“No, sir, I’m excited to get started.”
Brett considers me a moment.
“Those were some inspiring words you said to Sandra the other day. And I think you’re right. I think we should allow anyone here to join the guard if it’s what they truly want, with or without powers.”
I nod.
“No one’s put up a fight like you have. Keep up that fire, okay? Welcome to the Angelic Guard,” Brett says, that smile not faltering for a second.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Minutes later, when I’m out of the headquarters, I find my feet carrying me beyond our new apartment. Thoughts start to cycle in me: everything from those blissful moments with Ezra to the fake charm all these Angelics try to exude. Someone calls my name.
“Conin, hey!” Atlas greets.
He jogs to catch up, all grins and gorgeous brown eyes. His smile is contagious. Woe is me.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Ah, well . . . not sure I’m digging the trailer home arrangement with the other family-less guys, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. Just got off my first shift at the gardens and got to see Ezra there. I think he’s back at your place. What are you doing here?” Atlas says so quickly, it’s a struggle to keep up with his train of thought.
“Uh, not sure,” I confess.
“I was about to head to the library. Wanna come with?”
Do I? I think I do. Why do I want to, so badly?
“Sure,” I say.
He leads the way and my heart trips over itself.
Chapter 53
Ezra
The first few days on the job are strenuous work. I underestimated the effort put into gardening and how out of shape I was. It’s somewhat enjoyable, like I’m making a change with work integral to feeding the citizens of Proctus. Like I’ve finally done something useful in all this—for once pulling my weight, instead of cowering behind others.
Atlas and I take lessons together, though we’ll be partnered up after our training, once we have a handle on the fields’ operations. Neither of us has any prior horticultural knowledge, which must be irksome for the Angelic conducting our training lessons. After each eight-hour day, Atlas vents his clear frustration with their teaching methods.
“I’m not a quitter,” he said when I asked why he didn’t just seek out another occupation, which I didn’t want. Not at all. “Besides, you make the job worth it.” He winked. I melted on the spot into gelatinous goo.
And how my heartsoared.
The time came for us to receive hands-on training, so naturally, Atlas and I were paired as newcomers under the supervision of a seasoned Angelic. Ofa was Mafu’s older sister. She arrived at Proctus years before Mafu did, according to Atlas, who was once good friends with them both. The details of their falling out are foggy from there, leaving lots to the imagination.
We learned to garden, harvest, and manage the crops. When Ofa left us to our devices, Atlas would strike up a conversation with a friendly cadence, an ease that could fool anyone into thinking we’d been friends for a long, long time. Ireveledin it. Our conversations sent my heart tripping over ghostly obstacles I couldn’t best.
We would talk and talk and talk about everything. It stemmed fromStar Warsand branched into every aspect of life, discovering our mutual love forSleep Tokenand music in general, to our hopes and dreams and aspirations—a future so bleak and unobtainable, nothing but a dream. I urged him to inquire about a teaching position, somewhere he could start simply by teaching younger students.
However, with his tutoring experience, there was confidence he could do so much more. He beamed when I told him, casting careful glances my way that became sloppier as the day wore on. He was not discreet. Maybe a part of him wanted me to see. Every time I caught his eye, I’d trip over again, covering the upward tug of my mouth like I was wiping perspiration off my top lip. That damn grin was glued to my face for the remainder of the day.
We cast secret glances, smirked through the foliage and tomato vines. He’d brush up against me and my body would ignite, flame and embers spreading everywhere. I was afraid they’d be visible for the world to see. Atlas made me forget. He made me forget the bad and the ugly, the evil and the dangers of the world outside Proctus—the life I had left behind. He sharedstories of his childhood and adventures with Ambrosia, Mafu, and Matt when they were younger. Atlas would trail his abuelo everywhere. He told me how his family came to settle in Eureka, falling in love with the small-town life, the abandoned ghost towns that littered the area and land around them, and how his abuelo would take him to every one until they had explored each bend and crevice.
The day his abuelo died, Atlas could no longer feel his presence. It was painful that he was constantly reminded of his abuelo’s passing—when Angelics who knew him or were helped by Augurys’s operation approached Atlas to thank him or offer condolences. Their tokens of gratitude were another mnemonic that he had failed to continue the legacy.
Tears welled in his brown eyes. I clung to him and let him grip my shirt. We sat in secret amongst the evergreens enshrouding the high school. He understood the tether with his abuelo to be a familial bond, but the one between us was unexpected, unfamiliar. He thought to ask Ambrosia and said he would, but getting my hopes up wouldn’t do any favors, so I masked the brewing worries with careful nonchalance. Atlas saw right through that facade. I was getting lazy with my poker face.
Repaying in kind, I told him of the time Conin and I first met at the park beneath the sweltering sun with ice cream cones, the stories about my violin, how it was my most prized possession, and recounting the drastic moment Lukeman Gray shattered it into bits and pieces. I told him about Thax, the strained relationship with my mom, her detached submissiveness, but of her instincts to patch me up—about Conin, Conin, Conin.
