Cameron
ATTICUS’S PALM SITS HEAVILY against my lower back—a reassuring weight that grounds me.
I may or may not be on the verge of panicking right outside of Checkers. It’s not that I’ve been intentionally keeping my and Atticus’s reformed relationship a secret; it’s more that I’m always at Chastain Castle or the auto shop. We haven’t really gone out.
Now, as we wait for Cassie to show up, all the anxiety of reshaping yourself in the eyes of your peers is suffocating me.
I’m not scared—I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten over the fear aspect that used to strangle me as soon as we started performing the exorcism. But what if Cassie hates me for taking Atticus from her? What if people in town begin to give Atticus a hard time because of me?
What if people stop bringing their cars to Uncle Danny’s shop, all because a little gay boy works there?
“You’re overthinking,” Atticus murmurs, running a hand over my hair in a soothing manner.
“Yeah.” I wince. I literally cannot lie to Atticus, or he might very well deny me an orgasm for three days again.
Our time together over the past two weeks has been beautiful—all peace and surrender, hot sex and admiration.
Even when he’s punishing me for not perfectly obeying his every word—like when I wore the blue t-shirt to dinner last Friday and not the gray one—I’m incredibly happy to be at his mercy.
“There is nothing to be anxious about,” Atticus insists. “If she doesn’t love you after you tell her, then she never truly loved you.”
I take a deep, resigned breath. “You’re right.”
“That’s funny; I remember you thinking something very different the day you didn’t wear that gray t-shirt I picked out for you.”
I groan, shoving his chest. See? He just won’t let it go.
“Cam!” My head snaps to the left, spotting Cassie as she walks up the sidewalk.
Suddenly, Atticus’s hand on my back feels like a hot poker, an obvious and obscene admittance.
But she doesn’t seem to notice it.
“Hey, Cas,” I greet, attempting to sound as calm and casual as I normally do.
“Atticus,” Cassie purrs, batting her lashes up at him.
Maybe it’s because I became so used to her pining for him, but her reaction doesn’t make me angry. But it does make me want to laugh, though I hide that desire.
“Hello,” Atticus says, all polite and stern.
“Let’s go in!”
We follow Cassie into the diner, and as we slide into the booth, I sit on Atticus’s side. Her eyes widen as she watches us, but she seems more surprised that I wouldn’t sit with her than she is suspicious.
“Thanks for calling,” she says, shaking her shocked expression away. “I know we kind of fell out at Carl’s party a while ago.”
Atticus squeezes my thigh under the table, an admission that it was about him. That he was the source of our fallout.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have tried to control what you do.”
Not everyone’s into that, I guess.
Cassie grins. “It does go to show how perfect we are as besties, though, doesn’t it? Same taste and all.”
She says it like it’s a secret—like we’re having a moment outside of Atticus, since we’re talking about him.
Little does she know, Atticus is very much in the loop.
“Listen, Cas,” I start, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I have something to say to you. It’s why I invited you out.”
She nods eagerly, her eyes flickering to Atticus with an untamed heat every few seconds.
“The truth is… I’ve been keeping a secret from you.” At my words, her eyes widen once more, but I keep talking. “At first I was scared nobody would treat me the same, that I’d be less of a man. But now, I’ve decided that if that does happen, those people were never meant to be in my life.”
“Okay…” she draws nervously, as if she knows what I’m going to say but wasn’t prepared for me to say it here—in front of him.
Little does she know…
“I’m gay. Or maybe bi? I don’t know for sure, but the definite is that I like men.”
“Oh, Cam,” Cassie coos, smiling sweetly. “I figured, after the party and all. Well, honestly, I had an inkling after what happened with Julian at Chastain Castle.”
A breath of relief leaves me, and I slump back against the booth. “Really? And you don’t care?”
She scrunches her nose, smoothing her napkin where it sits on the table. “Why would I? Who you fuck isn’t for me to decide.”
Ouch. Message received. I will no longer try to dictate who she fucks. Especially now that it won’t be the man I love.
“Okay. Cool. Thank you,” I say.
“Of course! But uh, why is Atticus here if that’s what you wanted to tell me? Are you coming out to him too?” Cassie asks.
“Oh, I’ve known,” Atticus tells her, smug and cocky.
Her eyes narrow on my shoulder, where it’s pressing into his bicep.
“We’re dating,” I blurt out. “Back when we all first started hanging out, we were already seeing each other.”
Some kind of revelation happens within her, and Cassie’s mouth falls open, then closes, and her eyes widen.
