Chapter 27

27

Troy

Atlas’s face rests against his pillow, his arms interlocked in front of him. His breathing is shallower than late at night, when he’s lost in a deep sleep. This isn’t the first night I’ve slept at his place in the past few weeks, and it won’t be the last, not if I have any say in it.

It’s been a bit of a whirlwind lately. This whole thing with Atlas snuck up on me, and next thing I knew, finals were coming up. Then Atlas and I took on full-time shifts through winter break, like we usually do, to make as much extra cash as we could. And what time we didn’t spend working, we spent together or hanging with friends, only being interrupted by an uneventful holiday party at Mom and Glen’s.

Now that things have calmed down and we’re in the first week of the spring semester, I feel like I can relax and appreciate having Atlas in bed beside me.

The morning light filters in through the blinds, casting across his hair, and I reposition his bangs so I can see his face.

“Stop being a creeper,” he mutters.

“I didn’t even know you were awake.”

He opens one eye and gazes up at me. “That’s why you’re a creeper.”

We smile together before he closes his eyes and hooks an arm around me, pulling until he’s pressed up against me, his head against my chest.

“I was thinking we might make some breakfast,” I say.

“I just wanna stay in bed. Watch some crap TV. You aced Thermo, thanks to me, so you have to do what I say for the rest of the year, right?”

“Aced by a hair,” I say, “and pretty sure that wasn’t the agreement.”

“Stop pretending you don’t like me bossing you around.”

Fair enough.

“Well, I do have the day off, if you really want to boss me around some more today.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea—Wait, it’s Sunday. I’ve gotta be at Activate Kindness at eleven.”

I grab my phone off his nightstand and check the time. “So you’ve got two hours. I guess I should get up and—”

“No,” Atlas says, gripping me tighter. “You’re not getting out of this bed.”

His head bobs up and down with my chest as I chuckle. “Greedy Atlas.”

“Damn right.” He kisses my torso softly, then buries his face into it like a pillow.

A warm sensation pulses through me.

His tight hold makes me think of how jealous he used to get about Ash and Brenner wanting to fuck me. Like he just wants to keep me all to himself…and I want him to keep me all to himself. So much.

“Come on,” I say. “I need some breakfast. I’m hungry.”

“Good timing. I’m hard.” He peeks up at me again, a grin steadily overtaking his face.

After twenty minutes and two jerk-off sessions, we finally force ourselves apart and get out of bed. We run through our morning routine, brushing our teeth and showering. Then I work on my laptop at Atlas’s desk, posting a response to the reading I have to get done before tomorrow. As I finish up, I grab a Sharpie from Atlas’s pencil holder and scratch off the task from my agenda.

I notice the thick line from the marker, the smooth edges, and it’s like I don’t even have to think about it, just know what to do next. I flip over my right wrist and slide my thermal sleeve up, carefully writing along my forearm…A…T…going up toward my elbow.

The completion of each letter thrills me—who the fuck knows why? And as I get to the S, I feel satisfied, the way I do once we’ve both come and collapsed onto each other’s bodies.

When my upload finishes, I join Atlas in the kitchen, where he’s already busy at the stove, folding cheese into an omelet.

“Ooh, an omelet—a fancy morning.”

“I already mixed the pancake batter and put it in the fridge. You’re welcome.”

“That was sweet of you.”

“I am sweet,” he says with a shrug.

“Well, I hope you warmed Sarah Jessica-Nadine’s bottle so I can feed her before I head off.”

“I don’t wanna be the one to break it to you, but considering how fast she gestated and that sixth tentacle she’s growing, I think we might need to take her to the doctor.”

“Such a concerned daddy. Maybe you can swing by the doc on the way back from Activate Kindness?” I sneak up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and planting a kiss on his cheek, stealing a quick whiff. There’s a hint of mint from his shampoo, but not enough to mask what’s all Atlas.

We finish our breakfast preparations, and soon we’re at the kitchen table. I’m packing a stack of pancakes in my mouth as Atlas forks some of his omelet into his.

“What?” I say around a mouthful when I notice his eyes on me.

