“Uh, yes, actually,” I wince. “A few weeks ago, I moved into Chastain Castle.”
“What?!” she borderline screeches. Atticus’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “That’s amazing! Fuck, I’ve been dying for you to get away from that woman for years!”
I peek over at Atticus as his hand loosens its hold, and he’s grinning at Cassie.
“She’s horrible, right?” he asks, almost proud to be a part of this bit of conversation.
Cassie laughs. “The worst! I hated seeing Cam so worn out, so depressed, when coming from that house. Good for you, Cam, and thanks, Atticus. For taking him away from there.”
Atticus dips his chin, humbly accepting her praise.
“Well,” Cassie sighs, leaning back against her own booth as she stares at the two of us. “I can’t say I’m thrilled that I made afool of myself for years, but I am truly happy for you. You don’t happen to have any hidden-away, hot siblings, do you, Atticus?”
Atticus’s smile turns into a frown so fast that I fear Cassie and I will get whiplash. “Atlas is happily taken, sorry. And Abigail is a minor.”
Cassie raises her hands defensively. “Just checking.”
The rest of our dinner goes smoothly. We catch up, talk about work and life, and Cassie even grills us a bit on our relationship.
Atticus pays our bill—something I’m still wrapping my head around—and as we leave the diner, Cassie grips my hand.
The one not currently intertwined with Atticus’s.
“We can go back to hanging out now, right? And things are okay between us?” She looks so hopeful, so bright and cheery that I could cry.
“Of course, Cas. And again, I’m sorry.”
She waves me off. “It’s in the past. I’m just happy for you. Well, I have some family stuff, so I’m taking off. Call me, okay? And it was good to see you, Atticus!”
As she looks over to him, all of that familiar heat I’d see in her eyes when she ogled him in the past is gone and replaced by a friendly smile.
“Absolutely,” Atticus confirms.
As she retreats, we watch her back for a moment, soaking in the moment.
“That went well,” I comment, and Atticus squeezes my hand.
“I like her,” he admits. “She’s a good friend to you.”
I grin up at him, taking in his relaxed, god-like features. “I think so too.”
We head toward the BMW, hands still interlocked.
“She might not be as happy as she seems,” he warns me. “She liked me for a long time, so she might be a bit sore for a while.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, mourning this revelation for her just a bit. “It’ll sort itself out, though.”
Atticus pulls me into his side, kissing the top of my head. “It always does, doesn’t it?”
I’m pulled from sleep, the darkness of night still wrapped around me as I blink sleepily.
Next to me, Atticus—who doesn’t typically move in his sleep—is on his back next to me, twitching and whining softly from where he sleeps, nude.
He’s having a nightmare. Again.
A few days after the exorcism, he confided in me whatheexperienced that day. Apparently, as we were all watching him stand stock still, dazed and trembling,hewas murdering his entire family.
In his head, of course.
