Page 5

Atlas

I don’t know what’s more frightening. The chances of Georgia telling my parents about me passing out with heatstroke, or that she’ll egg my parents into reminiscing about the past. Both prospects are daunting.

Georgia and Willa have never been at my parents’ house at the same time, and it adds a new dynamic that’s a little bit like staring down the barrel of a gun.

The old wooden table practically groans under the weight of all the dishes. Scalloped potatoes, mashed potatoes, ham, gravy, candied yams, lemon carrots, peas, corn on the cob, fresh baked dinner rolls—Mom’s made all my favorites and most of Georgia’s too.

“Wow!” Willa rubs her hands together eagerly. “This looks incredible. I’m starved after today.”

“Start passing plates around and we’ll get you all squared away.” Mom takes charge, filling everyone’s plates to bursting.

I know for a fact that Willa hates yams with a burning passion, but she says nothing when they get added to the side of hers. I know she’ll swallow them down and smile all the way through it.

Willa dropped us off earlier, and took the truck and trailer back to park it around the backside of her building, where the old loading docks used to be. We kept one intact, just for that purpose.

She showed up back here fifteen minutes ago, freshly showered, hair blown out in bouncy, streaky blonde waves. Her makeup is always heavy, but still somehow tasteful. She’s not tall like her sister, and where Lynette is built rail thin, Willa has curves for days. The black floral dress and kitten heels she arrived in outline every bit of her trim waist, round ass, and generous breasts.

I know I shouldn’t be noticing things about her body like that when we’re just friends, but I have eyes. I’m a man. I have a dick and hence, I have a man’s brain.

Willa and Georgia get their plates first and wait politely until everyone is served before they start eating. They share secret smiles with each other, like they’re just waiting to blow my cover over here. They’re the fastest friends to ever have existed.

Willa eats all her yams first and downs an entire glass of water before quickly washing them away with a large mouthful of ham.

I stare at her blatantly and she winks at me, wearing her best, there isn’t a yam that I’ve ever met who could best me expression.

Honestly, I’m not sure that anything could get the best of Willa.

Over the past year, we’ve grown close to the point where she’s shared some deeply personal things with me. I know that her mom was murdered in a drug deal gone wrong when she was ten and that Lynette raised her. I know they have different dads, which is why they have strikingly different features. I was the one she first confessed that she hated college and would rather be back working her job at a vintage clothing store in Seattle. We ditched class the same day and I took her out looking at real estate. She fell in love with the factory and since it had been sitting empty for so many years, I got a great deal.

I borrowed a hefty amount of money from my parents, but the largest chunk of cash came from my savings. I had a good amount of money set aside, hoping to buy Jodie the house of her dreams here in Hart. She just never found the right one.

I know now that it couldn’t exist because she never truly wanted to stay here.

Willa doesn’t know about any of that. I’ll never tell her. The old factory was the best way that money could have been spent.

I’d buy it and put all those hours into renovating all over again in a second, just to see her smile and hear her laugh all the way through it.

She’s been giving me weird looks ever since I came to and found my head in her lap, her touch sweeter and more invigorating than that water poured all over me. I was just lucky that I was in no position to pop a hard-on. It could have happened, given that I woke up staring down the swell of her breasts. She should have smelled sweaty and dusty from the barn, but the same tropical coconut vanilla and strawberry sweet scent still clung to her.

She’s never looked at me the way she did when I opened my eyes. Worry isn’t the right word. More like, if I wasn’t in the world, then she wouldn’t want to be either.

My mom clears her throat, a soft smile on her face that is a direct cue that she’s about to step straight back into the past. She likes to do that when Georgia and Clem are here, talking about old times. We all laugh about it, injecting our memories. It’s normally a fun time.

But Willa has never heard any of this.

And Georgia’s sassy look says that she’s going to share a few choice memories just for Willa’s benefit. My sister would never truly hurt me by sharing secrets or wounding me on purpose, but embarrassing childhood stories aren’t off limits. She knows I’ll laugh along with her in the end.