“Just remembering how annoying I used to think it was watching you eat like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Now you think it’s cute?”

“Now I think it’s tolerable.”

“Liar.”

He shakes his head, sips some OJ as I swallow.

I don’t want to spoil the mood, but I also know now’s my chance to bring this up before he heads off. “Did you see Mom sent us a group text?”

“This is the bad part about dating you. I can’t pretend I didn’t see group texts from our parents.”

“She wants to get RSVPs for your dad’s winter gala so she can get a head count.”

“And her dutiful son is gonna make sure I’m present?”

“Her dutiful son wants you to be present.”

He winces. “I don’t like you knowing that’ll work on me.”

“Yes, you do.” I lean over and steal a kiss.

“Winter gala,” he huffs. “We just survived the holidays, and they’re still making up fake shit for parties. Can’t they just give us a little time to adjust to being back in school?”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon. But I enjoy that it makes you a little grumpy. Makes me feel like we’re an old married couple.”

He smirks, and as I’m about to fork into my half-eaten omelet, he says, “What’s this?”

He takes my hand and turns it. The A is showing, and he slides my sleeve up to see the rest of it.

I wait for him to tease me about it—I’m not even sure why, since he hadn’t done that when I talked to him about my secret wish—but he strokes his thumb across it, between the A and the T.

“I thought I get to choose where I want to brand you,” he says.

“You do. This was just for practice.”

He’s quiet as he studies my work carefully, inspecting it, before saying, “I like it.” He pulls my wrist to his face and kisses the brand gently, and his stamp of approval sends warmth through me, like settling into a hot bath.

“Naughty Troy,” he whispers before surrendering my hand.

When I cut into my omelet, he’s staring at me like he knows I’m his now, and I savor the moment, taking pride in his satisfaction with my early morning art project.

I let us have this moment, but as it subsides, I decide it’s best to come back to reality. “So this Activate Kindness thing you’re always so cryptic about, I’m wondering what exactly you do there.”

“It’s not like I’ve been trying to hide it. Just used to keeping it my own thing.” He shrugs. “I do a lot there. Often it’s food-stability programs—serving food to the homeless and things like that. Right now I’m helping with a program for kids with learning disabilities. They team you up with a kid who needs help with something—math, reading, writing. I’m working with this kid Milo who’s dyslexic and—why are you making that face?”

I didn’t realize it, but as he was explaining his volunteer work, my jaw dropped. “I just had no idea you had this secret life. I like unraveling the many mysteries of Atlas McCallister.”

An idea pops in my head, and I consider it carefully before saying anything.

Atlas must notice because he says, “What?”

“I don’t have anything going on today. I’d be game to come in and help out.”

“Really?”

“What does that mean? I used to help out with the adaptive sports football league in high school.”

“I remember,” he says with a smirk, like he’s pleased to know me as well as he does.

“And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m kind of great at math and science, so I could be a valuable asset to this program.”

“I…” he starts, and I can sense his uneasiness.

“Sorry, if you don’t want me to come, I understand that too. I was just offering—”

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m just…not used to sharing this. It’s something I love, but it also makes me feel closer to my mom.”

He doesn’t explain what he means, but I don’t need him to, not unless he wants to share it. “I get that,” I say. “Forget I said anything. I wouldn’t want to interfere if you feel like that’s a thing that’s only between you and her.”

He hesitates, then looks at me with eyes full of conviction. “I want to share it with you…if you genuinely want to be involved, not just to spend time with me.”

“I want to be involved. It sounds like a really great cause.”

The way he beams assures me he was serious about wanting me to come. “Okay, T. But first day, I’ll just show you around, and we can work with Milo. He’s a little shy about reading around new people, so we’ll need to make sure he’s comfortable with it.”

I shrug. “If he’s not, I’ll find something else to do. I’ll stay out of the way. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m great with kids.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says before leaning in and planting another kiss.

After we finish breakfast, we get ready and drive over to the local elementary school. As Atlas leads me into a classroom, I get a whiff of paint before spotting the artwork along every wall and art supplies stacked along the counters.

