Chapter 4

4

Atlas

“Atlas, you got a shit ton of new materials to sort through. It’s going to be a busy day,” Fred, the lead technician at the metal yard where I work, tells me. It’s not a dream job, but it pays the bills. My plan is always to get the least amount of money from Glen as possible. Mom left me some, but she was never the breadwinner. That was all Glen. This job helps with my goal. Plus, sometimes I do stumble upon some pretty cool finds. One time I saw an old fridge and sink that had been turned into art, the insides painted like scenery. We’d also gotten an old SWAT car from the police department, which was pretty badass.

“I’m on it.” I tug my gloves on and head over to where the new delivery waits for me. I’m the lowest-level yard and wash tech they have, so if there are shitty jobs to do, I’ll always be the one who gets them. Since Troy works as a mechanic, every once in a while when we get old cars, I see something he might want or need. I’ll set it aside for him, which usually includes holding it over his head for one reason or another until we end in a bet about it. We really need to stop playing this game at some point, but I don’t see an end in sight at the moment.

I’m still trying to work through our spontaneous trip to McDonald’s last week. Sometimes our relationship confuses even me. One minute we hate each other, and the next we’re able to bond over the fucked-up situation we’re in because of our even more fucked-up parents. I still have my issues with Troy. I don’t know how to make that go away when he’s tied to the worst shit that’s ever happened to me, but there are moments I remember he has it bad too.

I get my ass in gear and start sorting. I have to tag each item and make sure everything goes where it’s supposed to. With my earbuds in, I lose myself to the monotonous job. On Wednesdays I only have my Sociology of Food and Food Injustices class, then work, but I also volunteer at Activate Kindness, something my family and friends don’t know about. All it would do is make them ask dumbass questions I don’t want to answer or look at me with pity in their eyes that makes my skin crawl. The whole time I’ll know they’re thinking about my mom, how my dad left her for Ellie, left us for Ellie and Troy, and then one day, her car ran into a tree, and we won’t ever know if it was an accident or not. And now, look, her son is softhearted just like she was. He volunteers and actually gives a shit about someone other than himself. Spare me. I don’t want to hear it from anyone, partly because it’s not true and partly because that’s not how I work. No, thank you. I’d much rather people see me as the asshole I really am.

I finish up sorting one of the piles, and then they send me over to start working on a car. My gaze falls on the smashed-up vehicle, lingers on the spiderweb windshield and the busted airbag, making my skin tighten.

My memories flash to another vehicle—not a Toyota like this one, but an older Honda Accord, the one Mom drove and loved but Glen was forever trying to get her to sell.

I always fucking see her car when I have to do shit like this, which immediately makes my head throb and my heart implode. Working here is a form of torture I inflict upon myself.

I’m a couple of hours into ripping into the Toyota when I realize that the alternator is in perfect shape. Haven’t I heard Troy mention needing one for a Toyota?

I tug out my phone, snap a photo, then tag the alternator the way I’m supposed to. I’m pretty sure it has the specs Troy needs.

During my small break between work and Activate Kindness, I’m gonna have to find time to make a stop.

*

The first thingI see when I walk up to the garage is Troy’s ass sticking out of the hood of a car. “Waiting for a date?” I tease as I wipe the sweat off my forehead with my T-shirt, then toss it over my shoulder and let it hang there. I’m dirty and probably smell like shit from work, but I figure it isn’t much different for Troy.

It’ll be a miracle if I don’t get shit from him for driving with my shirt off, because he always has to nitpick at something. He’s complained about it before.

Troy turns his head to look at me but doesn’t move or stand up straight. “That’s homophobic.”

“Why? Straight men also have anal performed on them. I had this buddy whose girlfriend used a strap-on with him.” Plus, Troy knows I’m just giving him shit.

“Have you ever had it done to you?” This time he does move out from under the hood of the car, a little grease smudge on his cheek that is fascinating me for a reason I can’t explain.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I pump my brows, then tug my phone out and show him a photo of the alternator.

Troy’s eyes go wide, his musky, mechanical scent invading my senses. “Holy fuck. Is that still there?”

“Who knows.” I shrug.

“What the fuck, Atlas. You know I need one. Why didn’t you text me? I could have had you buy it for me.”

“Where is the fun in that?”

“You’re such a bastard.”

