basketball and her with work, the sorority, and studying. Because Professor Roberts pushed the test for this Monday, she decided to work to get her mind off it.

I’d go see her, but she and the girls are doing Frimance tonight, and I think the distance is good for us. I’ve been missing her a little too much lately.

“Landon.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out with exasperation. “You have to come with us. We won!” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “We fucking won! We need to celebrate!”

I blankly stare at him and back up, letting his arms dangle at his sides. “First, yell in my face again and I’ll punch you. Two, I don’t want to go, so stop asking.”

He rakes his fingers through his damp black hair and grins. “How about being there with us for an hour tops and then you can leave?”

Sidestepping him, I make my way down the stairs and he follows behind. I don’t like getting violent, but I think I’m going to start. Saint pesters me all the way until we get to the bottom of the stairs, but his voice becomes muted when I hear a familiar deep voice.

I falter and almost run back up, but he spots me before I get the chance.

“Landon, hey,” John greets me with a broad grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Congratulations on the win.”

He stands in the middle of our living room, eating up the space with his mere height and poisoning whatever’s left of my good mood.

I try to suck in a breath, but the air around me has become hot, thinned out, making it hard to inhale.

Memories resurface, plaguing my mind, reminders of everything I’ve tried to forget. I’ve been doing a good job, but John is like a parasite. He comes into my life, triggering the feelings I’ve been trying hard to bury away, but at my expense, he comes back, and so does the noose.

Because when I look at his face, I see myself, and that reminds me of how much my mother despised me. How she couldn’t stand to look at me, how she’d wished and admitted—in her drunken stupor—she regretted having me.

I grind my teeth, my gaze steering in Jagger’s direction, who stares at me apologetically.

“Sorry, I tried to text you,” he mouths, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, and he, along with the other guys, make themselves sparse.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

“Son, I’m here to?—”

“I’m not your son,” I say, my voice sharp.

Every single cell in my body is screaming to get out of here, because I don’t have an ounce of patience to deal with him. I can easily brush anyone off, shut them down, and not give a single fuck about what they do or don’t. But this man, all he has to do is look at me once, and all those hard-built walls come crumbling down.

The proud smile on his face slips and he breathes out a weary sigh. “Why must you make everything so difficult? I’m here to see you, because I haven’t seen you in a few months.”

There’s a painful strike against my temple. “There’s a reason why you haven’t.”

His lips pinch in a thin line. “Jesus Christ, Landon, I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I haven’t seen you, and I miss you.”

A flat, humourless laugh escapes me. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Don’t. Not here.” His eyes harden and pierce me with a warning look, then cast over to the kitchen where everyone is at.

“Or what?”

I feel the tip of a knife, teasing and poking the stretched tight tension that envelops us.

John’s body becomes rigid, expression grim. “Not. Fucking. Here.” He delivers each word with a punctuating sharp bite.

My jaw pops and every last bit of restraint I’d been holding onto disintegrates. “I don’t know what it is now that you want from me that you didn’t before?”

His nostrils flare and anger simmers in the depth of his steel eyes. “Why can’t you just let it go and forget? I’ve done everything in my power to make things right. I’ve done everything I can to give you everything you need. I’m not a perfect man, Landon. You need to meet me halfway. I know I’ve made mistakes, but haven’t I paid enough for them?”

My mouth twists wryly. “You’re only here to clear your guilty conscience. So, get the fuck out of here with your apologies. I needed them when I was six. I don’t need them now.”

His face burns with annoyance. “I don’t owe you an apology for leaving your mother. I wasn’t happy. I needed to do what was best for me.” He scrubs a hand over my face, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t owe you an explanation, so stop acting like I do.”

“You broke your promise. You said you’d come back and you never did.”

His eyes cast to the floor like he’s embarrassed I brought that up. “Things came up.”

Things came up.

