Page 107 of These Wicked Hearts

“Uh, yeah. They’re alphabetized by publisher and timeline. I don’t buy as many as I used to. During the summer breaks I try and catch up on issues I’ve missed of my favorites.”

“You don’t bring them with you?”

“Not these ones. Traveling will ruin them.” He flips through some on the table. “My older ones are over there on that shelf behind you.” I turn, seeing a wall of neatly displayed comics in hard plastic cases. “Sometimes I like to reorganize them. I like to keep the older arcs separate. My Marvel ones are on the left here, some miscellaneous ones in the center, and my DC ones in the middle. X-Men have their own section. They’re my favorite. When I try and catch up, I usually start with them first.” His eyes lift to mine. A soft blush hits his cheeks. “I can stop. I know it sounds um⁠—”

“No.” He’s so animated right now, I can’t stop him. “Keep going, Atlas.”

I can tell he’s dying to show someone, and I hate that I actually want to be in here. I shut the door with us inside, and I look at him now. No shirt, gray pajama bottoms, and bare feet. Relaxed, calm.

Two things that I’m not right now.

My skin feels too tight and there’s this heaviness that’s followed me since we arrived, and I don’t know how to shake it or what to even do with it. I watch Atlas’s eyes on me then look around the room. “Which is your favorite figurine?”

“Oh, that’s impossible.”

“Naturally.”

Atlas shakes his head, walking over to a shelf and picking up a woman wearing what looks like a one-piece bikini and matching thigh-high navy boots. She has two swords in her hand. Her purple hair is flowing in the wind. One eye patch covers her eye. “This is Psylocke, she’s my dream woman.”

I lift my brow. “She’s very . . . voluptuous. I’m jealous.”

He laughs. “She’s badass. Her power is like mind control and astral projection. She’s got these badass knives.” He turns, showing me the same woman tattooed on his forearm. “When I was little, I wanted to do martial arts because of her.”

“Did you?”

Something dark flashes over his face as he shakes his head. Then he smiles softly and places the toy back on the shelf. “I have graphic novel bind-ups here. I love the ones that are darker story-wise. Absolutely in love with Poison Ivy on the DC side.”

“Batman?”

“I like Batman too. I actually have this . . . he turns and gently grabs a comic from a separate display. “This is my wall of like really rare comics. I don’t read these. They’re in near perfect condition. This one is from nineteen forty. It was the first issue to debut Joker and Catwoman. It’s a nine-point-two graded copy.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s worth over twenty grand.”

“Holy shit.”

He looks to the wall with about fourteen comics. “These are the all-stars here. I slowly collect them. I don’t spend too much money really, except on this stuff. And the rink.”

“The rink?”

He nods, setting the copy down carefully back on the display. “I send my foster mom money for the rink every year. For kids who can’t afford gear, free lessons. I mean, I was a poor kid who didn’t know shit about hockey when I came to them. Hockey changed my life. I want it to change someone else’s too. I also used to send tickets to some kids when we’d play the Jersey Cyclones.”

A slow smile spreads on my face. “When do you buy new comics?”

“When I find them for decent prices. I don’t think I’m really collecting to sell later on, but they’re cool to have. This one here . . .” He grabs another. “Not as pricey as that one, but this one is the Uncanny X-Men issue two fifty-six. It was the first issue where Psylocke was introduced. It’s signed by Jim Lee and Chris Claremont—artist and writer. It’s a nine-point-eight. Nearly perfect. I have no idea how much it’s even worth.”

“Where do you get the figures?”

He shrugs. “Online sometimes. Oli, Grey, and I would always go to comic stores if they had any in the cities we went to. I’d get one to remember the place.” He walks over to the shelf. “I got this one in California.” He holds up the figure with a blindfold over his eyes and cards in his hand. “This is Gambit. He’s in the X-Men world.”

I nod, looking around. “You like talking about this.”

“Yeah.” Atlas sets the statue back. “Most people don’t really get it.”

Gently, I take one of the comics from the middle, looking at the vibrant cover. Atlas walks over and our shoulders brush when he reaches toward the table. “I had this table built specifically for them.

“What’s your favorite comic?”