Page 73 of On the Edge

“That’s not what Mom says. Mom says if you mess up, you make it right. I have to say sorry to Ethanallthe time.” He groans dramatically. “You don’t get to be mean to people just because you’re grown up.”

“All right, I’ll try,” I promise, because he’ll never let it go otherwise. Besides, the damn kid is right. I told Henri he meant nothing—said it right to his face. I should be begging for forgiveness on bended knee.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Ryan asks.

“Henri.”

“Cool.”

I laugh a little bit, feeling marginally better than I dideven just an hour ago. My relationship with my parents might be a clusterfuck on the best of days, but I love my brothers.

“He’s from Germany,” I add.

“Noway!” Ryan exclaims, finding this just as exciting as I’d known he would. “That’s so cool. You need to say sorry so that he’ll invite you to visit, and then you can take me along.”

“Sure,” I agree, even though I know it’ll never happen.

We sit there for a little longer, watching the sun go down over the rooftops. Ryan stays quiet, leaning against me and seemingly happy to just sit in silence with me. If Ethan were out here with us, he’d be losing his mind with boredom. After my butt has gone numb from sitting still for so long, I give Ryan a nudge.

“Let’s go in,” I suggest. “You can pick out a movie for us to watch tonight.”

We crawl back in through the window, and I do my best to keep the bottle of whiskey hidden behind my back. He doesn’t seem to notice when I slip it under the comforter on my bed, but walks purposely toward the door.

“It’s probably dinnertime,” he tells me.

“You go down. I’m not hungry.” That isn’t exactly the truth, but it’s close enough. The actual truth is, I’m not hungry enough to sit at a dinner table with my dad and listen to him talk over and around me like I’m not there. I’m not hungry enough to listen to the barely veiled barbs about what a disappointment I am. In short, I don’t need to listen to Dad expand on things I already know. I’ll go down later to raid the refrigerator when everyone is asleep. For now, cigarettes and whiskey will get me by.

“Okay. I’ll tell Mom you’re not hungry,” he declares agreeably. I nod, watching as he closes my door on the way out ofmy room. My stepmom won’t buy theI’m not hungryline, but neither will she call me on it. She and I will never be close, but we’re at the point now where we understand one another. She knows I don’t get along with Dad, and that pushing the relationship won’t help anything.

With Ryan gone, I pull the whiskey out and finally take a long drink. These last few weeks have been damn near unbearable, helped along only by the alcohol I’ve been stealing from my dad’s liquor cabinet. I’m not sure what it says about him that he hasn’t mentioned noticing the missing bottles, even though I’ve been at it for weeks.

Fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, I go looking for my phone after remembering that it had been ringing earlier. I find it and the bottle falls to the floor with a thump, tipping over and spilling whiskey across the carpet. I barely notice. My eyes are trained on the screen of my cellphone, illuminated and showing a single missed call from Henri Vasel.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking myself out of my stupor enough to bend over and right the bottle. I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining why my carpet smells like a distillery, but that is a problem for future Atlas. Fingers trembling slightly, I call him back.

The phone rings for long enough that I wonder if I missed my shot to talk to him. And serves me right if I did. Sighing, I’m just pulling the phone away from my ear—not intending to leave a voicemail—when the call connects and Henri’s beautiful, accented voice greets me.

“Atlas?”

That soft, lilting voice is like a fist to the throat. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and reach for calm. God, I’vemissed him. The only person I’ve ever missed so badly is my biological mother. It’s a terrifying realization—knowing that I care for Henri enough to give him that kind of power to hurt me. I fight against the urge to hang up the phone—my first instinct always being to run.

“Hey,” I whisper back, because that’s really the best I can do. Henri’s silent for a moment, breathing softly. I can practically feel his trepidation—our last encounter looming large between us.

“Is this all right for me to be calling you?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat, talking fast as though trying to get all the words out before I hang up or interrupt him. “How are you doing, Atlas? Are you enjoying your summer? How are your brothers?”

My summer has sucked because I miss you, and it’s my own fault I feel like shit and it’s everything I deserve,I want to say, but don’t.

“It’s been okay. Not…not great. It’s been good hanging out with Ryan and Ethan, though. Ryan and I are doing a camp-out on his bedroom floor tonight.”

Henri chuckles softly, the sound as soothing as ocean waves. “That sounds like a good time. I am sure they are missing you when you are at school.”

“Yeah. What about you? How’s the internship going?”

“It is good to be working. I enjoy it very much. But I…I am missing speaking to you every day. Perhaps we could be friends, yes? I know you do not wish to be with me, but maybe we can still talk. Friends,” he repeats.

---