19 atlas shrugged, probably #2
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he mumbles when I shove my face against his shoulder and cling there.
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. I didn’t even know. Nobody knew, until it was too late.”
Except Gray, I realize. Gray knew from the start.
But I can’t talk to Atlas about Gray yet. That’s a whole other situation.
After a long minute, he lets me go, and I lean back feeling dramatically better than before. I always forget how soothing the scent of family can be, when it’s not Dad.
“So it didn’t go well, I’m guessing?” he asks, moving back to the couch, but this time indicating for me to sit next to him.
I bring my beer and collapse onto the cushion, until we’re sitting side by side, both turned in towards each other in a way that feels conspiratorial, even though we’re alone.
And finally, I spill.
I tell him that I presented and tried to hide it, and everything the clinic doctor said.
He isn’t surprised when I describe how Dad reacted to catching me, but I think he might burst a blood vessel in his eye while I describe what happened when we went to see Doc Watts.
Because of his reaction, I keep my description of taking the suppressants simple.
I got sick, I stopped taking them when Dad was out on the road and then decided to head back to school early so I wouldn’t have to argue about it with him.
We don’t need to talk about the fact that the farther away I get from it all, the more I realize how close to dying I might have been. I’d thought Gray was exaggerating at the time, but now I’m not so sure.
I also skim over all the possibilities that I could have serious medical issues because of all this, or how unnaturally long it’s taking for my first heat to finally get itself over with.
If I talk to him about it, not only will I have to deal with his anger, but I’ll have to actually acknowledge that I’m not through any of this shit yet.
And right now, I’m very much in a one-day-at-a-time kind of place.
“So,” Atlas says, forcing a cheerful tone after we go through the whole disaster. “You never answered me before about Alyssa. Is she your girlfriend? I gotta admit, when I walked in I thought I was smelling alpha on you and omega on her, but actually it kind of makes sense. You and her.”
I have no idea how wide my eyes are, but whatever it is, Atlas takes one look at me and laughs.
“Ooookkay, just asking.” He holds his hands up, the now-empty bottle dangling from his thumb and forefinger.
I snag it and stand up, taking the excuse to go to the kitchen for a fresh round.
“It’s not like that. She’s just a friend who gave me a place to stay. I tried going back to the dorms, but it was just… it was too much. Alyssa gets it, at least.”
“Cool. So, you’re trying to keep this a secret at school?” he asks.
I nod, walking back and handing him the fresh bottle.
He makes a long, low whistling sound that I don’t appreciate.
“I gotta be honest with you bro, I don’t know what the chances are of that working. Your scent isn’t that strong now, but it’s still there, and before it was like being hit with a sledgehammer. A dorm full of betas; maybe. But being around that many worked-up, college-age alpha athletes?
I feel like maybe we need a plan B.”
“There is no plan B,” I spit at him, feeling my skin get hot.
“I have a very small, bottom-tier athletic scholarship, and a reasonable means-tested scholarship. They’re the only reasons I can afford to be here at all, and I’m barely clinging on to both of them as it is. If I get kicked off the team, that’s it. I have one more year until I graduate,
and then I can go wherever I want and leave this all in my rear-view.”
Atlas frowns, although I’m not sure why.
“You’re not going to go far, though, right? Like, you’re not leaving me?”
I stare at him. “Dude, you’re not even supposed to be here to leave! Don’t you have like three years left on your contract? You still haven’t explained what you’re even doing here right now.”
Atlas freezes and then grimaces before sighing at me again.
“Yeah, about that. I might have gotten kicked out. A little. It wasn’t my fault, though!” He sighs, dropping his gaze to the ground. “It’s a whole thing.”
I’ve never been so shocked in my entire life. I’m not even sure I’m breathing.
Atlas was it. The perfect son, the perfect soldier. He’s wanted to go into the military his entire life and he trained through high school accordingly, he presented the earliest out of all of us; this was his fucking destiny.
“What the fuck?” I ask, for lack of anything more articulate.
“Yeah, don’t tell Dad. I may have lied and said something about leave. I’ll tell him later. Eventually.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m sure that’ll go well. At least there aren’t any Army pills he can shove down your throat,” I say.
Atlas shakes his head.
“He’s such a fucking prick.”
I shrug. “He’s doing what he thinks is best for us, I still think. Even if he’s misguided. At least he cares.”
Atlas doesn’t say anything. When I finally look up at him, he’s staring at me with a level of intensity that catches me off-guard.
“What?” I ask.
He continues to stare for several seconds, before finally breaking the eye contact.
“Nothing,” he says, reaching out to grab my knee reassuringly. “Nothing. We’ll get all of this sorted out, yeah?”
I nod, although I’m not sure I believe it.
“Do you need a place to crash?” I ask him, looking around.
He stands up, draining the rest of his beer and putting the empty on the table.
“No, you’re good. I don’t want to impose on your friend after all this. Tell her I said sorry, by the way. I’m gonna get a motel. I have enough money to hang around here for a while. I don’t want to be at Dad’s any more than you do,
so I might as well keep you company while we figure out what we both do from here. I got your back, okay?”
He grabs my shoulder for a second, then pulls me into another hug.
The relief I feel after all of this is indescribable. I should have given Atlas the benefit of the doubt and known he wouldn’t turn on me. He’s never been like the others, even if it’s not something we talk about a lot.
But now that we’re both here and in each other’s corners again, things are starting to feel a little more manageable.
I get his new number, we say goodbye for a couple more minutes, and then he finally goes.
There’s one goddamn thing in my life that isn’t a disaster, I think. Finally.