“You should have seen Simon,” Mom gushes. “When he was six years old, his grandma went into the nursing home here. My mom. Unfortunately, she had Parkinson’s, and it was so advanced by that time that she needed full-time care. She was scared to go, but she quickly learned to love it. She made lots of friends there and she wasn’t unhappy. There were people who had no family there, and so for Christmas, Simon wanted to make everyone a card so that every single person got a gift. He put a one dollar bill in each, even though it pretty much emptied out his whole piggy bank. It was the sweetest thing.”

“Mom. Stop.” I duck my head, my face uncharacteristically hot.

“Aww,” Willa sighs. “That is super sweet. Even as a kid, you loved helping people.”

Mom nods, getting carried away. “That’s right. When he was ten, he had a few friends that couldn’t go to football camp because they didn’t have the money. He begged us to let him go out and do odd jobs around the neighborhood to raise money, and in the end, he made more than enough for them to all go.”

“Oh my god.” Willa fans her hand in front of her eyes like she’s going to cry .

Christ, she doesn’t often get teary eyed over anything. Willa is the kind of girl that would have been ridiculously popular in high school, but at the same time, never would have been cruel or unkind to anyone. People of all ages and walks of life would have loved her. Without being in the ‘it’ crowd, she would have made those girls obscenely jealous. She’s athletic and has told me how much she loved softball and volleyball growing up. She was also on her school’s debate and chess teams. She’s got the kind of body that would make women insanely jealous, and could put a man straight into the grave with just a single look of those cool blue eyes.

On the exterior, Willa is a lot of fun. She’s tough too and has the best wit and sense of humor. Underneath though, I know how soft she is. The waters just run deeper than she lets on.

“You were the one who found Kitty Sue in the alley on the way to school,” Georgia says, picking the story about our third cat. “You begged to be able to keep her. You were so sure that the answer would be no because we had two cats already. You begged for days and promised you’d pay all her vet bills and for her spay, which you did. Me and Clem felt so bad that you had to spend all your money that we bought you that video game that you’d been saving up for. Oh! And there was that time when those assholes were bullying that poor kid in Clem’s grade who was dyslexic and couldn’t read properly. You challenged them all to a fight after school. Four against one, and you still kicked their asses.”

“This is so embarrassing,” I say, hoping she doesn’t reveal any more childhood anecdotes.

“The point is, you have a soft, lovely heart,” Mom says. Thankfully, I think that we’re done talking about me, but then she turns to Willa. “Anyone would be lucky to treasure it. Through friendship, or more.”

My dad has been silent this whole time, but he nods sagely now.

They’re pretty much giving the parental stamp of approval on something that hasn’t happened and won’t ever happen. The quickest way to ruin a friendship is to catch feelings and not having her in my life would be a tragedy that I couldn’t bear.

I would die if I couldn’t see Willa, couldn’t talk to her, wasn’t held in her highest regard. She trusts me. I would never do anything to jeopardize that. Without her presence, my days would stretch endlessly on. I’d probably still be as numb as I was after Jodie left.

I’d be heartsick in ways that I didn’t even know could exist.

An uncomfortable level of confusion swamps my body, deadening my limbs and doing a number on my head. I’m sure it’s not related to residual sunstroke symptoms. The anxiety that is always riding at a low level, pumps up until my stomach spins and my palms grow slick, and I wonder if I’m going to pass out for the second time today and land face down in my dinner.

As Mom launches into some stories about Georgia when she was a baby, I notice Willa slanting me a funny look from under her lashes. She thinks that she’s been subtle today, constantly watching me when I’m not supposed to notice.

I start shoveling food into my mouth despite how sick I feel, and pretend that my parents didn’t just urge us to hook up and keep hooking up. They about as good as came out with a hearty welcome to the family.

