Page 6 of Knot Only His

He guides me through the crowd, his body shielding me from view. The bass pounds against my skull as we weave between sweaty bodies and spilled drinks.

Outside, the night air hits my face, and I wobble. Carver presses his hand on my back to still me before flagging down a cab.

“You first.” He opens the door for me. I slide across the leather seat, pressing myself against the window.

I feel the intensity of his gaze on my face and turn to him. “Did you know?”

“No.” His voice is rough, like he’s annoyed with me. “I didn’t.”

I search his face, trying to catch any hint of deception, but his features remain controlled and unreadable.

My chest aches. I want to believe him. I need to believe him, but my body shakes as doubt creeps into my veins like poison.

How could he not know?

I turn away, watching the blur of New York traffic through the window. Yellow cabs zoom past, their headlights creating streaks of gold against the wet pavement. A couple stumbles down the sidewalk, wrapped in each other’s arms and laughing.

My throat tightens.

Carver’s hand slides over mine, where it rests on the seat between us. His skin is warm, calloused from hockey sticks and workout equipment.

Goosebumps break out across my arm at the contact, spreading up to my shoulder. It happens every time he touches me.

I ignore it. Push it down. Like I always do.

His thumb traces small circles on my wrist, and I let him. Maybe because I’m hurt, or maybe because the alcohol has loosened my usual restraint. Either way, I don’t pull away.

“Why do you hide who you are if you want him?”

Chapter 2

Harlow

“Why do you hide who you are if you want him?”

As the cab ride stretches into endless minutes of silence, Carver’s words echo in my head.

“Why don’t you be your real self?” he adds as the car stops at traffic lights.

"I am."

He sighs as turns away from me.

Headlights from passing cars flash across his sharp profile as he stares straight ahead, jaw clenched.

The cab moves again.

I’m not hiding. I’m not.The mantra repeatsin my head.

The cab pulls up to our building but before I can reach for my wallet, Carver hands the driver cash. “I’ll get it.”

The elevator ride to our apartment is subdued and suffocating.

As always, Carver’s presence fills the small space, and when our gazes meet in the mirrored walls, my skin prickles as it usually does.

This time, though, I know it’s his words.

The moment we step into the apartment, I whirl to him, unable to hold back any longer. “What the hell are you talking about, Carver? What am I hiding?”

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