23.

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Dad and Chiara immediately took Atticus into the study to talk when we got home. I understood they were both worried about Atticus looking so tired on the field and didn't want me third-wheeling in the conversation, so I went upstairs to my bedroom.

I wished I was shameless enough to just barge in there, though. I probably knew more about the reason for Atticus' panic than they did. If they pried now that he was already exhausted, I didn't know what he would do.

Couldn't exactly ask, either. I was stuck in my attic room, playing the polite guest and pretending I had no idea what was going on. Not even sketching distracted me. Every face I drew suddenly had Atticus' features. His lips, his eye shape, or his energy. Every background I outlined reminded me of a spot where we'd kissed. My creativity seemed to begin and end with Atticus.

I changed my strategy to texting my friends from back home, who were both thrilled to hear from me. Over the past few days, I'd kind of neglected them by only answering briefly and every now and then sending pictures of work I'd made. Greensboro seemed to be outside of Mandy's jurisdiction. The news I had a boyfriend hadn't reached my old friends yet, so I could hide inside our chat for a while.

Finally, after what felt like ages but in reality was about twenty minutes, heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs. I thought it was my dad first because Atticus was usually lighter on his feet despite his size. But when I heard a sigh on the stairway leading to the attic, I realised this was what tired Atticus sounded like.

I got up and walked to the door. I opened it just as Atticus reached the top of the staircase and he visibly flinched when he saw me standing there.

"Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," I said.

Atticus' eyes darted away from my face. "It's alright. You didn't."

He still refused to make eye contact as he stepped past me towards his own bedroom, and I immediately had a bad feeling.

If Atticus had accidentally let our brand new relationship, which was definitely not as brotherly as they hoped, slip to Chiara and Dad, I doubted they'd be calmly sitting downstairs right now. Not even Chiara would just smile and wave it off, as she always did with setbacks.

Still, it didn't seem to have gone well.

"What did they say?" I asked quietly, following Atticus to his room.

The message he didn't want to talk was clearly received when he still didn't turn to face me after I asked him a question, instead facing his bed. But I didn't accept that message.

"Nothing much," Atticus muttered.

It almost seemed like Atticus had traveled back in time and gone to the version of himself right after we'd just met. A few hours ago I was in my room watching some show on Netflix with him asleep in my arms. Now, he wouldn't even look at me.

"Atticus, don't do this," I said, stubbornly making him look at me by squeezing myself between him and the bed. "Talk to me."

Atticus was a wound up ball of tension, but at least he listened and didn't turn away from me again, even if his eyes darted everywhere except my way. He swallowed thickly before finally speaking.

"Mom noticed the signs and guessed I had a panic attack before the game," he said. His eyebrows knitted together. "They were understanding. Asked if they needed to get me help. Figured it had to do with football and the pressure of the varsity team."

"But... it doesn't have to do with football, right?" I asked.

Atticus breathed out. "No," he admitted with obvious reluctance. "I just started thinking. About what we're really doing here."

I remembered Atticus telling me about Corey knowing affecting their training. And even if he kept his word and didn't seem to have talked in school, Mandy, Mom, Dad, and many others were on the brink of finding out now exactly who my boyfriend was. One more wrong move and there would be little denying it anymore.

I wasn't quite ready yet to tell my parents and Chiara, but Atticus got a full-blown panic attack thinking about it. Something he hadn't had in ages, or so he'd said.

I was willing to take the chance that people found out... but did Atticus?

"So, now what?" I pressed out, because the way Atticus refused to meet my eyes and how tense he was told me I would not like the answer.

I liked it even less as Atticus prolonged the silence and I could tell he was trying to find a way to phrase we could no longer see each other without hurting me while also knowing that wasn't possible.

Seconds ticked by until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you goin' to tell me we can't hang out anymore?" I asked, less careful than I usually was around Atticus.

Atticus grimaced.

"Kade, I really like you," he said. "And you have no idea how much I wish you weren't Coach Paul's son."

"But I am, and as far as I know, there's not really a way to change that," I joked, smiling wryly.

Atticus let out a humourless chuckle, too. Finally, he lifted his chin and stopped staring at the floor, instead looking at me.

"I just... have a lot on my plate," Atticus said.

The sadness and insecurity in his gaze was like a punch to the gut. I instantly regretted being so blunt with him earlier.

I sighed. "I know. And I know comin' out last year wasn't exactly a walk in the park for you either and you don't want a repeat of it." I frowned. "Probably a worse repeat of it, because I'm not expectin' everyone to understand dating your stepbrother."

Atticus cringed as I stated 'stepbrothers.' "... Yeah."

There was another silence between us. This time Atticus broke it.

"I like you," he said, "but I don't know what to do. Sorry, I thought I could... but..."

Atticus let his sentence trail off, and didn't start up again, so I decided to help him out. 

"Then, I will help you by sayin' what I think is best."

I wanted to be selfish. Super duper selfish and tell Atticus it would be totally fine if we avoided each other entirely in school and just made out in the attic when Chiara and Dad weren't home.

But I actually, genuinely, liked that giant anxious ball of football player standing in front of me and I wanted what was best for him. If that was me being more like a friend or stepbrother to him, or even keeping my distance entirely, then that was what it was.

I reached for Atticus' hand. His fingers twitched as I grabbed him.

"I'll be your friend," I offered. "I'll be right here on the other side of the wall of the attic when you want to talk, or go to the gym."

My heart ripped a little as I spoke. It felt ugly and jagged, far more than I'd expected, because Atticus and I hadn't been going out that long, but I made myself smile.

"Sound good?" I asked.

Atticus' grip on my hand was firm, like he didn't want to let me go at all. For a moment, I even thought, maybe more like hoped, he'd decided it wasn't too difficult and weird for him to date me after all.

But finally, Atticus let go of my hand and dropped it back to his side.

"Okay. Thank you." 

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