I don’t want to even think about what that would look like.

Hooking up.

Or the after.

Especially not while I’m at the table with my parents right across from me and my sister beside me, Willa on the end.

I’ve had enough humiliation for one day, and tomorrow I have to go and get my bike.

I have to say though, I’m not worried about it there. Agatha is a sweet old lady and if she said it would be fine, then I know it will be. I wouldn’t mind going back and helping her out with a few things around the farm. I noticed the way the eaves were sagging and the porch needed some repairs. I should ask the guys at the club if they’d mind lending a hand for an afternoon.

Damn it, this just proves my parents right about my bleeding heart. I’ve never been embarrassed about that, but it felt like my family was trying to sell Willa on the idea of me.

Do I want that? I shouldn’t. I don’t. I…

“We’re so proud of all that you’ve accomplished together,” Mom suddenly blurts out of nowhere, right on the heels of talking about baby Georgia. “Simon has always been great with his hands. We were so pleased when he got an apprenticeship with the club, even though most parents would be worried sick. We had our doubts, and when he came to us to ask for a loan to buy an old factory, we were even more doubtful, but what a transformation! You’ve both worked so hard, and you’ve learned so many skills along the way.”

“I can’t take any credit for that,” Willa protests easily, though I swear I catch a glimpse of red creeping up her neck.

“It’s not like it was a huge factory-” I try to say, but Willa speaks at the same time.

“It was all Atlas. I just did the easy stuff, like laying stick-down flooring and painting. He came up with the layout himself, and it was all the guys from the club too, who made it possible. You all did. I’m so thankful.” Her eyes are shiny with tears. They’re good ones, but they still do something to me that resembles a swarm of insects crawling under my skin.

“We’re so happy you moved to Hart and that you’re part of this family, Willa.” Dad looks towards Mom, and she nods.

“Yeah. Simon has never had a friendship with a woman before.” Georgia flicks me a look of apology. She’s going to tell the truth as she sees it, but she doesn’t mean to hurt me. She wants to provide context. “He’s always gone for that ride or die love where he’d burn down the world for that person. That might appear all well and good, but it’s not realistic and the problem with burning love is that it burns itself out.”

I sink down a fraction lower in my chair, though what I really want to do is leap up and get out of here.

My mom adds, “You’re a wonderful young woman and if you’d like to date our son, whenever you’re both ready, you have our wholehearted stamp of approval.”

Wow. Yup. There’s no way they’re pissing around about this. If the subtle shit earlier wasn’t enough, then they’ve just made it ultra clear.

Even Georgia’s into it. “I know you’d never hurt my brother. He’s a good man and he deserves someone special. When and if you’re ever ready.”

I clear my throat so loudly that it makes me cough and since my throat is so dry, I almost gag at the end. If I didn’t have anxiety issues already, this would sure as fuck cause some.

“Thank you so much for awkwardly trying to determine our future and probably ruining our friendship and working relationship.”

Georgia screws up her nose, my dad’s face blanks, and my mom’s eyes fill up with tears.

Oh no.

Willa salvages the whole thing. “Oh, god no. Nothing’s ruined. I’m honored that you all think so highly of me.” She blinks rapidly, studying each of my family members in turn. “Even if we stay friends forever and only friends, I feel so blessed to know you and be welcome in your home.” That pretty much reduces my mom to butter and has my dad grinning while Georgia looks on the verge of happy tears now.

My whole family stares at Willa with stars in their eyes. If anyone else had been put on the spot like that, I’m sure it would have gone badly, but not Willa. She’s not faking it either. If she hated the idea, she’d come straight out and say so. That’s the thing about her.

She has more than enough confidence that she’s not afraid to say what she’s thinking and feeling, but she somehow always does it with tact. I know that Lynette might say different, but I also think that she’s been pretty hard on Willa at times—though Willa told me that she understood why, as she’d been pretty wild when she was younger. To her credit, when Willa told her that she didn’t want to go to college and let her know about our business plans, she didn’t freak out. She’s supported Willa unwaveringly, and she’s tried to be a lot less smothering. More of a big sister and less of a mother.

