Page 12 of Atlas

I tear the grimy mask off and stoke his beautiful face.

He’s clammy, with a dirt ring around his face where the mask was. It’s clean underneath, but he was probably telling the truth about not being able to breathe in it and it’shot. He was doing all the heavy lifting out here in the sun and I was justlettinghim.

“Here!” Georgia drops down beside me with one of the water bottles from the bag. I set it under the tire of the truck, where I could find the most shade. They were chilled before, and now they’re not so cold, but she upends it over Atlas’ forehead.

He stirs, his eyes flickering before they open. They aren’t focused, which is scary as hell, but after another bottle gets dribbled over his face and neck, he blinks and focuses on my face.

“Oh, thank fuck.” I tilt his face up, giving him a bit of height so Georgia can tuck the water bottle against his lips and slowly give him some.

I should have made sure that everyone stayed hydrated.

I didn’t demand that Atlas do anything, but he would have felt pressured to keep up with us. We at least had the shelter of the barn. It’s blisteringly hot out here. Worse than in the barn by far. I can’t believe that we’re still only an hour from Seattle and not in the damn desert.

“Thank fuck,” I whisper again. “You scared the shit out of us.”

I can’t stop stroking his cheek. I try to force myself to quit, but that only results in me smoothing my fingers over his hair, damp with perspiration and water, gritty from all the dust kicked up in the barn.

“It was the mask,” he croaks. “Told you that you can’t breathe through those things.”

I’ve known Atlas for just about a year and in all that time, I’ve seen him sad and mad. I’ve heard him laugh and I’ve known him to scowl. I know how loyal he is to the club and how hard he worked on the old factory building he bought, with a singleminded devotion. We camped out on the floor in sleeping bags when we worked on renovations long into the night, and went to class together early the next morning. We studied together. Ate packed lunches side by side. Horsed around, sweated, and freaking bled together. But, in all this time, I’ve never seen him sick.

“I think you have heatstroke, Simon. Just stay down there for a second and catch your breath. I’m going to pour the rest of this water on your head to cool you down and you should drink the last of this bottle.”

“Don’t breathe a word of this to Mom and Dad,” he groans. “The last thing I need is for them to worry more about me than they already do.”

“You ride a bike and you patched in with a biker club when you were eighteen. I think they have a right to worry.”

He cracks a lopsided grin that makes my heart race. I hope that he can’t feel my pulse kick up in my wrists. I’m very aware now just how close I am to him. His head is in my lap.

In. My. Lap.

I’m touching him the way I could only have dreamed.

Yes, it was done out of care and sheer panic, but I’m still holding him and now that he’s awake and looking up at me with eyes as deep as twin wells, it hits harder.

I draw in a shuddering breath. Seeing Atlas’ big body so silent and still, prone on the ground, scared me senseless. He’s normally so full of life, with his magnetic charm and all his vitality. It was horrible seeing him brought to a crashing standstill. Of all people, I know how quickly life can change. My mother died when I was ten. My brain still can’t compute what’shappening right now. I can’t because I don’t ever want to go there.

My stomach churns violently just thinking about something ever happening to Atlas.

Honestly, I could watch him fall in love with someone else if that made him happy, even if it killed me, but I could never stand to see him so badly hurt or sick that he wouldn’t recover.

I don’t cry often, but tears sting my eyes and ache in my nose. I clench my jaw to hold them back. I’d look like an utter imbecile if I let them fall.

“Hey now!”

My head snaps up at the shout from down the driveway. I never saw a more beautiful sight than Agatha hobbling her way carefully over to us, a wooden pail and a ladle swinging in one hand like we’ve time warped back into the eighteen hundreds.

She’s rocky on her feet and I feel terrible that I wasn’t there to help her down the long, twisty gravel driveway. Georgia rushes over, and it’s only when I see her take the pail for Agatha that I realize she has a big blue towel in her other hand and it’s absolutely sodden.

“It’s a brutal hot day,” she says in her soft, lisping voice. “I thought you could use this.’

Atlas doesn’t get to protest, not even politely. I take the towel and slap it onto his forehead. It’s a hand towel and covers most of eyes too. He shoves it up, shooting me a dirty look that speaks volumes as to just how much he likes being fussed over. He’s embarrassed at what happened, but I don’t care that he doesn’t like it. He’s getting it anyway.

I had this thought that I could wait. That I’d be here, patient, in the background. That our friendship was the most important thing in the world. All of that is true. I know what a risk and a disaster it could be to push towards anything more, but we’re both so young that I hadn’t lost the concept of immortality.

Georgia passes me the metal soup ladle, full of cold water. I bring it to Atlas’ lips. He tries to grab it, but I knock his hand away and pour so that he has to drink. He does. Deeply. It’s not the first time I’ve been transfixed by his mouth. He’s clean shaven today, but in the past, he’s had a patchy beard that the guys at the club made fun of him for. It didn’t look bad on him. I’d wondered what it would feel like, chaffing against my face or between my thighs. There’s nothing to detract from his strong jaw, carved cheekbones, or that beguiling mouth.

I could lean forward just a few inches and meet his mouth with mine.

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