Chapter 10

10

Atlas

“Hmm?” I ask Tim…Tom? Hell, I can’t remember the man’s name. He’s worked with my dad for years, but he’s also a dickhead, so I don’t give a fuck what he has to say. He’s been rambling for ten minutes straight while I’m trying to figure out where in the hell Troy went. From the way Dickhead T is staring at me, it’s clear he asked me a question I haven’t answered in who knows how long.

Where the fuck is Troy?

“Your mom…she looks happy today,” he says again, so not a question but something he expects me to agree with rather than what he said making me feel like I’m being cooked alive.

“My mom is dead. I don’t think she looks very happy.”

Dickhead T gapes at me, as if he can’t believe I said that. It just proves he doesn’t know me and likely thinks I’m like dear ole Glen and going to kiss everyone’s ass so I can get something out of it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Your stepmom, of course.”

“Later,” I tell him, and walk away. I’m over listening to him talk and doing a shitty job of pretending I give a fuck.

Even though I tell myself I’m not doing it, I’m looking around the backyard for Troy. Everyone is laughing and talking, and all I can think about is how fake it all is. How this facade we have in place has everyone tricked, or maybe it’s really that they’re all wearing facades too. They see right through ours but pretend they don’t, just to whisper behind our backs.

“Richard, I’d like you to meet my son, Atlas.” I hear Glen’s voice getting closer and closer, and I’m trying with everything I have not to be sick. Christ, he’s so fucking fake. “Atlas, this is Richard, one of our new controllers. Richard, this is Atlas.”

I reach out to shake Richard’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” I tell him when it’s really not. Meeting and talking to him or anyone at this party is the absolute last thing I want to do.

“You too. You’re an engineering major at Peach State, right?” Because of course that’s what he would ask. It’s a much more respectable career choice in my dad’s circles than being a sociology major. Hell, Glen probably led him to believe I was Mr. Perfect Troy. That his real son isn’t going into a career he thinks is a waste of time.

“Nope. Sociology.”

“My mistake,” Richard replies, darting a quick glance at Glen. “I think that’s your brother.”

“Stepbrother,” I counter because there’s a chance I’ll end up with Troy’s dick in my mouth, so it’s important I stress the truth of our relationship. “I’m the disappointment.”

“Atlas,” Glen says, warning in his voice. He turns to Richard and starts bragging about my grades and how proud he is of me, like he gives a fuck about me at all.

I tough it out as long as I can before I say, “I need to go to the restroom,” which is a lie. What I need to do is find Troy because he’s been missing for a while, and something feels off about that.

I head into the house but don’t see anyone. I go through the kitchen, living room, family room, and don’t see Troy anywhere.

Where the fuck is he?I wonder as I make my way upstairs. All the doors are closed, but somehow I know Troy is behind his. It’s like I can sense him there.

I don’t bother knocking and just go inside. He’s lying on his bed, tossing a football up in the air. “I’m not in the mood, A.”

“How did you know it’s me? You didn’t even look up.”

“Just do.” He sets the ball down, and my stupid brain starts to wonder if somehow he can sense me the way I can sense him, which is a totally fucked-up—and ridiculous—thought.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He stands, then goes to the window and looks out. “I think they’re going to do cake soon. We should go.”

“Fuck cake. What’s wrong?” My hands curl into fists, which probably isn’t a healthy reaction, but did some stupid motherfucker at this party say something to hurt him? Bring up his brother or say some homophobic shit? Troy isn’t the type to sit in his room and hide for no reason. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?” I ask again, letting him know I’m not going to let this go.

“Drop it, Atlas.” He turns around and tries to push past me to get to the door, but I block him.

“I’ll make a scene if you don’t tell me. You know I will.” Why do you care what these people think? You’re better than them. “Who hurt you?”

I can practically see the thoughts stumble in his head. His pupils go a little wide, clearly not having expected me to ask that, and honestly, that makes two of us.

“No one. Not really. It’s just…” He runs a hand through his hair, and this time when he tries to step away from me, I let him. I can tell he’s not going to try and leave again. Troy paces when he’s upset. “I heard Sabine talking to Margot about Mom and Glen…about how they met…and then talking shit about Brandon. Fuck them. They don’t have the right to talk about my brother like that. It’s just shitty. Do they have nothing better to do than gossip about people’s tragedies? They’re at Mom’s birthday party, yet they’re trading stories about how our parents got together and what happened to—” He stops in his tracks, and my whole body goes cold. The way he glances away tells me they said something that’s really going to piss me off, something he didn’t mean for me to know.

