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Willa

T his man sitting beside me, hating every minute of this truck ride, has turned into my absolute everything and he’ll never, ever know it.

I’ve never met anyone who hates vehicles more than Atlas. I suppose bikers call them cages for a reason. He sits ramrod straight in the passenger seat of my truck, both hands grasping his knees, eyes roving the road ahead of us like we’ve gone back to the time of dinosaurs and a big behemoth is about to come out of nowhere and crush us. If we were in my pink station wagon, I’d have us handled, but this old truck isn’t made for sharp corners and speeding.

The silence between us isn’t forced, ominous, or oppressive. It’s easy. It’s always easy.

Even in his discomfort, he’s still the most beautiful human. It’s his riot of sun-streaked naturally blond hair, eyes as deep blue as the summer sky, and perfectly sculpted features. He has cheekbones and a jawline to die for, sandy brows that seem to anchor his endlessly long eyelashes, a strong nose, and a sinful mouth. He’s perfectly sculpted, tall and muscular, but he has that streamlined build of a born athlete.

The real secret to Atlas’ beauty isn’t his Hollywood good looks or that he belongs to a biker club. It’s not his inked arms or the cocky grins he loves to give.

His secret is on the inside .

His heart. His kindness. Atlas loves his family deeply. He’s fiercely loyal to anyone he calls a friend. Men who look like he does are usually so arrogant you can’t get within twenty feet of them before they start churning your stomach with how much they’re obviously in love with themselves, but not Atlas.

He’d do anything for anyone. Case in point, why he’s death gripping his legs right now. He’s riding in my truck for me . He was just at Lynette and Bullet’s house for me . He bought the old factory that we renovated so that I could chase my dreams. He’s poured every ounce of his free time into transforming that building, but also my world. He got his club on board with the whole thing. The grand opening today is as much theirs as it is mine.

There’s going to be a cookout, and the big silver beast of a grill in the back of the truck creaks ominously with the next turn.

Atlas starts, his hand whipping out like he can grab it from in here and set it upright. He points quickly at the side of the road. “You can pull over up there and I’ll check the straps.”

We’re still not even out of the residential area where Bullet and Lynette live. My antique store is on the other side of Hart. It might not be a big city, but it’s still a fifteen to twenty minute hike without traffic.

I guide the truck over to the curb, but I barely have it in park before Atlas throws open the door and bails. I can literally hear his deep breathing, like he’s trying not to barf, before he shuts the door and leaps up into the box of the truck using the tire in the most artistic display of athletic ease and male virility that I’ve ever seen.

Stop it. Do not. Do not turn around and look at his ass.

Of course I do, but the grill is pressed right up against the glass, so I can’t see anything from this angle and the side mirrors don’t help.

I unbuckle and get out. The truck hums away. It’s an old gas one ton, which was all I could afford. Lynette lent me money to buy it, since my line of credit that she also co-signed for to get the business up and running was pretty much maxed after I used it to buy the enclosed trailer for picks and filled the store up with antiques. Sure, I found them at a bargain because that’s what picking is about, but they weren’t free, and the store is huge. It took a lot to fill it up.

Atlas is tightening one of the bright green ratchet straps that Bullet let us borrow along with their gas grill.

“Do you need some help?”

“I’ve got it. I think we were just a little bit distracted putting it in.”

Right. While he and Bullet were loading it up, that’s when Lynette got sick.

It’s all hands on deck this morning for my grand opening. Instead of doing the stuff he probably wanted to be doing, Atlas was at Bullet and Lynette’s house at the freaking crack of dawn to load this up and help me get set up before his club brothers start arriving. It makes my eyes hot and my throat tight that Atlas’ club is that amazing. Lynette is my older sister and she’s Bullet’s old lady, but other than that, I really don’t have a connection to the club. Atlas and I are just friends, and even that was born of necessity.

He started as my bodyguard when Lynette and I were forced to move to Hart because we got tangled up with the club’s crazy ex-lawyer who tried to extort money from them. We weren’t safe in Seattle and the club offered us protection. Atlas was assigned as my bodyguard. I started college and so did he. I hated it. He loved it.

We’re opposites in every way, but for some reason, we just fit.

I drag in a deep breath and let it out in increments, a deep, stabbing pain twisting my insides. That’s just the thing. Atlas is my friend, maybe even my best friend, but he’s not mine .

Just. Friends. I know my sister thinks we’ve slept together, but we haven’t. We’ve never even kissed.

We’ll probably always be just friends . He’s not ready for anything more. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been pathetically in love with him for months now, spiraling down out of friendship into a deeper abyss of endless longing and heartsickness.

That’s a me problem.

Atlas tightens the strap a little more, then loops the end over the taut part and ties a knot. “That should do it.” He pats the top. “You’ve still got work to do in the form of cooking twenty gazillion hot dogs.”

My hands grip the rough plastic along the top of the truck box. Atlas turns and checks the other straps, though I can tell they’re obviously tight.

I want to ask him if he’s okay.

He’s the kind of person who doesn’t seem to have a jealous or mean bone in their body, but he also feels everything deeply.

I’ve seen a lot of Atlas’ private heartbreak this past year. He’s confessed things to me on those late nights we spent on renovations or studying for classes I didn’t even want to be taking.

