Page 154 of These Wicked Hearts

“Hi.” He gives me a gentle smile.

“How’s um, your hand?”

Atlas lifts it, flexing his fingers. “I’m okay, just bruised.” For the first time since we met, Atlas looks lost. “How um . . . I guess, how is everything? Are you okay? I mean, not okay, just . . . how are you coping with everything?”

“Does it matter?” I shrug. “I kind of made a huge mess, no?”

Atlas’s thick brows pull tight. “Of course it matters how you feel, after everything you went through.”

“I didn’t go through anything, Atlas. I chose this⁠—”

“Bullshit,” he snaps. I look into his eyes and see a fire in them that makes me swallow. “He took advantage of you. No one who wants to help you does it for a price. He took advantage of you, and I want to know how you’re doing because it’s a lot.”

I swallow. “I think we might be done playing⁠—”

“No.” Atlas steps forward, closing the distance between us. “I don’t give a fuck about the band, your fans, and I’m sorry, but right now I don’t give a fuck about your friends. How are you, Gage?”

My lungs pull tight when the wall I’ve built inside my chest crumbles. Instead of falling, Atlas catches me. He holds me tight in his arms. I feel his large hand on the back of my head and his lips at my temple, and he’s slowly rocking me in his arms while I lose it. I let everything hit me all at once.

“It’s over,” he whispers after a while.

I know what he means, but in a way, things are just beginning. I don’t even care. I just want to keep thinking about our time in New Jersey. I think that’s the happiest I’ve been in my entire life. I have a lot to figure out, but I’d like to do it all beside him.

My throat works as I swallow. I look up at him, and I can’t stop the rush of emotion hitting me. He’s so handsome, and kind. He’s the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.

My palms press into my eyes and pull away. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll get justice or if we’ll ever play again. I know none of that. What I do know is that I want this man to smother me for the rest of my life.

I pull back a little, smoothing my thumbs along his beard.

I clear my throat and pull away from him. “Can you hold this?” I hand him his flashlight and step away from him.

“What are you doing?”

I crack my neck then stretch out my hands. “Just listen, okay.” I stifle a laugh as he nods. Without another word I turn toward the empty space beside me, and I lift an imaginary marker, pretending to write. I try not to lose my focus when he laughs softly. “One night, months ago, I was really upset, and I didn’t know what to do.” I write across the invisible whiteboard. “That night I was sitting on the ledge⁠—”

“You didn’t ask me if you could use my whiteboard.”

“I knew you wouldn’t mind me borrowing it.”

“Fine, but make sure to put it back when you’re done.”

“Atlas,” I laugh. “Stop talking.”

“Sorry.” He mimics zipping his lips.

“Don’t interrupt me.” I stab at the empty space and keep writing. “The night we met I was planning to jump.” His eyes widen. “I just wanted everything to end. Then you came up here and started to run that ridiculous mouth of yours. Since that night, you saved my life in ways you’ll never really understand.”

I grab my invisible eraser, pretending to erase part of the air.

I pretend to draw, my gestures exaggerated as I write. “I’ve been so depressed for so long, and then you just came into my life with that goofy smile, warm arms, and elite superhero collection.”

“I know that’s right.” He laughs softly.

“And now I don’t know what to do because I hurt you. I lied to you, and I just want you to know what I told you back in my room wasn’t true. I want to tell you.” I turn to the other side, still writing. “I want to tell you that somewhere between Virginia and New York I fell for you. That you’re very special to me, but I’m worried I’ve hurt you too much and I’ve been too afraid to face it.”

I step back, admiring my work on his invisible whiteboard.

Atlas walks up to the board made of air and wipes the back of his hand as if he’s erasing all my worry and fear with the movement. “You said I was nobody.”