Atticus
FATHER SITS AT HIS large mahogany desk with his Bluetooth earpiece hooked to his ear.
He’s talking to an investor from Washington, one who has invested nearly a million dollars into expanding Portline Enterprises. Not that our company needs expanding, with its large roster of employees and several manufacturing locations.
“Jeremy, would you please reach out to Mr. Andrews and ask him about the New York locations’ Inventory Valuation Report?” Father asks, barely looking up from his laptop as he types away.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy Walsh responds swiftly, grabbing his cellphone and slipping out of the room silently.
“No, New Jersey isn’t a good example. Their product margins are significantly lower than New York’s,” Father continues, speaking to the investor swiftly and efficiently.
Great Grandfather Augustus is the one who built Portline Enterprises, the company our family owns, which manufactures and sells the parts needed to build not only commercial cruise line ships, but cargo ships as well.
It has made the Chastain clan very comfortable and given the men of my family a purpose. A reason to be cut-throat and hardworking, yet notoriously kind.
I watch as my father stands and begins to pace, talking with his hands and staring at the floor as his brows pinch. If there is one thing I respect about Abraham Chastain, even more so than his dedication to his family and his empathy, it is his love for his company.
One day, I will inherit it the way he did from his father. I just thought my journey with Portline Enterprises would have started already.
Instead, every time I ask Father when I’ll begin working under him and learning the trade, he tells me the same thing.
In that same kind voice, he’ll say, “Atticus, my love, enjoy your youth while you can! Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a break between college and the real world.”
For a long while, I figured his reluctance to let me start had something to do with my brother and his curse. But even now that Atlas is free and living a peaceful life, I am still here, watching him wistfully from the leather sofa a few feet away.
Soon. Very soon, I’m sure of it.
The problem isn’t my ungratefulness; I understand that plenty of young men would jump at the opportunity of having a well-off family that allows such relaxation.
No, my issues lie with sitting idly.
You see, I have what my mother calls control issues.
I want to have my hands on things; I want to shape them and guide them.
Otherwise, I have no purpose. So sitting by while my father works and I watch on is not in my nature, the way it is for my brother, and the way it might be for my sister someday.
I’d rather be working alongside one of our housekeepers than be stagnant. At least that way I could control what is made for dinner, or how the garden is planted.
“Atticus,” Father calls, turning his attention to me as he ends his call with the Washington investor.
I sit up straight, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Is this it?!
“Yes, Father?” I breathe, undoubtedly showing my eagerness clearly.
Father only smiles gently, giving me those loving looks he reserves for his children. “Go spend time with your brother or sister. Sitting in here must be so boring for you.”
My heart stutters to a stop. Okay, not today, then.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m listening to you and learning. I have to prepare myself.”
“Atticus,” Father sighs. “None of this. I already told you that I would prepare you when the time comes. You will learn nothing from listening to a one-sided conversation. Now, go. Enjoy your day.”
With that, he rounds his desk and approaches where I sit to kiss my forehead with reverence.
I sigh, mimicking him, and stand.
“Yes, Father,” I mumble, exiting the way Jeremy had done minutes prior.
As the heavy door of his study thuds shut behind me, I impulsively fix my button-up, though it already sits perfectly.
I already have most of the day planned out to a T, so Father throwing me out of the office only speeds up my already mapped out activities.
Taking one controlled step at a time, I make my way toward the kitchen, where I can grab a late morning snack. That should make up for this lapse of time, during which I’m suddenly suspended with nothing to do.
Only as I walk onto the second-floor landing and turn my gaze to the large window to my left, I see Atlas sitting by the cliff’s edge, wrapped in his black, sheer robe.
I guess I won’t need to find a late morning snack after all.
As I approach him, having come from the back door, Atlas doesn’t look up. Once I’m directly behind his chair, he speaks.
“Have you come to apologize, Julie? Or should I reconstruct the pillow wall on our bed tonight?” His voice is light and airy, but by no means joking.
“What has Julian done?” I ask, running a hand over his curly brown hair.
Atlas is so beautiful, especially now that he isn’t having his energy constantly drained, which makes me feel plain. Ordinary.
He’s soft and pretty and so perfectly comfortable existing with no urgency or purpose that it drives me crazy. I can’t tell if I’m envious or peeved most of the time, but I always know that I love him.
