Chapter 9

9

Troy

Mom and Glen’s friends pack the yard.

Leaves are still falling, and it’s a warm October day with a cool breeze, the sort that suggests we’ve got much colder days in the near future. But it’s a good day for an outdoor party.

Neighbors, coworkers, and old friends crowd the place, and it’s hard to believe Mom could have meaningful relationships with even half of them. But the way she stands at Glen’s side, among the group congregated around them, tossing her head back for a laugh, it’s like she’s never known any other way. Like those days of celebrating at a table for four with a cake that Dad, Brandon, and I baked and iced together are fantasies I’ve made up in my head.

Since guests started arriving, I’ve done the whole song and dance, chatting with the people I recognize, meeting new ones. It’s the expected chatter:

“Oh, you’re so much taller than the last time I saw you, Troy.”

“What year did you say you were?”

“Are you still playing football?”

Most conversations are trivial enough to small talk my way through, and a few I have to dodge because some of Mom’s friends are downright creepy with the way they ogle me, especially since I’ve known some of them since I was fourteen.

I check my Apple watch: 1:15 p.m.

Atlas is only fifteen minutes late.

Normally, I’d have suggested we ride together to ensure he didn’t arrive late, but I wanted to help out with the food and decorations.

About ten minutes later, he steps out onto the back porch and heads down to the pool. A few of Glen’s friends approach him, and he makes small talk, forces a smile, but I know it’s fake, and I know how much he hates faking.

It’s been little more than a week since Atlas and I made the bet, and I haven’t seen him much. It might just be school. Or work. Or all this studying I’m cramming in now to show him up. Or maybe it’s awkward to see each other again after we set the terms of his ridiculous bet.

I’ve run through the conversation again and again. Regardless of my interpretation of how the bet came about, one thing is clear: Atlas agreed to it.

And so did I.

What’s wrong with us?

Maybe we’re both trying to take some time to figure that out.

“Oh, he was a fantastic athlete,” Sabine says with a bright smile to Margot, who just moved into the neighborhood a few months ago.

I grit my teeth. I knew the moment Sabine approached with Margot that this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Sabine is one of Mom’s oldest friends, and the sort who couldn’t stop herself from saying what’s on her mind if her life depended on it.

“Everyone was sure he would get recruited for college,” she goes on.

Why are we doing this?

My attention turns to Atlas, who’s chatting with one of Glen’s golf buddies. He hasn’t looked at me once since he got here. Why not? Is he freaked out about what he agreed to?

Maybe he is. Then it’ll be even better when I ace this test and show him what I’m capable of. Then he’ll regret ever fucking with me, and I’ll be declared the victor of the bet and he a coward for not following through.

“What happened?” Margot asks Sabine, as if I’m not standing right here.

“He had a bad accident one game at the end of junior year.”

“An ACL tear,” I clarify, trying to take back my own goddamn story.

“Couldn’t recover in time for the next season. Just so close,” Sabine says, shaking her head, as though she feels oh-so-sorry for my poor pathetic self.

Margot offers her condolences for the last thing in my life I need them for.

“It must be difficult seeing all your peers having all this success, being on TV and having crowds cheering them on,” Sabine says, since she won’t finish digging a hole for herself until she’s six feet under.

I explain it’s really not as big a deal as Sabine is making it out, and uncompelled, they move on to chat with a familiar face Sabine notices.

As they walk away, Atlas’s gaze shifts to me.

I offer a smirk and a wave, and he grins. No sign of uneasiness in his expression. Maybe he’s just masking it really well. Hard to tell. Sometimes a subtle wince or twist of his lip shows his hand; other times, his expressions are fucking riddles.

He excuses himself from Glen’s golf buddy and saunters over to me with a wineglass in hand. As he nears, he takes a sip. “How’s the studying going?”

Of course he wouldn’t be able to keep from bringing that up, even here. I try to play it cool, but I glance around to ensure no one’s in earshot.

“Ash already took Thermo,” I say, “and he’s a fantastic tutor, so he’s helping me out.”

“He took Thermo already?”

“He’s kind of a whiz. Close to a 4.0. Took a bunch of AP classes in high school. He’s already taught me acronyms and given me analogies to help me get my head around the concepts I was struggling with. And he’s giving me practice tests to track my progress.” I’m not going to mention that on the first practice test I only got three out of ten questions right. “If anyone can help me get there, it’ll be him.”

“So you enlisted a little genius to help you? Good. You’ll need it.”

“Nervous?”

Atlas arches an eyebrow, and his show of skepticism convinces me that if there’s a way to win this bet, I’ll figure it out.

“Excited, maybe.” He winks. I’m sure he’s messing with me, but he looks serious. “I don’t think I have much to worry about.” He takes another sip of his drink.

