Chapter 50
Atlas
Separating from Ezra and Conin incites an epiphany.
When they walked away, my heart and body felt the magnetic pulse increase, begging to close the space between us.
It’s strange being apart from them now that they’ve remained a staple in my everyday life over the past week. And the worst part of this all?
I’m attracted to them both. No matter how hard I deny it, it’s the irrefutable truth. I think I understand now, partially, what pa meant in the motel, proffering my big heart like it’s no big deal. Because of that, I’m drowning in the demise of my emotional promiscuity.
Can you call this jealousy? Maybe. I’ve had my fair share of jealous plights, but nothing to this extreme.
Conin and Ezra love each other. They’re childhood best friends, so on top of their infatuation are years of history that I don’t share.
I’m scrambling for ways to cast the idea of them out of mind, but that frustration returns.
(God! When did I stoop this low? Pining after people I can’t have?)
Watching Ezra and Conin kiss was even worse.
I tried to act like it hadn’t bothered me, playing the part of a flustered boy who was caught accidentally watching an intimate moment between two lovers.
Two lovers. Would the idea of another partner be too much for them to fathom?
The thought had certainly crossed my mind on numerous occasions.
I’ve never been in one (a polyamorous relationship), but that’s me, and I know it.
It’s just . . . particularly in Utah, a part of oneself that’s deeply frowned upon. (I’m looking at you, Joseph Smith.)
There’s a connection between us three and it’s more than just the tether that keeps me bonded to Ezra.
Imposing might ruin the friendship I think we’ve created over their time at the bunker.
A week ago, I had no idea who these two were.
Now, it’s like . . . they’ve always been a part of my life.
It’s hard to imagine one where their friendships aren’t valued.
It would be nothing short of a miracle if Conin and Ezra felt the same.
Bobby taps me gently on the shoulder. I’m so engrossed that by the time we reach our destination, I can’t remember why we’re here. We’re in front of a trailer home surrounded by a community of more trailer homes.
“I’ve been assigned here?”
Bobby’s sheepish as they try to mask their discomfort.
“It’s not glamorous,” they say (truly the understatement of the century), “but this is where we pair, um . . . lone wolves with others so they’re not on their own. See it as a buddy system—a means to have someone always watching your back.”
Lone-fucking-wolves?
“You can just say people who don’t have a family,” I deadpan.
With them. A family with them, to clarify. Bobby turns paper-white.
“Um . . . yeah, I suppose you’re right. You’ve been assigned a unit with several others. Let me introduce you to them,” they mumble.
They knock on the trailer door. I count a minute before someone answers. Mafu’s lean, yet broad, frame, looms on the other side.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan.
My anger at him rekindles. With how high his eyebrows rise, he doesn’t seem happy to see me, either.
“Hi, Atlas,” Mafu says, as if our conversation from the other day hadn’t played out at all.
“You have a family. Why are you here?”
Bobby’s head whips in my direction with an incredulous glare, their mouth agape in mortification. They’re probably trying to signal me to shut the hell up and right the fuck now.
“I had a . . . falling out,” he says.
Bobby looks as if they wish they were anywhere but here.
Me too, Bobby. Me too.