Chapter Three #2
Today, he was experiencing another: His first time going home and dreading walking through the front door.
And no, he wasn’t blameless. While he wanted to shirk the responsibility, he knew any adverse reaction Slade might have was solely his fault. After all, he had spent the night at HQ. With Archer.
Not together, of course. They’d slept on separate couches. Hell, on separate floors even. Regardless, he suspected Slade would have something to say about it.
Fine. Perhaps he could’ve softened the blow if he’d bothered to text or call last night, but he didn’t. On purpose. Which was probably worse. Not to mention, it was petty since he’d done it to punish Slade for how he was acting.
Yep, that was him. Childish and petty, a double whammy.
Honestly, he wasn’t too keen on listening to Slade’s accusations.
He’d already faced a confrontation in front of Archer when Slade stopped by HQ to remind Atticus about their plans—dinner with Slade’s parents, of all things.
Since Slade didn’t believe him when he said he completely spaced, Atticus had to reassure him.
Lately, it seemed like a lot of that was happening because Slade tended to assume the worst. But Atticus was pretty sure he hadn’t given him any real reason to.
Well, not until last night, anyway.
Not that anything had happened, but he seriously doubted Slade would believe him when he said as much.
Slade would just have to suck it up.
When he made his way up the steps to the house, Atticus wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. Slade tended to get up early, not only on weekdays. More than likely, he’d come outside to see if Atticus’s truck was there and just left the door unlocked afterward.
Walking inside, he felt the tension in the air. It could’ve been his imagination, then again, probably not.
Because he wasn’t eager to have an argument, he made a beeline for his side of the house to shower and pack.
Without wasting time, he got the shower out of the way, taking a few minutes to shave and brush his teeth.
When he was finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and made the short trek down the hall to his bedroom to find Slade fully dressed, sitting on his bed, propped against the headboard, feet out in front of him, ankles crossed.
Slade’s gaze raked over his mostly naked form as he said, “Did you have fun last night?”
Atticus turned away to get clothes from his dresser. “I wouldn’t call it fun. More like work.”
“Yeah? You and Archer hard at work all night?”
“Actually, yes,” he said, turning back to put some of the clothes in the duffel bag.
“What’re you doin’?” Slade asked, jumping to his feet like the bed was on fire.
“Packing.”
“What the fuck, Atticus? Seriously?”
Frowning, Atticus turned back. “That’s kinda how it works.”
“You’re movin’ out?”
Atticus slowly pivoted back around. “I’m goin’ to Dallas with Brantley, Reese, Simon, and Archer.”
Slade stared at him, eyes wide. “When?”
“Today.”
When Slade didn’t say anything, Atticus turned back to his task. Not realizing what he was doing, he continued to shove more clothes into his bag. He didn’t stop until the drawer was empty.
Realizing he needed something to wear, he dug through the bag, pulled out jeans and a T-shirt. Forgetting underwear, he dug around more for those.
With Slade staring at him, Atticus managed to get dressed. He sat to put on his socks and boots.
“When will you be back?”
Standing up, Atticus grabbed his phone charger from the nightstand. “I guess when they say it’s time to come back.”
“No.”
Slowly, Atticus looked at Slade again. “Excuse me?”
Slade shook his head emphatically. “You can’t go to Dallas. Not with… Someone else can go. Evan. He’s got more experience.”
Atticus was dumbfounded. Not to mention, hurt by Slade’s lack of faith in him.
So much so, he considered going into the closet, grabbing another bag, and filling it with the few items he’d hung in there.
That was all it would take to pack up every single thing he owned and walk out of Slade’s house and not look back.
Kinda sad that the contents of his life could fit into two duffel bags.
He paused, took a deep breath. He couldn’t end things. Not like this.
Instead, he slipped out of the room and into the bathroom, grabbing the toiletries he would need. When he returned, Slade was standing there, mouth agape, staring. Was it his imagination, or was Slade shaking?
Reminding himself he did not want to get into it, he took a deep breath.
