Page 73 of Atlas & Miles
But then I steeled my resolve, gathered my suitcase and shoulder bag, and turned and walked away from the love of my life.
Chapter twenty-three
Miles
On our way home from the prom last night, Finn and Chloe had called to ask if we—shit, I; I was no longer part of a “we”—would attend a special prom Finn was setting up for Brad tonight. They’d even asked me to help build a few things.
The idea melted my newly-discovered romantic side, as badly as I wished I could surgically remove that particular part of myself. It had brought me nothing but heartache.
As I pulled into the driveway of my house in Atlas’s car, which I figured I’d store in my garage so I could look after it more easily, I was glad I had something to distract me today. I set to creating a custom dance floor for tonight in the workshop I’d built in an outbuilding on my property.
I’d always liked working with my hands. I loved working with wood—though I didn’t have the energy to enjoy that lewd joke—but I rarely had time to create something just for fun. So this was gratifying.
The relative quiet didn’t keep my brain from spiraling, though, and I realized I’d soon need a hobby that wouldn’t afford me unlimited time to think about Atlas.
God, just thinking his name hurt.
Once the floor was properly sanded, I called Chloe, and she brought her mom over to splatter paint on the surface. After grabbing them drinks to help them stay hydrated, I stayed in the workshop with them, relishing the presence of other humans. It wasn’t good to be by myself in this state; I was self-aware enough to realize that.
I kept quiet as I watched the women work on the floor. I’d offered to help, but they apparently had a vision for it that they were afraid I’d mess up. In their kindness, they didn’t say that last part aloud.
As they worked, I heard them talking about their plans—well, Finn’s plans—for the evening. After a while, I noticed they didn’t have much in the way of food and drinks lined up, and an idea popped into my head. I knew how I could help.
Well, I was going to try, at least.
I went to run some errands, and a text from Atlas came in as I was waiting on Mose at Timbers & Tallboys.I made it to my apartment safely, baby. Love you.
My heart panged at the endearment, at the profession of love, at the fact that he’d texted at all, and I scrubbed at my chest to try to ease the ache. I typed out a quickI love you, too. Glad you’re safe.Then Mose was back with the food he’d agreed to donate for Finn’s largely impromptu prom. I pocketed my phone and brought the trays out to my truck. Chloe was going to be ecstatic about this last-minute score.
I quickly ran home to change and showed up to prom dressed in nice jeans and a button-down just as it started.
And as I attended a second prom with Finn and Chloe, danced with a bunch of new friends they introduced me to, threw a football around with Brad, and ate and drank the night away with Atlas on video chat the entire time, I realized that there wasn’t anything wrong with me at all—I was fully capable ofmaking friends if I justtried. I might’ve been out of practice, but as I tossed a football to my friend, something I hadn’t done in decades, I knew the things I’d come to think of myself weren’t true.
I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t a loner. I didn’t hate people. I wasn’t bad at making friends.
I’d been scared. I’d been worried how people would react if they knew the real me. But I’d come out yesterday in front of basically the whole town, and nothing bad had happened. The opposite actually: I felt an inexplicable freedom in finally being able to be myself that I’d never felt before, like a massive weight I hadn’t known I’d been carrying had been lifted, and I wanted to embrace that fully. I wanted to be out and proud, show the world I was a queer man who loved my perfect gendersparkly Daddy.
I wanted to love him out loud.
But I wasn’t sure how to do that. So I swallowed down the hurt at seeing him again—even through a screen—left the prom as soon as I could without being rude, went home to an empty house, and cried myself to sleep.
***
Monday’s full schedule of handyman jobs gave me a minor reprieve from my grief, though Atlas texted me when he had a break between meetings at work. Sounded like he was busy as hell but was loving the job. I was happy for him—of course I was—and I told him as much, but every time his name popped up on my phone, my heart broke a little more.
I missed him so fucking bad. How was I going to survive this?
Tuesday was another jam-packed day, thank fuck, and it seemed Atlas was even busier than he’d been the day before because he only texted a couple of times. The messages were never anything too intimate or personal, just keeping me up-to-date on the new job, but I was starting to dread them, and Ifucking hated that. I loved him so much, but getting a mundane, perfunctory taste of him without any hope that we’d one day be more once again was excruciating.
It was making me grumpier than usual. Though I was never outwardly hostile, my customers steered clear of even the smallest of small talk with me, and even Cloudy figuratively smacked me upside the head when we met for lunch on Wednesday at a tasty sub and salad shop near her work.
“What the hell’s going on with you, Miles?” she asked, eyeing me over her sandwich with the pointed judgy glare that siblings seemed to be especially good at. “This is worse than your normal angstiness.”
“I’m just sad that Atlas is gone,” I mumbled back as I shoved a bite of salad into my mouth, hoping that would shut her up.
I was not that lucky. “Bullshit. This is more than sadness. You’re angry.”
“I’m not.”