“Oh! Ohhhhh, that makes sense. That is why you were so on my case about him.” Her expression shifts from shocked understanding to hurt in a second flat. “Why didn’t you just tell me, instead of letting me run around like an idiot? I would have respected it.”
Guilt courses through me because she’s right. She has always been accepting of Kim, who’s gayer than anyone I know, and has never given me a reason to doubt her loyalty to me.
“I was just… scared,” I admit softly.
Cassie’s eyes soften, but before she can speak, the waitress appears, ready to take our order.
Atticus’s arm drapes over the back of the booth, his fingertips grazing my shoulder.
“I’ll have the chicken salad sandwich with chips and a water,” he starts, confident and firm. “And he’ll have the club with fries and a Powerade.”
I smile at the waitress, once again overwhelmed by how often I don’t have to use my useless brain.
Cassie puts her order in, leveling me with a blank expression once the waitress leaves.
“Is there anything else you’ve been keeping from me?” she asks, and though she does sound a little hurt, she’s not angry.
“Uh, yes, actually,” I wince. “A few weeks ago, I moved into Chastain Castle.”
“What?!” she borderline screeches. Atticus’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “That’s amazing! Fuck, I’ve been dying for you to get away from that woman for years!”
I peek over at Atticus as his hand loosens its hold, and he’s grinning at Cassie.
“She’s horrible, right?” he asks, almost proud to be a part of this bit of conversation.
Cassie laughs. “The worst! I hated seeing Cam so worn out, so depressed, when coming from that house. Good for you, Cam, and thanks, Atticus. For taking him away from there.”
Atticus dips his chin, humbly accepting her praise.
“Well,” Cassie sighs, leaning back against her own booth as she stares at the two of us. “I can’t say I’m thrilled that I made a fool of myself for years, but I am truly happy for you. You don’t happen to have any hidden-away, hot siblings, do you, Atticus?”
Atticus’s smile turns into a frown so fast that I fear Cassie and I will get whiplash. “Atlas is happily taken, sorry. And Abigail is a minor.”
Cassie raises her hands defensively. “Just checking.”
The rest of our dinner goes smoothly. We catch up, talk about work and life, and Cassie even grills us a bit on our relationship.
Atticus pays our bill—something I’m still wrapping my head around—and as we leave the diner, Cassie grips my hand.
The one not currently intertwined with Atticus’s.
“We can go back to hanging out now, right? And things are okay between us?” She looks so hopeful, so bright and cheery that I could cry.
“Of course, Cas. And again, I’m sorry.”
She waves me off. “It’s in the past. I’m just happy for you. Well, I have some family stuff, so I’m taking off. Call me, okay? And it was good to see you, Atticus!”
As she looks over to him, all of that familiar heat I’d see in her eyes when she ogled him in the past is gone and replaced by a friendly smile.
“Absolutely,” Atticus confirms.
As she retreats, we watch her back for a moment, soaking in the moment.
“That went well,” I comment, and Atticus squeezes my hand.
“I like her,” he admits. “She’s a good friend to you.”
I grin up at him, taking in his relaxed, god-like features. “I think so too.”
We head toward the BMW, hands still interlocked.
“She might not be as happy as she seems,” he warns me. “She liked me for a long time, so she might be a bit sore for a while.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, mourning this revelation for her just a bit. “It’ll sort itself out, though.”
Atticus pulls me into his side, kissing the top of my head. “It always does, doesn’t it?”
I’m pulled from sleep, the darkness of night still wrapped around me as I blink sleepily.
Next to me, Atticus—who doesn’t typically move in his sleep—is on his back next to me, twitching and whining softly from where he sleeps, nude.
He’s having a nightmare. Again.
A few days after the exorcism, he confided in me what he experienced that day. Apparently, as we were all watching him stand stock still, dazed and trembling, he was murdering his entire family.
In his head, of course.
We all assume that it was his conscience’s way of pulling him from where he was buried under the demon’s control, but it doesn’t change what he saw. What was so real and traumatizing for him.
And now, some nights, he suffers under the weight of that false reality, barely able to pull himself away from it in the morning.
He does pray, though he’s not comfortable enough to enter the chapel again, but I’ve never been the church-going type. Even if I do believe now.
Instead, I do what I know will help right here, right now.
I roll onto my side, grazing my fingertips over his jaw.
“Atticus?” I whisper, feeling his warm skin against mine. “It’s time to wake up. You’re dreaming again.”
“N-no,” he murmurs, brows drawn tight as he shakes.
“Yes. Come on, come back to me. Let me fix it.”
Atticus shivers, as if he truly does hear my voice from deep within his slumber. My fingers trail down his neck, rubbing patterns onto his bare chest.