A knife punctures and twists in my stomach, but despite the unmistakable pain I’m feeling, it doesn’t stop the fury bubbling inside me. My jaw hurts from how hard it’s clenched and my knuckles, I’m sure white as I fist my hands at my sides.

I blink once, everything becoming a blur and going black.

“Right,” I drawl. “Things came up…”

“Listen, I?—”

“You know I cleaned up her vomit almost every bloody day. I learned how to cook at the age of seven. I begged her to get better for me because she was all that I had. You know I was picking out shards of glass from my fucking face because she hated when I smiled because I look like you. You aren’t my father, because if you were, you would have prevented me from having to put up with that. And a father doesn’t make their kid feel like a burden for existing. And how dare you ask me to forget…” I seethe, my voice cracking, but I clear my hoarse throat and rein in a stiff breath. “When you know more than anyone that I can’t?

“How fucking dare you when you know I can still smell the vomit, I can still hear her choking on it, every day.” A cold shiver races down my spine, and pin-like goosebumps break across my heated skin. “If you were my father, you wouldn’t have been absent for most of my life, but instead, you were playing house with a whole other family. So no, John, I can’t meet you halfway and I don’t ever intend to. Fuck you. You’re a bloody pathetic, shit excuse of a person. Nothing but the man who produced the sperm.”

He raises his hand but falters, leaving it suspended in the air.

I don’t flinch or move. I apathetically stare at him despite how flushed his face is with rage, how his body shakes beneath the anger, and how close his palm is to my cheek.

“Hit me.” I step closer, bringing my hands behind my back. “Do it. Hit me. Please give me a reason to get a restraining order.”

He doesn’t get to move a muscle or open his mouth when Saint stands between us, blocking John from me.

“Get out.” The ice in his voice freezes the heated atmosphere. “Get out. I won’t ask again.”

John drops his hand. “Landon, I’m?—”

Not sparing him a glance, I spin on my heel, head up to my room, and slam the door behind me.

My entire body shakes, anger rolling down in harsh waves. Each lap of rage, growing and crashing harder against me until I feel like I’m choking on the bitterness and the vileness of the memories.

Forget , move on, meet me halfway . It’s all he wants, all he cares about. He doesn’t want to talk about the past, doesn’t want to acknowledge what he did, doesn’t want to taint the version of the man he believes he is. Because in his eyes, despite his flaws , he’s a good father, a man who has sacrificed a lot for his family.

He may have done that for Lucy, Ashton, and his wife, but I don’t recall him ever doing that for Mum, for me .

I waited because he promised he’d come back for me. He promised he’d be back. But I was nothing but an afterthought to him.

“Fuck.” I try to steady my shallow breathing, to push past the darkness I’m drowning in, but I can’t focus on anything other than the guitar on the stand. I grab it, ready to smash the damn thing, but it stays suspended in the air.

“Welcome to the club of daddy issues and bullshit. We meet every Sunday at five o’clock. Hammers are included, or if you like bats, those are available, as are sledgehammers, my favorite.”

I blink, the muted sounds and my tunnel vision slowly fading away as I recognize that animated, chirpy voice.

Peering over my shoulder, Saint has a strong, firm grip on the body of it. He smiles at me. It’s not his usual obnoxious one but an understanding one.

“Piss off.” I try to jerk it away from his hold, but he doesn’t let it go, only holds on to it firmly. “Mate, get out of my room. Now!”

“I will if you come out with us.”

“I’m not going to Liquid, and if you ask one more time, I swear I’m going to punch you.” I meant it and he knows that I do, but he still doesn’t budge. “Get?—”

“We’re not going to Liquid. We’re going to therapy.” He beams.

“I don’t want Reid right now.”

“We’re not going to see Reid. Come on, or I’ll force you and that won’t be pretty.” He takes my guitar from my hand and sets it back on the stand, then strolls to the door. “I won’t ask questions and you won’t either. Deal? Deal.” As he walks out, he backtracks, doing a double take on the mirror. “Is that mine?”

