Page 95 of Knights Game

Fuck.

I’ve fucked up.

I’ve completely misjudged this evening. I pushed her too far, too quickly, and I made a mistake with Isla. We should have left as soon as I saw her.

Hell, I should never have taken her there.

“Open the door, Layla.” I shake it and for such a normal door I swear it’s double bolted. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I launch back and crash shoulder-first into the thing, which still doesn’t budge.

“What the hell are you doing?” Katy exclaims coming into the hallway.

“Open the fucking door.”

She tuts. “Leave her be, she’s just showering off the shit show of her night.”

“You have no idea,” I snarl. “For being her best mate you have no fucking idea, do you?” I don’t look to see her shocked expression. Roman is looking at me, his face a mask of confusion.

I back up, lifting my foot and kick right where the lock should be, it cracks under the force and the door flies open.

Steam billows out, and I cross the bathroom in short swift steps. Layla sits on the shower floor, arms wrapped around her legs as the water scolds her back.

“Fucking hell.” I reach in, turning the tap to cold, soaking my white dress shirt.

Her back is bright red, and although the change in temperature will be a shock, I need to cool her skin which looks so red and fucking angry. But as far as I can tell it wasn’t hot enough to cause long-term damage.

She clambers to her feet, her naked body peppered in angry spots, her face tucked down unwilling to look at me.

“Stay there,” I command, climbing in, letting the cold flow soak me through.

“What on earth is going on?” Katy demands from the doorway, as I block Layla from climbing out the shower. “Luca, what the fuck are you doing? Let her out!”

She marches to the shower door, but I hold it closed.

“Are you insane?” Her voice is shrill. “Roman, he’s lost his shit.”

“I’ve got this,” I say over Katy’s shoulder. Roman nods and then pulls Katy out the room.

“Get your hands off me, you caveman! That’s my friend.” She grapples with him, but Roman just bends down, throws her over his shoulder, and marches out of the room, all the while Katy shouts expletives at me and him.

Layla shivers, her hands wrapped around her body.

“Stand up, baby. Turn around,” I ask softly. I reach up and grab the moveable shower spray.

I change the strength of the stream to a softer one and hold it on her back and then run it down the back of her legs. “Hold that on your legs.” I reach out and grab a towel off the railing and pull it in, wetting it before draping it gently over her. I take the shower head out of her hand and then turn the tap off.

And the quietness feels deafening.

I move, letting her squeeze past me and climb out. I peel off the wet clothes and follow, grabbing a dressing gown off the door for her. I open the small cupboard, which I hope holds more towels and grab another one to wrap around my waist.

“I hate that you’ve hurt yourself because of me.”

“I hate you.” barely a whisper.

What a mess.

She walks gingerly to the mirror and tries to pull off the wet towel and winces. Helping her, I pull the towel off so she can inspect the damage. “Can you put the towel back on please?” I do, our eyes meet in the mirror for the first time, glossy and haunted.

I clear my throat to get rid of the frog of regret and emotion that clogs my airways.

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