It took a moment, but he got his wits about him.
Atticus zipped his bag, then hefted it onto his shoulder.
His backpack with his laptop was at HQ, where he’d left it, but he glanced around the space to ensure there wasn’t anything else he needed.
When he turned, he found Slade standing in the doorway.
“Talk to Brantley,” Slade said firmly.
“About what?”
“About someone else goin’ to Dallas.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “We’re not havin’ this conversation, Slade.”
“Tell him you’ve got obligations here.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
He should’ve expected Slade to stop him, and that was precisely what he did, blocking the doorway, making it impossible for Atticus to pass.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I have to.” He avoided meeting the man’s gaze. “Please move.”
“Atticus.”
He looked up into Slade’s eyes.
Slade’s voice was pleading when he said, “If you care about me at all, you won’t do this.”
Atticus’s ire rocketed to a blaze in an instant. “Won’t do this? Are you fucking serious right now? This is my job.”
“Your job is here,” Slade insisted.
“My job is wherever Brantley and Reese say it is.”
“You don’t find it weird that Brantley assigned this to you and not someone with—”
Atticus filled in where Slade left off. “Someone with more experience? Someone who’s been with the team longer? Someone who knows what they’re doing?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Move,” Atticus insisted, putting his hand on Slade’s chest.
Slade didn’t budge. “Are you fucking him?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Atticus said through clenched teeth, barreling past Slade.
“You are, aren’t you? Is that where you were last night? In his bed? And now Brantley’s sendin’ you to Dallas with him so y’all can be together?”
Atticus didn’t bother asking him why the fuck he would think Brantley would do something like that. Their boss didn’t give a shit about their personal business.
“I knew this was gonna happen,” Slade hissed. “I knew you were gonna cheat. They all do.”
Atticus ignored him. He continued toward the door. Before he reached it, his cell phone rang. Figuring it was Archer trying to figure out when he’d be back at HQ, he answered.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, man. We’ve got a situation.”
He stopped, setting his bag on the arm of the couch. “What’s that?”
“Violet’s dad is missing. Simon just called to let me know. He asked me to call Brantley, but I figured I’d call you, see what you thought.”
Atticus was pretty sure Violet was the woman who owned the bookstore, and he thought he’d heard something about her dating Simon, but he wasn’t positive. From Archer’s tone, she sounded important. “I’m headin’ back to HQ. I’ll give him a call.”
“You mind swingin’ by and pickin’ me up on the way?”
“Sure. The B and B?”
“Yep.”
“See you in a few.”
Atticus ended the call and shoved his phone in his bag.
He started toward the door, intending to walk out without saying goodbye.
Unfortunately, the thought of leaving Slade in this state didn’t sit well with him.
No, maybe things weren’t working the way he’d hoped, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put a rift between them.
Even if their relationship ended, they still had to work together.
Exhaling slowly, Atticus turned around to find Slade standing there, staring. He looked pained. Atticus wanted to feel bad for him, but the man’s reactions were outrageous. Slade had no reason not to trust him, yet it appeared that was exactly what was happening.
“I’m gonna head to HQ. I’ve gotta pick Archer up on the way. We’re drivin’ up together. I don’t know how long we’ll be up there. That’s not up to me. But I’ll text you when I can.”
“Is this it?”
Not sure what Slade meant, Atticus frowned. “Is what it?”
Slade gestured between them. “This. Is it over?”
Half an hour ago, he wouldn’t have known how to answer that question. But after this, he knew there was only one right answer. Only he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
Slade’s jaw ticked. “You’re fuckin’ him, aren’t you?”
Atticus exhaled, grinding his teeth, trying to hold onto his patience. They were wearing thin. “Archer’s my partner. We work together. You know that. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t fuck him. And I don’t intend to. We. Work. Together. That’s all.”
“Then why does it feel like it’s over?” Slade demanded.
Atticus stared at him for what felt like an eternity. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Not waiting for a response, Atticus spun on his heel and walked out of the house.