Page 14 of Atlas & Miles
He stopped talking then, his chest heaving as he stared at me. I raised an eyebrow, a light smile playing on my lips. “Are you done venting?”
Miles nodded.
“Can I share my thoughts?”
He rolled his hand in the space between us. “Please.”
I stood so we were closer to eye level, the coffee table still between us. “I understand, Miles. I get it. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I respect you for acknowledging that, actually.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice tentative and soft, almost like a child’s. My heart squeezed.
“Yeah.” I smiled softly, but it was sad. Missed opportunities always sucked, but for some reason, this one hit a lot harder than I would have expected. “It takes a lot of balls to admit something like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
I circled the coffee table to place my hand on his bicep. Fuck, those muscles. I’d be jerking off to them later. “Is it weird to say I’m proud of you?”
He blushed adorably again, and my Daddy instincts—a mere whisper before—started shouting at me. “Thank you, Atlas. That’s not weird at all. Actually, I think I needed to hear it.”
My smile, though still gloomy, was genuine. “I’m glad.”
Miles scrubbed a hand over his face again before glancing at the door. “If you ever want to hang out, I’d be up for that.”
I nodded, knowing that likely wouldn’t happen. I couldn’t be around this man without wanting him, and that would get me into all sorts of trouble. I knew my brain. I’d likely talk myself into the occasional dalliance with him on the down low, but I needed more than that in a relationship.
The fact I was even considering a relationship with him told me there was more between us than a hookup. But I’d never been in the closet, and I wasn’t going to start now. I couldn’t.
He walked over to the door but turned around with his hand on the knob. “Oh, you should probably have my number in case you need anything. You’re new to town and all and—shit! I was supposed to fix your internet.”
I opened my mouth to dismiss his concern, but he cut me off.
“No, I’m the only one in the area who can do it. Let me go grab my stuff, and I’ll get you squared away in no time.”
I nodded, watching him open the door and walk out to his truck, which was parked on the curb. He was back inside quickly, and I showed him the unit I’d been sent, explained that it wasn’t working, demonstrated what I’d tried. He worked quietly and quickly, only asking questions when he needed to.
And one awkward-as-fuck half hour later, once my internet was good to go, he dropped a business card with his number on it on my coffee table and was out the door.
Chapter four
Miles
Early March
Igrunted as I hefted the window AC unit into place, lifting with my legs. Ms. Caterina had me do this every year, and every year, she gave me too-sweet lemonade, not-sweet-enough lavender cookies, and a single flower from her garden. She was the kindest old lady, a legend in this town, my third-grade teacher who’d attempted to give me piano lessons for about a month until I proved to be the worst student ever and my dad let me shift to football.
God, I missed him. He’d been the best dad—he’d tossed a baseball and later a football around the yard with me when he got home from work, he’d encouraged me to cry when I needed to and showed me how to stick up for myself when I could, and he’d lived out a strength I’d never seen before or since.
Then cancer had taken him a few months before I’d turned twelve, and I’d had to face my teenage years without him. That was bad enough, but my mom had been so overwhelmed withgrief that, as the older brother, I’d had to take care of Claudia for months following his death. My mom had eventually gotten out from under the cloud of sorrow, but that had been worse. Instead of being sad, she’d turned angry.
And she’d taken it all out on me.
She’d never hit me—she’d just yelled a lot. I thought she somehow blamed me for my dad’s death, though I knew even then that it was no one’s fault. Just . . . fuck cancer.
Or maybe I looked too much like him and reminded her more of him the older I got.
Whatever the reason, she’d been a horrible mother ever since—she’d managed to pay the bills and keep us fed, but that’s where her parental contributions had ended—and I’d done my best to keep Claudia out of the line of fire. I’d only sort of been successful, and Claudia had had her own share of trauma to work through after leaving home. But I’d tried my absolute best.
My younger sister moved a few towns away as soon as she’d graduated high school, attending a community college near there before getting a bachelor’s degree and eventually a law degree, both out of state in Atlanta. She’d returned eight years ago to open her own law office after she’d saved up enough money to do so, and now her practice was the most successful in the region. I was so fucking proud of her. She was goddamn fearless.
