Figuring I owe him some version of the truth, I stick with this. I could be talking about anyone, and it doesn’t have to mean something heartbreaking. Right?
“Julie says you know some of his friends. Is that true? Was it them?” Atlas pries.
Fucking Julian Walsh, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say, instead of answering directly.
Atlas stares at me for a moment longer, assessing and concerned, before he shrugs. “Okay. Sure.” And then, as he stares back out over the water, he says, “You look good, by the way. You’re glowing.”
“Oh. Thanks. I thought so too.”
My brother turns his gaze back onto me, and there’s something weary in it. Something that tells me he’salsokeeping something hidden. I just have a horrible feeling it pertains to me.
“What’s with that look?” I ask him. “Is everything—”
“Little bunny?” Julian’s voice suddenly interrupts, and I spin around to see him stumbling out of the back door in a pair of loose sweatpants.
Inonlya pair of loose sweatpants.
Atlas stands. “Morning, Julie. How are you feeling?”
Julian pouts, rubbing his temples with one hand. “Like shit. Come take care of me.”
My eyes flicker back to my baby brother, and he’s grinning something soft and precious and full of love. It’s adorable and disgusting.
“I’m coming,” he promises his boyfriend. Then, to me, “Sorry, Atticus. Can we talk another time? Julian turns into a big baby when he’s sick.”
“Hey!” the man protests, then winces at his own volume.
“It’s just a hangover,” I mumble, annoyed that we were interrupted.
Atlas gives me a knowing smile, as if he too knows how ridiculous Julian is, and squeezes my arm as he passes me.
“I’m not a baby,” Julian insists as they turn back toward the estate.
“I know, Julie,” Atlas coos.
They disappear inside, and I spend a few more minutes watching the sun rise above the horizon, envious and irritated.
What will I do with my day now?
I close the driver’s side door of my BMW, heading toward the row of stores that make up Port Orford’s only mall. It’s a small strip mall and has various options, but I hardly come.
I can have most things delivered or bought for me, so I see no point. Today, though, I needed something to do, and the add-on gym I asked Father to finally build onto the estate won’t be done for months, so going to buy a pull-up bar for my room doesn’t sound too bad.
It’s windy and a bit chilly today, but not cold, and I feel light on my feet. As usual, I’m dressed in a white button-up and black slacks, unwilling to be seen looking disheveled in public. The only issue? It draws a lot of attention.
Too much attention, if the way the locals are staring at me is any indication.
But I ignore them, entering the sporting goods store with my head held high. No one here needs to know that, mentally, I’m a wreck. They don’t need to know that last night I was weak and uncontrolled, giving in to the most primal of urges when faced with a… certain man.
As I’m turning onto the correct aisle, I run into an unfamiliar face, thoughtheyseem to recognizeme. It’s a priest, as far as I can tell, in his black button-up with the white clerical collar.
He’s older, like most people in Port Orford, and as soon as his eyes lock onto me, they widen.
Taking a single step back, like I might lunge at him or something equally insane, he huffs out a breath of air.
“Son,” the priest begins. “Are you… are you alright?”