Willa turns right to me, her face so unexpectedly soft and open, her whole aura so different than it normally is, everything just dropped away and stripped down. She’s not merely beautiful. She’s breathtaking.

It finally hits me. This . This is how she looked at me earlier, when I opened my eyes. Like I’m the center of the universe, and she’d fight hard for me if she had to.

“You’d be anyone’s greatest catch.” She doesn’t whisper. She’s not soft. She’s bold, as though she’s exhausted by having to normally hold back.

Does she mean that?

How long has she meant it?

That pretty much shuts the whole table up. My parents and my sister are lost in a dreamy state where they can hope for a happy ending. I didn’t realize just how much this past year has affected my mom and dad and probably Georgia too. Years? How long have they been worried about me without saying it? I’ve chosen a vastly different path than my parents did. They were high school sweethearts. They dated for years before they married. Everything was carefully planned. It worked for them, and whatever recipe they have for their happiness, it’s bang fucking on.

I failed to see just how many times they didn’t voice their concerns, even when I thought I was happy. They were always kind to Jodie, but I already know that was for my sake. Did they love her? Or were they always worried that we’d fracture apart and that she’d be the one to break the heart I placed so naively in her hands?

After dinner, my mom is right on top of the dessert and coffee. Thankfully, there’s no more talk about my love life, or recounting of embarrassing childhood memories. Georgia never spills about me passing out and having to collect my bike tomorrow.

I know that I’m unnaturally quiet the whole time, but I pass it off as exhaustion. Willa catches on, or maybe she’s legit worn out from the whole day of picking, and begs off early, after dessert. She pointedly offers me a ride back to the clubhouse since she dropped me off.

My parents don’t even try to press us to stay longer.

They share ridiculously hopeful looks that aren’t even subtle. They’re so clearly hoping that I’ll leave here with Willa tonight and call them tomorrow morning to let them know that we’re madly in love.

Fuck .

***

I expect the ride back to the clubhouse to be tense, but Willa is at ease behind the wheel of her pink station wagon. It’s pretty much just the worst car ever, but then again, I hate all cages besides my Mustang. My parents live a good twenty minutes away and for at least ten of those minutes, Willa says nothing.

We need to talk, but the how and what and when are totally confused. I don’t know how to start this, because fuck me if I even have a clue what I’m feeling right now.

That’s not true.

I feel like my head is the equivalent of getting shoved down and run over by a bike. Followed by the entire club worth of bikes, not to mention my closed up throat, the crawling under my skin and the too tight feeling of being in my own body.

“It’s late,” I find myself muttering, almost under my breath, though I’m not normally a low talker. “I promised I’d help you unload the trailer in the morning, but without my bike, I won’t have a ride. Fuck me if I’m getting in Raiden’s old beater or asking Grave for a ride in his stupid jacked up beast. It’s probably easier if I stay the night.” The whole thing sounds contrived, so I quickly tack on a very casual, “Camp out like we used to.”

If she has reservations, she doesn’t let on. She doesn’t give me a hard time or demand we have this out now, and she sure as fuck doesn’t blame me for the dinner from hell and ask me what my family was thinking. She doesn’t give me any of those strange looks that lets me see all the way down to the very center of her. She actually doesn’t look at me at all .

“What about your Mustang?”

“It’s in the shop.”

“Oh?” She stops at a red light and waits. We’re the only ones out, though it’s not late yet. We’re a few weeks away from the longest day of the year and there’s still plenty of sun. “Since when?”

“Since I noticed some rust on the trunk. With classic cars, it’s important to keep on top of that. You let it go, and it gets away from you.”

“I can see how that would be bad. The gas tank is back there, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s not good.”