I open my mouth, but the words won’t come.

My sister just found out that she and Bullet are going to have a baby. It was supposed to be a private moment, but she was freaking out and I was freaking out, and Atlas was there to see the whole thing. Of course, he appeared thrilled for them, but I can’t help but think that it has to be triggering for him. He was in love with someone, and she ended things because he couldn’t have children. At least not easily. To Jodie, he wasn’t worth fighting for.

I’m so overjoyed that my sister found happiness with a good man and that now they’re going to be a family. The prospect of being an auntie scares me half to death and is also the most thrilling, amazing thing in the world, but I can’t stop thinking about how much Atlas must be hurting.

Atlas vaults over the side of the truck, his big boots hitting the pavement right beside me. Those cerulean eyes map my face, and his brows knit together. “Whoa. You look… off. Are you okay? If you’re nervous, don’t be. Today’s gonna be awesome. You’ve worked so hard to make this happen.”

Just of course . Of course he says nothing about himself or the crazy long hours he put into this.

He sets his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it like an older brother would. I bet he learned that from his Prez. Tyrant is fairly young himself, but he has an old soul, and the few times I’ve been at the club or gone to club events, I’ve seen him knock shoulders with his club brothers or give one of those reassuring shoulder clenches more than a few times. I’ve noted how immediately calming it is when he does it, but Atlas’ touch sends a volley of shivers and fiery electricity through my limbs.

“I- I’m okay. The morning’s just been a little bit shocking.”

I realize something as Atlas smiles at me. There’s nothing sad about it, no shadows in his eyes. Every single time we’ve talked in the past, he’s guarded part of himself. Everyone does that. Everyone has good shields. Well, except me because I’m notoriously open and unfiltered and all over the place. I just never realized how much he intentionally hides. I always felt that it was different between us.

I don’t like that I can’t see any emotion now. There should be something there. His smile doesn’t appear any less genuine. Maybe he’s just truly happy. He has a big heart. It’s possible.

“They’re going to be great parents.”

“I’m so glad that they have the club as family. There are lots of other old ladies and guys with kids. She can go to any of them for advice. Not that she needs it. She had to raise my ungrateful ass.”

Atlas snorts. “Not ungrateful.”

“There were many times when I was. Kids are brats. They never appreciate what their parents have done for them.”

He frowns. “I’ve tried to always appreciate my mom and dad.”

I’m the one who fist bumps him in his solid shoulder, right on his worn leather jacket. “You’re the only one then, Mr. Perfect.” He blocks the blow, his hand curling around mine. He drops it easily, stepping away laughing. His arms flex in the jacket, his abs bunch under his tight black t-shirt, and his jeans hug his granite ass. He fucking is perfect . So, so perfect.

My mouth goes dry, and I nearly stroke out on the spot. My heart practically falls out and flops all over the asphalt. I try very hard to block my emotions from my face, but I’ve never been particularly good at that.

Let it be known that before moving to Hart, I made some extremely questionable decisions. Lynette had her hands full with me. It wasn’t just because I had no filter. I was just… wild. Always looking for something. I didn’t even know what it was.

I know now.

Atlas was and will always be my best decision, even if knowing him is also the greatest test I have ever been given.

I never meant to be selfish, but I was. I dated guys who were assholes. I wouldn’t listen to my older sister’s wisdom. I took her for granted so many times. I was irresponsible. I worked since I was sixteen, but I never offered to contribute to the bills. I let Lynette pay for everything, because by then, she was a fancy ass lawyer making the big bucks. I lived in her house but rarely obeyed her rules. I loved her more than anyone in the world, but I did a piss poor job of showing it.

In the last year, I’ve grown the fuck up. It’s been a painful, humbling process. I want to be good to my sister. I never want to hurt another person who loves me again. I want to be the kind of person that others can rely on, who they come to for advice, who they know will be at their side no matter what.

That’s what I want to be for Atlas. The kind of friend we can both be proud to know.

Even if it kills me.

We’re both just standing here staring at each other. I laugh when I realize it. “You’re doing this all for me, including riding in this truck when you hate it so much. That means everything, Atlas. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

His cheeks pink slightly, which is utterly adorable and completely disarming. He’s at a loss for words, so I spare him.

“It’s only fifteen more minutes to get the store. We’ll dump the grill out front and then I have something I’ve been dying to show you. Do you want to drive the rest of the way?”

“Nah.” He leans against the truck, though his casual pose is forced. I can tell how tense he is. “It’s all good.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll drive as fast as possible so you can spend less time in the truck, earn at least eight speeding tickets, upend the grill, and nearly cause three separate accidents so that we get there faster.”

He knows I’m kidding. The one thing I’ve never done is drive like an asshole.

He still white-knuckles his knees when we get back into the truck, but at least his voice has an undercurrent of humor. “Make it nearly four accidents and earn at least ten tickets or it’s not worth it.”

I unroll my window and let the crisp morning air rush in. It smells like spring, sunshine, and my old oily truck. It smells like the promise of everything I’ve ever wanted within my grasp.

Well… almost everything.

I choke out a response and focus extra hard on the road. “Deal.”