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I prop up on my elbow and drag a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who took the thought experiment too far. I’m the one who fell in love. Let me bear it, A.”
He pulls me into another kiss, but this one feels sad. It feels final.
“You’re wrong,” he whispers against my mouth. “And I’ll prove it.”
I don’t let him pull away. I kiss him until neither of us can breathe, until we’re gasping each other’s exhaled breaths, until there’s stirring down the hall and the moment is broken.
If I could keep him and nobody got hurt, I’d take that in a heartbeat. But I can’t find it. Can’t fathom it.
I could never put him in a position to choose between me and Shiloh, because that’s what it’d come down to. So, I have to take one option off the table entirely.
Atlas isn’t mine, and it was foolish of me to think he ever could be.
Chapter 23
Atlas
I’m supposed to go to a party with Shiloh tonight, but all I can think about is the look in Blair’s eyes the other morning. The relief that flooded them when he opened the door. The fear when I discovered the mutilation on his wrist and how helpless I felt against the demons in his head. The tears that rolled down his cheeks as he took me into his body. And then the resignation when he told me we had to end things.
My chest feels like it’s been flayed open, like a piece of Blair had worked itself inside and was torn out with those few heartbreaking words.
Let me bear it, he had said. Blair always bears everyone else’s pain. If he can take it on himself and ease other’s burdens, he’ll do it.
When will he let someone carry the brunt of his heartache?
I’m supposed to be helping Ryder fix the brakes on the truck, but most of my attention is caught up staring at my phone where I’ve left Blair a couple of ‘friendly reminder’ texts—cute little memes about drinking water and taking care of yourself—where he opens them but never responds. I want to know that he’s okay. That he isn’t still hurting himself. I made him promise before I left that morning to call me if he went back to that place in his head, but I don’t know if his answering smile was agreement or just placating.
“Atlas.” I snap out of my thoughts and nearly whack my head on the open car door Ryder is leaning against. “Foot. Break. C’mon, you can talk to your girlfriend later.”
“Boyfriend,” I correct on a groan, throwing the phone into the passenger seat.
It takes point three seconds for my brain to catch up with my mouth, and when my eyes fly to Ryder’s expression, he doesn’t look surprised or impressed but more mildly amused.
“My little brother has a boyfriend, huh?”
I lean my head back in the seat and scrub a hand over my eyes. “No, I guess not technically, but…”
Ryder’s eyes soften, and he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. “Not into you? Not out?” His brows furrow. “Are you out?”
“Is that like a queer rite of passage? Because if I have to put a label on it, I’ll be in the closet forever.”
Ryder grins, leaning back against the door. “Date whoever you want, buddy. I’m the last person to judge.”
“Is that because you’re an entire manwhore?”
He chuckles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. Weird because Ryder is one of the happiest people I know. “You could say that.”
“What? You secretly pining over ‘the one who got away’ or something cheesy like that?”
His smile dips a fraction.
“Wait seriously? This is a story I need to hear!”
He groans but walks around the truck to the passenger side and climbs into the seat, promptly tossing his feet up on the dash and tipping his head back against the headrest.
“I’ll tell you about my guy if you tell me about yours,” he says, pointing a finger at me.
I raise my brow. “You got a guy too? Damn. We need a Huxley Family Coming Out party. Should we call Rue and see where he sits on the Kinsey Scale?”
