Page 7 of Atlas

A pang shoots through my chest so brutal that I nearly reach up to bang it away like people thump their chest after accidentally swallowing water wrong. My family loved Jodie for my sake, or at least they made a real effort to. It didn’t matter to them that she’d been a dancer when I met her in Seattle, or that I was smitten from the first. I thought it was love at first sight, but a few months ago, my mom asked me if that’s really what itwas. I had to admit, with the pain and power of hindsight, that it might have been more lust than love and turned into me trying real hard to make something work when it was never destined to be a true relationship.

“Yeah.” I toe the grass while the crowd around us grows, as people drive up to park, or walk up in pairs and groups.

I took Jodie right off that stage and set her on the back of my bike. I thought we were riding off into the sunset, but sunsets don’t last forever. There’s real life to be lived, and it was tough for her. She wasn’t ready to settle down with someone. She talked about babies, but only because she needed a child to save her. To save us. I knew that, but I damn well would have given her whatever she wanted.

Maybe the universe was trying to savemefrom making a terrible mistake by fucking with my body.

“Mom was really worried about you. She’s never share private conversations you guys had, but we’ve been hurtingwith you.” Georgia’s compassion sinks into my bones. Her eyes search my face for some sign that I’m okay.

For months after, I was sure that the best parts of me left with Jodie. I was hollowed out and going through the motions, numbing myself so that I didn’t have to feel the rage and pain.

“It’s hard to be a shell forever when you’re surrounded by guys who give a real shit about you.” Guys who have been through far worse and come out the other side. Even if they don’t say anything, you just know they’ve got you, and that means something.

“You seem happier. Like you’re not just faking it. You suck at that, by the way. At Christmas, we could all tell that you weren’t yourself.”

“No you couldn’t. I was fine at Christmas.” If only they knew.

I was not fine at Christmas. I have never been fine. There’s regular people and then there’s me. By age fucking ten I knew that something was wrong. The way the world seemed to close up and become a dark and scary place for no reason at all. I was surrounded by love, but I still felt nauseous all the time. I’ve lived with anxiety for so long that the near constant adrenaline, lack of sleep, the churning stomach, and the racing thoughts that match my unsettled heartrate are like a second skin. That’s my real home. I have no notion of what it is to be normal, but I’ve never wanted my family to worry about me. That’s not the only reason I got good at pasting a smile on my face and turning my life into something of a façade, but it was the start. and it snowballed from there.

“Simon.” She pointedly uses my given name.

As far as I’m concerned, my family can call me whatever they want. We’re one of those rare families who didn’t wind up hating each other. There were rough patches here and there, but we’ve stuck together, and they’ve earned the right to the name they knew me as for most of my life.

“I thought Jodie took my heart, my hopes, my dreams, and my ability to ever be truly happy or love again,” I admit on a grunt. Sometimes it’s easier to give part of the truth so that no one will ever look beneath that to the festering wounds underneath.

“But the wounded parts have started to close up?” she asks hopefully.

“It’s been almost a year.”

“Time might heal things, but I think it’s all relative. Some people might need a decade.”

I shake my head firmly. “I’m doing better. I can admit that the parts that make love last weren’t there.” Physically, we always worked, but maybe that’s exactly why we couldn’t work in the end. You need more than that to cement you together.

I’m very blessed to have a wonderful family, a biker family, and a town full of good friends at my back. I know that I’m blessed and despite the shit that eats away at me most days, I know that it’s nothing compared to what others have had to survive.

Most of the guys in the club haven’t had a tenth of what I’ve been given, but they’ve endured.

“Mom!” Georgia suddenly shouts, blasting me right in the ear. “Dad!” She waves frantically through the crowd which has probably swelled to five times what it was at noon, though it’s probably not even one yet.

My chest does some welling of its own. I’m happy the town turned out for Willa. Hopefully, she makes some sales today and they aren’t just coming for the prospect of free burgers, but even if that’s true, it’s still great publicity. The local radio stations will probably both stop by later.

Wizard helped Willa run an advertising campaign online, and my club brothers put up grand opening flyers all over the city like they usually do for our clubhouse cookouts. Betweenthat and word of mouth, news seems to have reached every part of Hart.

The crowd is a mix of young and old, and comprised of people from all walks of life. Ella probably recruited the entire college to come. Crow’s old lady Tarynn works at a salon now and likely told each and every person who walked in the door. Lark worked her magic with Penny’s teachers and the parents. What she couldn’t cover, Raiden probably handled. Raiden and Lark, as well as Tyrant, are as homegrown as me, but we went to different schools and know different people. I myself have spread the word every chance I got, and I’ve had chances for six months.

“Come on! Mom and Dad will want you to show them around inside!” Georgia grabs my elbow and eagerly tugs me through the sea of bodies.

My throat closes up, but I force myself to take a few deep breaths. It’s not the amount of people here that triggers the sensation. I have no triggers. The panic that sometimes completely debilitates me is completely random. It strikes without warning. Not only have I become good at hiding the anxiety, but I’m really good at pretending that I don’t have panic attacks. That might seem impossible, but it’s not.

Except if I had one now.

I couldn’t exactly feign that I’d run too hard or got the wind knocked out of me.

The sun is bright and hot overhead. I suppose sunstroke could be an option. I know this is fucking pathetic. Believe me, nothing gives me more anxiety than knowing that I’m not in control of the anxiety.

I don’t even get a chance to open my mouth after a round of hugs, before Mom starts asking about dinner tomorrow night. Have I asked Willa? Is she coming? Does she like beef roast? What kind of dessert does Georgia want her to make?

My dad stands there and lets her get it out of her system, the softest look of love on his face, even after all these years, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back in unspoken communication that he’sthere.

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