17. now #2
I’m tempted to call him out on it, but I know better.
I know better than a lot of what I’m doing right now.
For someone who wants this relationship to stay in the camp of not-even-friends-but-definitely-not-lovers, I can’t be doing stuff like this.
So as much as I want to, I don’t bring up my ass or his clear fascination with how it looks in these shorts.
Instead, I let him show me how to dribble the ball and how to shoot a basket. We play for over an hour, until I’m sweating and breathing hard and feeling highly self-conscious of the fact he isn’t doing much of either.
We stop at the center of the court, and I lean forward, hands on my knees.
Atlas starts talking about a drill we’ll do next time.
Rather than listen, I look out at the volleyball court.
A new game has started with four tall women on either side of the net.
From the looks of it, they are not learning a new sport.
I straighten and cut off Atlas mid-sentence.
“Do you remember when we did that summer camp?” My head barely clears his shoulder, and I have to tilt my chin to look up at him. “They had us go through all these different stations. Tennis. Volleyball. Swimming. I’m sure there was basketball, but I don’t think I did that one.”
If Atlas is startled by the abrupt subject change, he doesn’t show it. He only nods, once, slow. “I remember. And yeah, you skipped basketball. Went on a hike with the older girls’ group.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that he remembers, but I am. That was ten years ago now. I’m lucky I remember attending the camp at all, let alone the activities. The main reason I do isn’t because of all the fun stations we did or the different hikes.
“That’s where Nat met Michael,” I say. On the volleyball court, the white ball spins through the air, spiked from one lean woman to another. They call out to each other, moving in perfect synchrony to keep the ball off the sand.
It’s beautiful. Mesmerizing.
“Michael?” Atlas’s voice pulls me back to where we stand. Without turning, I know he’s looking at me. It’s unsettling, how easily my body adjusts to his. A few days in his presence, and it feels like we were never apart.
“Her first boyfriend.” I look down at the basketball. Spin it between my hands. “He was twenty-one. She was fifteen. I don’t know for sure, but I think he was the one who took her to those parties.”
His ah is quiet, barely more than an exhale.
“Sometimes, I wonder if things would be different. You know, if we never went to that camp and they never met. If he never started teaching us tennis…”
I expect Atlas to tell me it wouldn’t have mattered.
That, whether it was Michael or Shayna or any other person in the world, Nat was destined to end up how she did.
So addicted to meth, fucking meth, that she’d lose her damn mind.
That she’d run away, rather than deal with it.
That she’d leave me to wrestle with the guilt for the rest of my life.
Atlas doesn’t say anything. He shifts, pushing his hands into his pockets. Across the park, the volleyball drops to the sand. I blink at it, at the defeated player on her knees beside it.
“Anyway. I don’t know what made me think of that.”
It’s a lie. When I’m around Atlas, it’s impossible not to think of every little Nat detail.
“I don’t know if it would’ve ended up the same, but I think Nat’s problems started way before we went to Camp Haven.”
“Right.” Tears press against the sides of my eyes, burning until my vision blurs. Because despite everything that happened, we’ve never talked about my dad. About the truths that came out after Nat disappeared. “Well, I think that’s enough for today. We can meet again tomorrow if you want.”
I’m talking too fast. I need to get out of here, now, before I cause more unfathomable embarrassment. Yes, Atlas Blake ruined my life, but I don’t want him to know how much of a mess I am because of it.
I spin and start for Hayden’s car. Hayden, who I’d almost forgotten is here, is visible through the passenger seat window. Thankfully, it looks like she’s taken to scrolling on her phone.
I only make it a few steps before his hand closes around my elbow, tugging me to a stop.
“Hey, hold on.” His voice is soft, that dangerous kind of gentle that could be my undoing. He tugs again, so careful, twisting me to face him.
What happens next is pure instinct. Muscle memory. A reaction from years of habit that slips out before I can stop it.
I grab the front of Atlas’s shirt, fisting right beneath his collar. I did this all the time when we were dating, right before I’d tug him down to my height. Sometimes to playfully scold him. Other times to kiss him when he was least expecting it.
I don’t do either right now. I only clench my fist and stare at it, wrapped tightly around his black T-shirt. His heartbeat punches against his ribs, echoing into my palm and through my entire body.
“Violet,” he whispers. One hand is on my elbow, but the other is on my opposite forearm, holding my fist carefully in place. “Look at me.”
I only stare at my hand against his chest. For the shortest of moments, I let myself imagine it.
A reality where I tell him I’ve missed him, where I tell him I think about him all the time, where I beg him to touch me like he once did.
A reality where I could forgive him and love him like I used to.
I look up at him, so tall above me. When we were younger, he made me feel safer than anyone else in the world. When I was with him, I was untouchable. Unstoppable.
Atlas’s lips part, but for a long moment nothing comes out. I think he might be considering a different reality too.
“We’ll work on dribbling two balls next time,” he says softly. He loosens his hold on me, fingers relaxing slowly, so slowly. As if it’s taking concentrated effort to let go. “And shooting, if you want.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I study the sharp lines of his jaw, the barely-there stubble.
“Okay,” he repeats.
When I step back, we both take a breath. I offer a pathetic wave before turning and jogging for Hayden’s car.