I love him so much that I sold a decade of my life to a demon, just to try and save him. Not that it worked.
Atlas looks over his shoulder, big blue eyes widening as a pink hue covers his cheeks, coating the slight freckles there.
“Oh, hello, Atticus. I thought you were Julian,” he says softly, leaning into my touch as I continue to pet his head.
“I see that. What did he do?”
A small grin forms over his lips, and my brother blushes further as he turns to stare back over the water.
“Nothing serious,” he explains. “Nothing I want to tell my brother, I mean. I’m mostly just toying with him until he begs for forgiveness.”
Atlas’s small smile morphs into an evil little grin, and I’m struck with the realization that whatever Julian did must have been something provocative.
Just because his curse is broken doesn’t mean Atlas is any more innocent than he was before. And I know this as I’ve resorted to sleeping with earplugs in at night, though when I wake, they’re usually lost amongst my duvet.
I guess I’ve turned into a wild sleeper.
“Well, I hope he apologizes soon,” I concede, tugging at one of the curls at the nape of Atlas’s neck.
“Me too.” He releases a dreamy sigh, and I clear my throat.
“Are you ready for classes?” My attempt to change the subject is bland, but I really don’t wish to hear more about this topic revolving around Julian.
I’m still not sure how I feel about him, other than the respect I have for what he’s done for my brother and the acknowledgment of how much he must really love Atlas.
“Yep! They begin in August, but I’ve already enrolled and had Father order my supplies. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? Considering I’m doing online?” he asks.
Atlas couldn’t go to college straight out of high school the way I did. Sure, I took online classes, but he was forced to wait until his twenties due to the overwhelming visits of the incubus.
That, and he previously didn’t particularly care for secondary schooling.
And though Atlas doesn’t necessarily have any real career aspirations, he is interested in learning about the ocean. Now he’s able to finally follow his dreams.
“Don’t assume it’ll be easy,” I lecture. “Online can be harder depending on your major, and marine biology is tough, darling.”
Atlas sighs once more, this time with exasperation. “Oh well, I’ll do my best. I have no plans to be a scientist anyway; I just want to learn. Julian and I have already decided I’ll be a stay-at-home father, like Mother is.”
It suits him—wandering around a beautiful home with his children, doting on them, and greeting Julian at the door every evening. Sure, he’ll have to get used to a less expensive lifestyle, as one day, he won’t be supported by Father, and Julian isn’t a rich man, but I don’t think my brother cares.
I, on the other hand, would probably go crazy.
But having a cute husband of my own to guide and support… that doesn’t sound so bad.
Or it wouldn’t if I had anything soft left inside of me to give.
“Enjoy it,” I tell Atlas. “School is a grand time if you love what you’re learning.”
“Did you feel that way about business?” Atlas asks.
“Of course I did. You know how I feel about structure and logic, and my business degree had plenty of both.” As I speak, my brother turns to look at me again, his eyes softening as he reaches out a hand to rub gently at my wrist.
The wrist connected to the hand that is still playing with his silky hair.
Some might say my love for Atlas is too strong or too obsessive, but I disagree. When you watch someone so innocent, so pure, fall into the hands of a monster and then suffer for as long as he did… It’s hard not to latch on and never let go.
Atlas is my one soft, precious thing. The last little piece of me that is still sweet and kind, pulsing quietly in my chest.
I loathe that Julian is taking him from me, one day at a time.
“One day you’ll run Papa’s business, and you’ll have a beautiful wife just like Momma. Maybe then you’ll be happy,” he beams.
A cold chill runs through me. Not because Atlas has no idea that I also prefer the company of men—I’ve only kept my preferences to myself because it doesn’t feel necessary to divulge—but because he can so blatantly see that I am not happy.
That I’m drowning a bit more every day.
Flashes of golden hair and gentle gray eyes circle my mind, reminding me of nights nestled away in that little house and smooth skin beneath my fingertips.
Of his soft, pretty cries.
“Maybe,” I mumble, my fingers dropping away from his hair.
Before Atlas can respond, the sound of footsteps approaching surrounds us.
“Atty,” Julian calls, his voice light and full of a joy I haven’t felt in ages. “Are you still pouting?”
A grin shapes Atlas’s lips once more, and he ducks his head, fiddling with his robe. “Maybe.”