“Hey. I didn’t have to come here and tell you at all. Head over after work, and they might still have it.” I take a step back, and he walks forward. Not like he wants to kick my ass or anything because Troy isn’t violent. That’s not his way. But as he comes toward me, he bumps the table against the wall. There’s a laptop on the counter, where I know Troy will sit and study when there are lulls at work. The screen wakes up, and the first thing I notice is an F.

Troy groans and snaps the computer closed. He failed what looks like a test in his Thermodynamics class.

“You gonna taunt me over that too?” he snips. “I’m already stressed as hell over it, so why don’t you pile even more shit onto me?”

There’s a twinge of regret in my chest, one I don’t know how to voice and likely never will. “I’ll be nice.” I wink as if I’m doing him a favor. Troy rolls his brown eyes that always make me feel like I’m fucking up or doing something wrong. “I gotta go. Have shit to do.”

“Where are you going? What about the alternator?”

“Date,” I lie, then get into my car and drive off, the part he needs sitting in my trunk. I don’t know why I bought the dumb thing for him, or what lie I’m going to tell myself about it. Definitely not because I give a shit, right? Not because I’m a nice guy. And also not because I feel an inexplicable lightness in my chest when Troy smiles.

I’m almost halfway back to my apartment when I realize my shirt is gone. “Fuck.” I must have dropped it. Now I’m never going to get it back. Troy will probably trash it just to be a dick.

I rush to my apartment, take the world’s fastest shower, and then I’m back in my car, heading for Activate Kindness.

I walk in five minutes late.

Dixon, the head volunteer, greets me. “I’m so glad you’re here. There’s already a line out back.” Dixon is a couple of years older than me and graduated from Peach State University as well.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries. We appreciate your coming.” He tosses me an apron, and I put it on. I go behind the counters and get ready to hand out meals. Once they open the doors, people begin flooding in. Peachtree Springs isn’t that big a town, so it always amazes me how many people deal with food and other insecurities, especially when I see where a lot of our tax dollars go and the laws our politicians are enacting. People are starving and don’t have homes or jobs, kids are falling behind in education, the mental health crisis is out of control, yet they’re worried about who uses what bathrooms and not allowing people to go by the pronouns they want. It makes no fucking sense.

Everyone here is friendly, grateful as fuck that there are people who care about them, but unfortunately, we run out of food before we do individuals. That’s always the hardest part and makes my gut sink. Mom used to talk about things like this all the time. When I was little, she would take me to help sort food and clothing for those in need. No matter how much we do, it’s never enough.

“Hey, got a minute?” Dixon asks when those who came to eat are gone and we have everything cleaned up. “Since you were a little late, you missed the discussion during setup.”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“A group of local businesses are running a fundraiser for Activate Kindness. They’re going to do a bachelor auction for a date. I think they wanted to try something different and fun. Feels weird, but I’ll take whatever people are willing to give us—you know we need the money. My first thought was to ask you if you’d participate, but I know you better than that.” Dixon chuckles.

What the fuck does that mean? I’m here doing the work, aren’t I?

“But then I remembered you have a really hot brother, and I was hoping I could convince you to ask him. Having someone from Peach State will help draw some of the college-aged people.”

My jaw tightens, my body feeling like it’s going to overheat. As soon as the reason for my frustration hits me, I bury it because I shouldn’t give a fuck who wants to sleep with Troy or who thinks he’s hot. On the other hand, it’s getting a little old too. Brenner has been telling me he wants in Troy’s pants for a year now. “Step.”

“Huh?”

“He’s my stepbrother.”

“Oh. Whatever. Same thing. Anyway, can you ask him? It’s in mid-November, so we have time to figure it out. And if you want to participate, we’d love to have you too.”

There is zero chance of that happening, but I also feel a little conflicted over the whole Troy thing. My point in volunteering is to help people, and there’s no doubt in my mind Troy could bring in a lot of money, but the thought of him being up there makes my stomach clench. Not to mention, I have no fucking idea how I could even ask him without him figuring out what I do at Activate Kindness. I damn sure don’t want him to know about it. But on the other hand, how can I not bring him on board if that’s what helps more people?

“Dixon, can we get your help here?” another volunteer calls over.

“I gotta go. You’re the best, Atlas. Thanks for always helping out so much.” He pats my arm and takes off without giving me the chance to tell him yes or no.