Is it the truth? Yes. No matter how desperate, I could never lie to Willa. Could I walk to the shop and get it out and drive it? Absolutely. I haven’t started tackling the rust yet. I just parked it out there a few days ago to get it into the shop rotation next week.

The light turns green and the only indication that Willa might not be so chill, is that she basically floors it. “Do you miss it? Camping out?” She takes a right at the next stop sign instead of a left, heading to her place. “Because if you do, I do too. The renovations were so much work. and it was stressful sometimes. The whole moving to Hart thing because of what was going on and that crazy Harold guy, and with Lynette and Bullet—it was all just a lot , but it was fun too.”

“Yeah.” My hands are resting on my thighs. They’re starting to get damp, so I curl my fingers around my kneecaps to encourage airflow.

“It was fun because of you.”

I have no idea how to deal with this. As a friendly statement, sure, but not after this dinner. Thank fuck she’s focused on the road. I don’t want her to give me another one of those looks and watch me unspool over here.

“It would have been a lonely time in my life without you,” she goes on.

I still don’t know what to say, but apparently that’s not a problem for my mouth. It goes spouting off truths I didn’t think beforehand, but as soon as I say them, I know that I’ve felt them for some time now. “It would have been lonely for me too. All the guys at the club, all my friends, my family—I’m thankful for every single one of them, but there was no one like you. I can just be me with you, and that doesn’t even have to be my best version. It can be the worst version and that’s okay.”

She goes radio fucking silent until she pulls up behind the antique store, parking beside her truck and the trailer.

We enter through the backdoor, a static storm of tension flooding the hallway. We have to go through the shop and up to the second floor to get to Willa’s apartment. It probably wasn’t the best planning, but we had to work with what was there.

We don’t make it to the second floor. Willa spins around after flicking on the light in the back, where she’s set up the display of furniture to look like a kitchen and living room, paintings, ceiling lights, and lamps included.

She wears a haunted, desperate expression, her eyes so unnaturally dark that a chill clenches my midsection. She’s so intense that she almost looks like a stranger. “We could hook up without anyone knowing. It could be just for us until we can break the news to Bullet and Lynette gently. They’ve mixed business with pleasure ever since the start. She’s the club’s lawyer and they’re together. I don’t see why we couldn’t be.”

I choke on my saliva and cough roughly. “Because that’s a good way to blow a friendship all to hell,” I wheeze.

You know what’s not choking? What’s not having a hard time about any of this? My fucking dick. It’s rock hard and probably quite visible through my worn jeans.

“I think it makes for a solid foundation to be friends before you become lovers.” Willa starts pacing along a woven rug, around a coffee table, between two couches and three chairs. It sounds complicated, because it is. She cuts a deft path, but it’s clear she needs to be moving. “It doesn’t always have to end in disaster. Or end at all.”

“What are you saying?”

She stops, snapping her flashing eyes back to my face. I feel like It’s like getting shoved into a floodlight so powerful that it’s flaying the skin from my body. “Do you want the honest answer or some bullshit?”

“The honest answer.”

“That if I don’t get you naked and your cock inside my mouth in the next few minutes, I might die.”

I don’t need to pass out for a second time today, but I swear it just about happens. “H-how long?” Right. Because that’s the appropriate response to that statement.

“I don’t know. Maybe two minutes.”

I throw my hand out against the back of the nearest couch so I don’t fall over. “No, how long have you felt that way?”

“I don’t know.” She winces, dropping her eyes. She’s suddenly shyer than I’ve ever seen her. “Months.” She doesn’t study the floor for long. She summons some of her classic Willa courage. “I thought I could wait. Be friends for as long as you needed. But… then today you scared the shit out of me. What if something happened and I never got to tell you that I’m here, wanting you?”

“Wanting or more than that?” Want isn’t nearly as dangerous as the other stuff that my family pressed on. Willa said hook up. Not fall in love. But then she also said that it didn’t have to end, which sounds a lot like feelings.

