Page 43 of Knot Forgotten

“I’m going to–” I gesture to his closed door before hurrying out of his room.

CHAPTER 21

Riley

The water parts around me as I butterfly from one end to the other. As I cut through the water, every stroke seems heavier than the last, burdened not just by the resistance of the pool but by the weight of my thoughts. The butterfly stroke demands focus, but today, even my sanctuary has become a prison. Images of Erin don’t let up. I can’t run from her. Not when every single part of me wants to run to her.

As I approach the end of the pool, memories of past mistakes flood my mind, each one a painful reminder of my shortcomings. But alongside those memories, there's another thought that tugs at my heart; the desire to fix my relationship with her.

I’m so fucking screwed. The bruises I left on her neck a week ago tell me the whole story. I lost control. My pack mates had to pull me back from the edge. And to make matters worse, she left to save herself. If I knew back then, I would have urged her to go. How can I possibly be mad at that?

My house of cards has crumbled, and I’m left with bitter regrets. The story of my life.

With each stroke, I feel the weight of my mistakes dragging me down like an anchor. Doubt creeps into my mind as I approach the wall, and I struggle to push it aside. As I extend my arms for the final stroke, flashes of Erin, her lips swollen from my kisses and her neck already bruising as the guys pulled me away distract me.

As I tuck my chin and prepare for the turn, doubts gnaw at the edges of my concentration. When I reach the wall, I plant my hands firmly, but only my body is here, everything else is focused on the ghost of memories of the one girl I can’t get out of my system. I can't shake the feeling that I've ruined everything with her.

I streamline my body and resume the rhythm of the butterfly stroke. Focusing on the only thing I really have any control of at the moment.

When I’ve exhausted myself, I stop, gripping the side of the pool and dragging harsh breaths in and out. I pull off my swim cap and lift myself out of the pool. Cam strides onto the pool deck as I’m drying myself off, and I watch him approach, easily reading the agitation in his strides.

I toss the towel over my shoulder and sign, ‘What’s wrong?’ tilting my head in concern.

As Cam signs to me, his hands move with a sense of heaviness, his fingers forming the familiar shapes of American Sign Language. The expression on his face is solemn, mirroring the weight of the message he’s about to convey.

I watch intently as he begins to sign, his movements deliberate yet tinged with a hint of hesitation. He brings his hands up to chest level, palms facing each other, and then with a swift downward motion, he gestures outward, a visual representation of the mistake we've both made.

We have fucked up. Both of us.

I pluck my implants off the bench and put them on. “How do we fix it?” I say.

He exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t know. She is in Blake’s bed, after he finally took his meds after who knows how long.”

As I sign to Cam, my hands move with purpose, conveying the weight of the message I need to deliver. Sometimes ASL communicates what I have to say better. I raise my eyebrows slightly, a silent question lingering in the air as I begin to form the signs.

‘You,’ I sign, pointing directly at Cam, my gaze steady and unwavering. ‘Left her…’ My hands gesture to the side, indicating departure, before I continue, ‘...with him?’ My fingers form the signs for "him," accompanied by a questioning expression. ‘How long?’ I add.

As I complete the signs, there's a palpable tension in the air, the weight of the message hanging heavily between us. I can see the confusion and concern flicker across Cam's face as he processes the implication of my words. Then he looks at the door he came through as if he is going to run back to our dorm.

He drags his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. “Not long, and Matt is still there with them. He will step in if something happens.” I’m not sure if his words are meant to pacify me or him. “We need to win her back, Riley.”

Considering that is exactly the path my thoughts have taken over the last hour, I nod my head in agreement.

“I cooked for her,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows before saying sarcastically, “We still have a dorm?”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes at my teasing. “Blake is the one that can’t cook.”

My lips tilt up in a smile at his indignation. “Did she eat?” I ask. A courting custom is cooking for your omega, and when they accept your food, taking even a single bite, it means they are open to being pursued.

“She was distracted by Blake, but I think she would have.”

Nodding, I finish drying off. That is a good sign. It means we didn’t royally fuck everything up. At least all I did was give into my lust for her, and she wanted the same thing. Although, ghosting her for the past week probably isn’t the reaction any omega would want. Fuck, maybe I screwed up more than I thought. “Wait for me, I'm getting dressed.”

Blake and Matt are in the living area of our dorm when we enter. The game paused on the screen, and a controller sitting next to Matt on the couch. I glance toward my old bedroom door, but it is wide open.

Cam signs, ‘Where is she?’ I’m sure he doesn’t want to wake her up if she is still asleep.

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