Page 9 of Atlas

“To the rafters.”

Georgia rubs her hands in glee, then slips on her white mask, snapping the yellow elastic straps around her messy bun. Her dark blue eyes peek out over the top, long lashes sweeping up and down.

“Safety glasses?” I produce a set from my bag. I have bottles of water, my first aid kit, gloves for all of us, as well as extra masks. I like to come prepared.

“And a hard hat probably,” she quips, eyeing the barn. “I’m kidding. I don’t think the roof will come down on us.”

“It’s not a bad idea for next time.”

Georgia borrowed some old clothes from her mom and a pair of ancient sneakers. I have my steel toed boots on, old jeans, and a hoodie. I’m going to swelter in it and I’m already sweating, but being protected from insects, vermin, scrapes, and rusty nails is important.

I take the lead, Georgia behind me, Atlas grumbling good naturedly in the rear. He wasn’t grousing so much when he found the motorcycle love of his life a while ago.

That day is pretty much the epitome ofeven if I live to be a hundred, his joy at uncovering that bike will live rent free in my head forever and always.

He and Jodie broke up right as Lynette and I moved to Hart. I’ve known the Atlas he gives to the world and more, because he’s let me in at times, but I’d never seen him happy the way he was that day. Enraptured. Enthralled. Captivated. I watched the life rush into his eyes and was breathless at the transformation. Maybe also a little bit irrationally jealous of the bike, because it brought him such joy.

I don’t know what it would take to have him look atmethat way.

When I pry the heavy wooden main door open, a cloud of dust and a swarm of flies hits me straight in the face. I duck, screaming into the mask, waving my hands frantically.

Atlas shoves past his sister and puts up his fists, ready to fight whatever just scared the shit out of me.

“Motherfucking raccoons!” He yells. “Come out and fight like men!”

“It was just flies.” My face gets hot. I can’t believe I lost my mind like that. “I just didn’t expect to get nailed with a swarm in the face like a cloud of bats blasting out of a cave.”

“That’s still really gross,” Georgia says sympathetically. She blinks into the gloom.

I sweep my gaze around behind the safety glasses. They make me feel vaguely nauseous, but they’re tight to my face and prevent a lot of the dust from getting in my eyes. The boards either were never pressed tightly together, or they’ve warped with time, leaving large cracks that let in a decent amount of sunlight into the whole barn.

The thing is packed. Not to the roof, at least. We can still start from the front and work our way back, clearing paths.

I’m aware that this is fodder for most people’s nightmare, but to me, it’s a simple equation. Piles of junk equals happy place. I’m pretty much salivating here. Every step I take into the barn raises enough dust to choke on.

I set my hand on Atlas’ arm. His skin is warm, baked from the sun, but that’s not why it scorches my palm. “It’s really dusty.Want to wait by the door so I can pass things out to you?” His face softens just a little and I press my luck, giving him big puppy dog eyes probably magnified by the safety glasses. “Please?”

“I think unless you’re wearing the mask, you shouldn’t be in here,” Georgia agrees. “You have to make it in one piece for dinner tonight or Mom will be so disappointed.”

“We also don’t need you getting mouse or bird poo viruses.”

“Are you sure?” He’s ready to play the hero and defend us from the horrors of this place, but the only horrifying thing I can see is about forty-two years of accumulated grime.

“I’m sure.”

“Scream again if you need me.” He throws back his head and laughs, the slanting sunlight playing over his golden mane, sparkling like his eyes really are the sea.

I’m temporarily mesmerized by his mouth, watching the strong column of his bronzed throat vibrate, captivated by the way the sound rolls through his shoulders and chest, all the way down to abs you could literally scrub clothes on.

I’d be the clothes. I’d love to volunteer. Just saying.

Fuck.

I need to stop looking at him like that, or Georgia is going to notice it’s not just all the old junk that I’m drooling over.

He retreats to the door and steps outside, probably relieved to get out of here so he can breathe, though he’d never say so. He might not have a big ego, but he does have his pride.

“Boys and their dumb pride,” Georgia mutters, echoing my thoughts exactly.

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