“You should buy some really slick lip balm because I want your lips nice and juicy for me.”

“Just admit you’re gonna be devastated when you lose.”

It reminds me of our text exchange, when he mentioned he’d be great at giving a BJ. How could he possibly know that? Is he seriously so full of himself? Okay, rhetorical question.

“Well, if you lose,” I say, “just know, since this is all about grades, I’ll be grading you.”

“And I’ll be eager to receive a perfect score and a follow-up apology for ever doubting me.” He rests his free hand on his chest, as if I’d offended him.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Not until you feel my luscious lips around your fat cock.”

I glance around uneasily. It’s one thing to talk in innuendos, quite another to walk around Mom’s party talking about fat cocks. “Atlas, keep it down,” I say, my attention drawn to his luscious lips.

He moves closer, until his face is inches from mine, and whispers, “Maybe I should just shout out about what a big fat cock my lil stepbro has. You think that’s what everyone wants to know about?”

My cheeks are burning as I search around, waiting for someone wide-eyed and terror-struck by what they’re overhearing to say, “Why are Ellie and Glen’s boys talking about cock?” Fortunately, everyone seems too preoccupied with their conversations to notice Atlas’s inappropriate comments.

“Like you even know anything about that.” I can’t bring myself to say dick right now.

“We’ve seen each other’s junk. At the very least, I know you remember when I dared you to skinny-dip in the lake that night in Hilton Head. We know what we’ve got. And we’re in a small college town, Troy. Word gets around fast. I know what you can do with it.”

I believe that much, since I’ve heard plenty about his abilities in the bedroom, enough to assure me the guy has to at least be good at…reading body language.

These aren’t the sorts of things I’m supposed to be thinking about my stepbrother.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he says, gesturing as if I needed the reminder.

Dammit, am I really looking at his lips that much?

“Anyway, I need to make my rounds,” he says, and starts off. “But study hard.”

“I can assure you, I’ll be hard the whole time.”

So ridiculous. Like I’d be thinking about him while I’m studying? Imagining him dropping to his knees, taking my cock into his wet mouth as I thread my fingers through those long, wild bangs…wondering what he’ll do with his tongue—

Stop! I’m not doing that.

It’s not the first time I’ve had to keep my imagination from getting away from me, and I’m sure the only reason it gets me going is because I love the idea of him losing this bet and chickening out on his end of the deal. Just winning a football game was enough to make me hard, so winning against him with this would produce a similar effect. Right?

Hey, at least I know I’ll be able to get hard if he does follow through.

Don’t go there!

After making the rounds, I figure I’ll make a quick trip to the restroom. I enter through the back porch door and walk through the kitchen. The place looks empty, like everyone’s out back, but as I’m about to head into the front hall, I hear Sabine’s voice coming from the living room: “This table’s from Noir, so it must have cost a few grand.”

Oh great. She’s giving an unofficial tour of the house. That’d make Glen jizz himself.

I’m about to go on to the bathroom when she says, “This is definitely Glen’s taste, but Ellie sure got lucky. Although, not sure luck had anything to do with it. You heard how they met, right?”

I halt, my ears perking up.

“I heard it was an affair,” Margot whispers, but clearly not softly enough. “And Glen’s wife…she killed herself after.”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t anything like that,” Sabine says as though giving a firsthand account. “Glen was separated from his wife a long time before she passed. Before he even met Ellie. Don’t believe a word anyone says otherwise.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Glen didn’t tell Atlas’s mom shit until the whole messy truth came out. And now Sabine is parroting the lies she’s been told to protect Glen and Mom’s precious reputations. What a crock of shit.

“And it was a car accident,” Sabine goes on. “No one really knows what happened, but Glen says she was really unstable before that. He’d tried to get her to seek professional help, but she wouldn’t.”

Even knowing it’s not true, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, since being in this family really fucks a person up.

I don’t need to hear this shit.

But then Sabine says, “Poor Glen and Ellie. You know Ellie has another son, Brandon. He’s quite a bit older than Troy. After her husband left her with two kids, Brandon started going out partying, running with a bad crowd. Experimenting with drugs. She’s never told me what exactly, but given that he’s basically disappeared, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was opioids. Just such a selfish thing, given how much this family was already going through. I’m surprised he hasn’t come back and asked for money.”

Anger pulses through me. How dare she even speak his name? What does she know about my family or our problems? What does she know about Brandon? Nothing.

But a part of me is pissed because there’s some truth to it…too much truth.

I realize my fists are clenched and I’m positioned like I’m about to charge in and state the truth.

About Glen and Ellie’s bad behavior. About Atlas’s mom. About my brother.

But what good will that do? What’s the point?

I swallow my rage.

No, I just need a minute.

Just one fucking minute.