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The abrupt change in subject makes me frown. “Huh?”
“The guitar. The piano. The drums. The violin. Anything, really.” He forces his gaze off the guitar and focuses on my face. “Do you not like music anymore?”
“Of course, I like music.” As I speak, I crawl across the bed until I’m able to reach forward and grab the guitar. I settle it on my lap and then begin to softly pluck at the strings. The guitar is a little out of tune, but nothing I can’t fix. “I just haven’t had the time to compose or play.”
“Because of The Divine One.” His lips purse, hinting at his displeasure.
“Because of Raymond and Ryker and you and POP and everything else in my life.” I absentmindedly begin to tune the guitar. I’ve really, really missed playing, composing, creating something beautiful where there was once nothing. At first, I stopped playing because my own mind rebelled against me, turning my thoughts dark. And now…
I was being honest with Landon when I said I didn’t have the time. It seems ridiculous to be focusing on music and college and classwork with everything going on.
“You shouldn’t give up living, kitten.” Landon’s voice holds a hint of disapproval.
I roll my eyes as I begin to play a piece I’ve been working on, before everything went to hell. It’s a love song—the music slow and sensual, brimming with something akin to hope—but I haven’t given it a title yet.
I’m leaning toward “Delirium.”
It certainly feels as if my head is spinning when I’m around my guys.
Landon watches me, his eyes slightly softer, before he blows out a breath and rakes his fingers through his brown hair.
“I get anxious when you’re out of my sight,” he confesses.
I stop playing. “Huh?”
“I feel…itchy and uncomfortable.” He scratches at his chest, directly above his gray T-shirt. “Like I have an infection or some shit. Seeing your face and knowing you’re safe are the only things that help.”
“So, you watch me sleep?”
Landon’s grip tightens on the chair. “When the others aren’t staying with you, yes.”
I slowly set the guitar down, leaning it against my nightstand, and blow out a breath. “You could’ve just told me.”
“And have you think I’m crazy?” He gives me a disbelieving look as I snort.
“I deal with Zane on a regular basis. Trust me, Landon, you’re far from crazy.” I pat the spot on the bed next to me. “Get up here.”
“Ellie—”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
He hesitates, only briefly, before moving toward the bed.
Abruptly, he pauses. His nostrils flare, and his eyes simmer, burning with banked heat.
“Wh—?”
He grabs my bare arm—I’m only wearing a tank top and sleep shorts—and twists it, so my dark red scars are illuminated in the dim light.
My stomach drops, as does my heart, and I suddenly can’t look at him as shame fills me. I half-heartedly attempt to pull my arm away, but I’m not trying very hard. His grip is so gentle, his touch feather-soft, that I feel no real desire to break free of him.
“What is this?” His voice is low and brimming with an emotion I can’t quite read.
“It’s nothing.” I once again attempt to tug my hand free, and this time, he lets me go. I immediately miss the warmth of his fingers on my scarred skin.
“It’s not nothing?—”
“Landon,” I snap, my tone sharp. “Drop it, okay? I don’t… I don’t do this anymore. It was my past.”