Feelings scare the shit out of me. Feelings are hard and messy and complicated. You can think you’re in love with someone and then it turns out that maybe you weren’t at all, and when you trusted in something for years only to be disillusioned, how do you get back up and put faith in your gut again?

“You’re scaring the hell out of me,” I admit.

I’m not a coward who can’t talk. I’ve done plenty of talking to this woman over this past year. I just never realized that all this time she was falling for me. She hid it so well.

About as good as I’m hiding from myself and everyone else.

“I scare you or the idea of us being more than friends scares you?”

Fuck, Willa gets me.

“I’m afraid of the idea of getting it all wrong again.” I have to clench the couch with both hands.

Willa’s eyes stop that intense burning, and she gives me the saddest, softest, sweetest smile. I’ve never thought more about closing these few feet between us and tasting them than I am now. All while protesting.

Because life makes perfect sense. Fucking never.

“You don’t have to get it right for it to have still meant something. There are different kinds of love. Different kinds of people. Each experience is unique.” Willa doesn’t give many physical tells of when she’s nervous, but she rubs her index finger along her thumb blatantly, like she’s searching for a hangnail. I think I’m ready for whatever she’s going to say, but I’m not. “Just because I’ve never said this before and because I might never be brave enough to do it again, I think that the way Jodie left was all wrong. How she blamed it on you and made you feel like you were broken. You’re so- so… not broken, Atlas! She implied that there’s something wrong, something less about you, and that’s so untrue. When you told me, I didn’t know what to say, and then I felt that it wasn’t right to say it, but if she was here now, I’d smack her. Hard . I’d tell her how much I hate her for hurting you. For wounding you and making you think you weren’t enough. But I’d thank her too. Because she could have had everything and she threw it away.” She thumps a fist over her chest so hard it echoes in here. “I’m good at uncovering discarded treasures. I see them. I want them. I cherish them.”

Holy god, this is about so much more than hooking up.

There are definitely feelings involved, and deep ones. Ones that haven’t just cropped up out of nowhere. People think Willa is impulsive, but that’s only because she keeps her thoughts and dreams close to her chest. Only when she’s sure, will she give voice to them.

She’s sure.

She’s fighting for me.

I don’t know where I’m at, but Willa does. She’s dropped her guard and let me into a secret place where I’ve never been allowed. It’s so much softer than her normally boisterous self. Like in her head, it’s not always chaos and noise and high energy. In her head is safety and warmth. She translates it into words for me, spinning a dream of what we could have if only I was brave enough to face my fears.

And Lynette.

And Bullet.

And probably the whole club.

And my family, if this went wrong.

And herself if it ever didn’t work out and we were still locked into a business relationship.

Do I care about all of that? Yes. Am I losing my mind watching Willa walk across the room towards me, her hips gently swaying, face so damn beautiful and soft? Do I care about any of the things I’m supposed to care about when she drops her hand on top of mine and lifts it from the couch and sets it on her hip so that she can curl against my body, her softness hitting the hard angles of me just right? Do I care about how this could all turn into a potential disaster? Yes. I do. I truly do.

But is my brain working properly when Willa angles harder against me, tilts her face up, wraps her arms around my neck, and skates her lips over mine?

It’s been more than a year since anyone kissed me. Touched me. Wanted me. Was tender with me.

There’s nothing that Willa doesn’t do well and that includes this.

She teases my mouth with hers, coaxing me back to life, breathing the fire straight back into me.

I want to control myself. I want to use my brain. I want to be rational and talk this out, go through every option. But there’s not enough blood left in my brain to use it for proper thought. My better judgment is nonexistent. Not even my anxiety can stop me from doing this.

I glide my tongue over Willa’s bottom lip, and when she sinks her hands into my hair and tugs me down to kiss me hard, losing herself in it, I let go and lose myself too.