“I dare you,” I seethe, letting it be perfectly clear that his little stunt won’t be happening. Not in front of me.
Didn’t I tell him to lie low? Has he beenignoringthat command? The fucking council is sniffing around him like vicious dogs, and he’s trying to show off in a sporting goods store?!
Landon releases a shaky breath before swallowing roughly. His tanned skin flushes so deeply you’d think I just told him to get naked, but surprisingly, he listens beautifully. With a single nod, he keeps his mouth sealed and just…waits.
“Uh, alright,” Atticus says quietly, and I become startlingly aware that he’s still watching us. That he might very well know who Landon is and might report back to Julian that he’s seen us together.
But he wouldn’t, right? He doesn’t evenlikeJulian.
“I’m just gonna…” he adds, waving toward the workout equipment he was looking at before we interrupted him.
With his attention diverted, I debate internally whether to push him. But Landon is still with me, and I fear the two of them interacting will only end in questions I can’t answer, so I grab his shirt once again and drag him from the aisle.
I do feel a sense of guilt, though. If somethingiswrong with Atticus and I can’t help him the way I couldn’t help Atlas, I think I might freak out. They may not be my family by blood, but at this point, I do really care about them.
Even iftheydon’t considermefamily, I want to help, even if in such a small way.
Not that I’d call reviving Julian small. No one thinks that, including Julian himself, who followed me around like a lost puppy for a few days before I finally got him to fuck off.
I’m very happy Atlas is safe again and incredibly thankful to Julian for risking his life to make it happen, but I’m not asavior. I’m not someone who should be praised or idolized, and Julian acting that way kind of pissed me off—made me feel cornered.
Luckily, he fucked off after I snapped at him. And if that slight irritation also comes from thinking of Landon every time I see his face, I’m choosing not to delve into the meaning behind it.
“What wasthatabout?” Landon asks as soon as we’re a few aisles away. “I’m taking your word for it on him looking different than usual, but he seemed coiled so tight.”
Landon isn’t wrong. Atticus looks about two seconds from freaking out.
“Not sure,” I mutter. “I’ll have to keep an eye on him.”
For a moment, Landon just stares at me. His expression is blank, but he’s clutching the ends of his jacket sleeves so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
“Hey, stop that,” I chastise, slapping his fists.
They immediately loosen, though Landon scoffs and switches his blank stare for a glare. But he listened, and that’s all that truly matters.
We find the foldable frisbee that Landon was talking about when we first walked in and check out, loading onto my bike and heading five minutes east toward the park.
As we arrive, Landon is quick to jump down, almost eager. I miss the warmth of him pressed to me almost immediately, but I chalk it up to how alone I’ve been these past few years.
Casual hook-ups always make me feel that sensation even more demandingly, but with him, it’s kind of hard to feel alone—no matter how casual we are.
Not when he’s so desperate to be around me, to have me pound into him so roughly.
“Let’s eat first,” he suggests as I hang our helmets and slide off the bike.
I huff in acknowledgement, following him to a small bench hidden beneath some trees. Landon passes me a sandwich before unwrapping his own.
He doesn’t take a bite, only swinging his legs and staring at the small playground in the distance as he says, “So, where is your family?”
“What?” I startle, my head snapping in his direction.
But he still doesn’t look at me, only shrugging. “I didn’t see any photos. Where are they? You said you’re not close with them?”
This conversation topic is incredibly uncomfortable and typically makes me shut down. Add to that that it’sLandonasking, and how the last thing I wanted today was to get involved in any more emotionally intimate situations with him, and it becomes clear that I’d simply rather die than respond.
Which is why I’m so surprised as I say, “We’re estranged. I don’t speak to them.”
“Estranged?” Landon repeats, as if the idea of not speaking to his family is blasphemous.
