Page 95 of Heat Lightning

“Atlas?” he answered, voice thick with sleep and worry. “What’s wrong?”

The tiniest light flickered on in the house across the water. Huh. So that’s what my lamp looks like from over here. “Can’t I just call to chat?”

“It’s one in the goddamn morning, and the last time you called me you were dying.”

I cringed. Had it really been two years since I last called Saint? We texted occasionally, mostly when I wanted to see my nephew—or when I wanted him scarce so my omega could spend his heat in peace without a nosy boss sniffing around. “Still not out of the woods on that one. How’s Enz?”

He sighed. “He has three songs ready to play for you, and we’ve already had to sew two octopus legs back on because he carries it everywhere. He’s been asking when you two can go to the aquarium again.”

Guilt and longing battled it out for first place in my chest. “We just finished the renovations for the new freshwater conservation wing. I’ll take him as soon as I’m… as soon as I can.”

For a moment, I pictured Max standing next to me while I showed Enzo the new rehabilitation habitats. The idea of holding his hand in public, with no masks or secrets between us, made the longing pull ahead.

The line was quiet for a moment. “How are you, really?”

I tried and failed to clear the catch in my throat. “Not great.”

“Is it fixable?”

I was doing my best not to throw up over the side of the balcony, and my head ached so fiercely I was fairly certain I was losing vision in one eye. Worst of all, I wasn’t sure if it was from the rut deteriorating my body or the stress of finally showing Max everything, knowing I could lose him. Still, I chuckled. “Maybe, but this one’s a doozy.”

“Can I help?”

I leaned on the railing to steady myself, staring at that tiny light across the lake, and asked the question I’d spent my entire adult life avoiding. “If you had the choice to cut ties with me, take Enzo, and walk away from anyone who would ever use him to avenge someone I killed, would you?”

My brother considered it. I appreciated that he knew I wanted the truth, and not a platitude. “I would never walk away from you, little brother,” he said quietly. “And neither will the one who’s right for you.”

I wiped a hand down my face. “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t deserve it.” I looked back inside. The bedroom was still dark, but Max could wake at any time. “I should go. I have some things to sort through before the morning.”

“Alright. Oh, Atlas?”

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t break my cook’s heart. I’ve gained seven pounds eating all the food he makes when you piss him off. We’re too old to fuck around with cardiovascular health. Also, don’t forget to finish painting the hole you put in my wall.”

I laughed, even though it made my pounding headache worse. “Noted.”

The light went out a minute or so after we hung up. Nausea roiled in my gut, and I made it to the kitchen sink just in time to be sick. Rinsing it down the drain, I closed my eyes and centered myself.

Fixing this meant I had to tell Max everything. Everything. He deserved to know it all, before deciding whether or not he wanted a life with me. I couldn’t do that, though, feeling like this. I’d fuck it up, and it wasn’t fair to him to have to choose whether or not to walk away from me while I looked like I was at death’s door.

Because I was at death’s door.

So, I shot off a text before tiptoeing back into the bedroom to hold Max and watch him sleep for a little while longer.

Just in case it was the last time.

TWENTY-SIX

MAX

Atlas’ side of the bed was empty when I awoke.

I sat up with a sharp inhale. It was still dark; just after four in the morning according to my phone.

Dread crept in like ink in water, the hours before flooding back to me. My whole face was puffy from crying, and I felt like I hadn’t slept at all, paranoid he would disappear the second I dozed off.

Scrambling, I felt under the sheets. Still warm, I thought. Maybe he can’t sleep? I quickly threw on a T-shirt and shorts over my stiff and achy body before padding down the hall.