He introduces me to the other volunteers and kids in the program before a kid—maybe eight or nine—with jet-black hair, a bright smile, and an X-Men tee approaches with a woman, who has the same color hair. Maybe his mom.

“Hi, Atlas,” the kid says in a soft voice, keeping close to the woman.

“Hey, Milo. How you doing?” Atlas extends his hand, and Milo eyes me uneasily before fist-bumping with him. “This is my friend Troy. Would it be okay if he works with us today?”

Milo glances around uneasily.

“Hey, Milo. Atlas was just telling me about what a cool kid you are, but he didn’t mention you liked X-Men.”

His lips curl into a broad grin.

“Gambit’s my favorite. What about you?”

“I like Gambit,” he says, “but I like Wolverine more.”

He’s still not making eye contact, and I’m a little worried my attempt might not go anywhere, when he says, “Do you like the comics or just the movies?”

“I’ve read a lot of the comics.”

“My brother reads them with me sometimes. Colossus is my favorite, but he’s not in the movies and shows as much.”

“No, he’s not. And that’s the worst. They did him wrong, didn’t they?”

His grin’s so big, I can see all his teeth. “You kind of look like Colossus.”

I laugh. “I’ll take that as a massive compliment.”

I learn the woman is, in fact, his mom, Judy, and while Milo sits with us at a worktable, she joins the other parents in the corner of the room, where refreshments have been set out by Activate Kindness volunteers. Atlas and Milo work through a puzzle and flashcards before Milo starts reading aloud. It’s a side of Atlas I’m not used to seeing. For a guy who’s so on guard, around this kid, he’s relaxed, at ease. He’s patient and thoughtful, even when he corrects Milo about a mispronounced word or explains something that seems to be tripping him up. The way he navigates the session suggests just how long he’s been doing this work.

We finish up about forty-five minutes later, and Judy and Milo head on their way.

Just before they go, Milo says, “Bye, Troy,” and I reply, “Please, call me Piotr.”

Milo chuckles, but I earn a look from Atlas. “What? Just two X-Men nerds hitting it off.”

“I knew this whole jock thing was an act,” he teases before explaining, “Now we have a little break before another group comes in at two. What?”

“I’m just surprised, is all. You handled that like a real pro.”

“I’ve been doing it a long time. Mom took me to a center that had a program like this. Taught me about listening to people, hearing what they need, and finding ways of working with their strengths. If you think I’m a natural, you should’ve seen her. She was the real deal.”

In all the times I’ve known him, this is one of the only times I’ve heard him open up about this side of his mom. It’s nice to hear him share it. To know how much this matters to him.

“I wish Glen could see you talk about this right now.”

He glares at me. Should’ve expected that.

“I meant because I wish he could see how much it means to you,” I explain.

“I don’t want to share it with him.” He frowns. “Glen knows Mom was always volunteering for programs like this. He never took them seriously. He called them her pet projects. He can’t understand doing something because it’s the right thing, or just to help someone else. He saw it as a way to look good and impress others. He sure as shit doesn’t think I would ever really care about something like this. If he knew, he’d make it like I only do it to get back at him, just like he thinks everything is about my spite against him. Maybe that’s what a guilty conscience does—everything goes back to his sins. Nothing exists outside of him and his horrible mistakes. I just don’t wanna hear his thoughts and opinions about my life and choices.”

“It’s weird hearing you say that.”

“Why?”

“When I consider my dad, the way he left us, you’d think I’d feel the same, but I look back at high school, and how hard I tried at football, and I know that deep down, I thought if I just did the right thing…if I really did something impressive, he’d come back.”

Atlas rests his hand on my thigh. “Troy…”

“We really have some amazing dads, don’t we?”

“Yeah, we won the lottery there.”

I snicker. It’s bittersweet, and Atlas and I share a look, a familiar one resembling others we shared throughout high school. That deep sense of things we just know about each other.

“Regardless of what Glen would think,” I say, “this is really cool, and I appreciate your sharing it with me.”

A warm smile plays across his lips. “I appreciate your letting me share it with you.”