“What the fuck did they say?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. They’re assholes.”

“Tell me. Now.” I’m shaking, and I hate that he sees me like this, but if those people said something about my mom, I’m going to lose it.

Troy’s gaze softens, sadness in the chestnut brown of his eyes. “They don’t matter.”

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll go ask Sabine.” I go for the door, just manage to pull it open before Troy shuts it again. He presses his palm to it, and I know I can pull it open, but for some reason I don’t. His chest is against my back, his breath on my neck, and I nearly fucking tremble. Not because of him, of course, but because of this, the situation. “Tell me. You can’t keep me in here all night, and if you don’t tell me, at some point I’ll go down there and find out.”

“Margot said she heard she killed herself.”

I close my eyes, trying to see anything but red. The shaking is back, and this time, it’s uncontrollable. My insides feel like they’re cracking apart, my head spinning. The thing is, they could be right. We’ll never know, and while I don’t want to believe it, that possibility is one of the reasons I can never forgive Glen.

“I’m sorry,” Troy says close to my ear.

I don’t move. Can’t. If I do, I’m going to go downstairs and tell everyone at this party what I think about them, or I’m going to end up trashing Troy’s room. It’s not a healthy response, I know that, but they don’t deserve to have her name in their mouths. They don’t have the right to talk about my mom like that.

God, I miss her.

“Atlas?” Troy asks, and I don’t know what it is about hearing him say my name again, but I try to jerk the door open. He slams it shut and wraps his arms around me, trying to wrestle me away from it. We hit the nightstand, knocking a lamp off, before Troy manages to tackle me to the bed.

I thrust my body, trying to break free of his hold. He’s straddling me, hands holding my arms.

“You’re not going down there.”

“Fuck you.” I twist and arch up, but all it does is make it so Troy is lying on top of me now. I don’t stop moving, not wanting to hurt him but wanting the fuck out of his hold. When I move again, I feel something firm and thick between his thighs… “You’re hard.” Panic flashes in Troy’s eyes, which is the exact reaction I need. In that split second, I flip us, putting Troy beneath me, my hands holding down his wrists this time. “You’re hard,” I say again, and somehow, this new development has helped to temporarily mask my anger.

“I’m gay, and there’s a man practically humping me. What the fuck did you think would happen?”

I don’t mention the fact that there’s a little action going on in my jeans too. I’m not sure what I think about it, but I’m also not the type to get all introspective about it either. I have enough going on in my head without worrying too much about what does or doesn’t get me hard.

“You thinking about the blowjob that’s never going to happen?” I ask, looking down at him.

“Fucking asshole!” A twinge of guilt twists in my chest, but then he says, “And you are going to blow me, and you’re going to like it.”

The fantasy jerk-off session flashes in my head again, distracting me, and Troy takes advantage, bucking and almost throwing me off him. We wrestle again, and he ends up on top.

“This is what I get for trying to be nice to you? You fighting me?” As I struggle to get out from beneath him, his abs rub against my dick, and we both still.

“You’re… Why are you…”

I’m hard as a steel post from my stepbrother. Troy’s face is close to mine, both of us still frozen before he inhales a deep breath. My heart is beating a million miles a minute because first the dream, and now this, and—

“Troy! Atlas! It’s time for cake,” comes Glen’s angry voice from the hallway.

We both fumble getting away from each other, and somehow tumble to the floor just as Glen comes in. He takes in the mess, the broken lamp, fire in his gaze. “You’re fighting? What the fuck is wrong with you, Atlas?”

Because of course it’s my fault. It’s always my fault.

“Get this mess cleaned up, and then get your asses downstairs for cake. Don’t ruin this day for Ellie.”

And for whatever the fuck reason, we both do as he says, neither of us saying a word or looking at each other the whole time.

Glen watches and then escorts us downstairs, a fake smile plastered in place. “Video games.” Glen playfully rolls his eyes as if he’s saying silly boys.

I make it through singing “Happy Birthday” and dishing out cake and ice cream, but I don’t eat any, and the second that part is done, I leave. This day has been enough of a mindfuck, and I don’t think I can handle another second of it.