I nod.

“She was in here, wasn’t she?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for me to answer as he grabs it and walks out. “Sorry, it has sentimental value. I’ll get you another one. And hurry up, don’t make me force you!”

“I’ve never been to a rage room before,” Jayden says as he puts on the coveralls Saint handed to us.

He wouldn’t tell us where we were going until he pulled up to Happy Purging, a large building that has rooms you can break shit in.

Saint gave us two rules. Wear the protective gear at all times. No touching his playlist.

He said he comes here occasionally, because it’s his happy place and even has a key, because he gives the guys who work here tickets to the games. So we won’t get in trouble for being here late.

“Here.” Jagger hands me a pair of safety glasses. “I’m sorry about John. I swear I was trying to?—”

“It’s not your fault. How much did you hear?”

The guys go quiet and that’s enough for me to know they heard everything. How could they not? We weren’t exactly being quiet.

“Hey!” Saint claps his hands as music starts to pour out from the speaker over us. “Come on, let’s break stuff!”

“‘Dancing Queen’?” Malik quirks an amused brow.

“Rule number three, don’t ask questions about my choice of music.” He grins from ear to ear, holding a sledgehammer.

I grab a bat from the wall and release my anger on all of the shit littering the room. All of the pent-up frustration withdraws from my body, and by the end of it all, I feel slightly better. Surprisingly, Saint’s choice of music helps ease some of the pressure in my chest.

The songs range from “Back on 74” by Jungle, “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas, “The Spins” by Mac Miller, “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes, and many more.

Right now, “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen blasts through the speakers, and it really got the guys going, especially Saint. He gets sledgehammer-happy because he smashes the monitors as if they were made of paper.

But now that “Float On” by Modest Mouse plays, they all mellow out. Still, they break things, but they’re a little calmer. Bobbing their heads, they sing and swing away.

I take a break to catch my breath and finally feel myself reeling in from the depths of murky water I was drowning in.

As I take one of the water bottles Saint brought us, I pick up my phone and find a few messages from John. I almost block him, but he and everything else get pushed inside a box, long forgotten when a message pops up, followed by another.

Angel: Congrats!!!

I don’t know what she has over me. I can’t explain the exhilaration that sweeps over my body, the warmth that creeps up my neck to my cheeks, or the way my lips want to rise. I can’t describe what she makes me feel, but what I do know is that I suddenly forget what led me to be here.

Angel: Also I had no idea what was going on, so please don’t ask. I do know that you scored, and that’s as good as it’s going to get.

Angel: And they call you The Grim??? I’ve been missing out!

It’s a stupid nickname the sports analyst came up with sophomore year. They took note that I don’t smile and after I shoulder-checked someone, I apparently looked down at him like I was The Grim Reaper. It’s stupid, but it stuck.

Me: You really watched the game? I thought you hated basketball?

Angel: I’ve never understood the game and then there was you. I didn’t like you.

Me: So you like me now?

Angel: That’s a bit of a stretch. I tolerate you.

Me: You seem to do more than tolerate me when I’m fucking you.

Angel: Only because, and it pains me to admit this, but you give great orgasms.

My cheek twitches.

Me: So does this mean you’re going to come to a game?

Angel: I don’t know…there’s a lot to consider.

Me: Like?

Angel: I don’t have a jersey and I don’t understand the game.

Julianna wearing my jersey? Now that’s a fantasy I’d like to make a reality.

Me: I’ll get you one and I’ll teach you.

Angel: I’m a big fan of number 55.

I grimace.

Me: That’s Malik’s number.

Angel: I’m aware.

Me: Do not think of showing up with another guy’s jersey. I’m not playing Julianna.

Angel: Attachment: 1 Image

My jaw tightens as I look at the screen. She sent me a picture of her middle finger, but in the background, it’s her laptop showing that she purchased a jersey.