Quincy's POV
I've always hated those times when my Mom had to leave for work. Ever since I was little, she's been my everything. After losing my Dad so young, she became the only constant in my life.
We've always been close. I talk to her every day. I need her more than I probably should. The thought of not seeing her for days always left this tight, anxious feeling in my chest.
So whenever she announced a new business trip, it felt like a gut punch. I would pretend to be fine... smile, even help her pack... but inside, I would be counting down the days until she came back home. The idea of being without her, even for a little while, always felt… wrong.
But this time? It's different.
Yeah, I'll miss her like crazy. I'll count the days like I always do. But there's something else wrapped up in the goodbye that makes this trip feel like a blessing in disguise.
For the next four months, it'll just be me… and Atlas. My late dad's best friend, also Mom's friend... and the man I can't stop thinking about.
Calling it a crush would be a joke at this point. It's way past that. This isn't butterflies or silly daydreams.
It's an obsession. Full-blown, all-consuming, always-on-mind obsession.
And now, thanks to my Mom's trip, I'll be sharing a roof with him... for four entire months.
It almost feels too good to be real. Like some twisted gift from the universe I'm not sure I deserve. But I'm not questioning it. I'm taking it. Because I've missed him more than I'll ever admit out loud. And this time… I don't want to waste a second.
Atlas wasn't part of my early childhood. He only became a presence in my life when I was about ten. It had been five years since Dad passed, and Mom, though doing her best, was worn thin trying to juggle everything. I was lonely, quiet, and just starting to feel the weight of a father-shaped hole in my life.
Then Atlas showed up.
He wasn't like anyone I had met before. He didn't talk to me like a kid or try too hard to win me over with fake smiles, gifts, and cheesy jokes. He was blunt, sometimes a little grumpy, and had a calm confidence about him that made me curious. I didn't warm up to him right away, but over time, something shifted.
He started coming around more often... fixing things around the house, eating dinner with us, picking me up from school when Mom was stuck at the office. And even though he never tried to take my Dad's place... never acted like a parent... he showed up in quiet, meaningful ways that started to matter to me more than I'd ever admit out loud.
He never played dress-up with me or attended my tea parties. That wasn't his style. But he did sneak me candy when Mom wasn't looking, helped me with my math homework even though he hated it, and let me ramble about books or art or whatever silly thing was on my mind at the time.
He slowly became part of my world. I didn't notice it at first, but once I did, I realized how much warmer life had become with him in it.
I used to think of him as a sort of quiet guardian... always watching, always protecting. Someone steady to lean on. But everything changed that one memorable summer day…
I was fourteen. My Mom had promised to take me biking that weekend, but she got called into work last minute. I was so disappointed I nearly canceled the whole thing, but Atlas offered to go with me instead. Said it would be a shame to let such a perfect day go to waste... and honestly, I was secretly a little excited it would be just the two of us.
So we went biking, just us. The weather was perfect... bright skies, warm breeze, the kind of day that made you feel weightless. I was laughing at something he had said when my tire hit a bump. One second I was cruising, the next, I was on the ground with a scraped knee and a throbbing ankle that made it impossible to walk, let alone bike back home.
Atlas didn't hesitate. He crouched in front of me and told me to hop on his back, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, just our luck, it started raining. Not a light drizzle, but full-on pouring.
We ducked into a gas station to wait it out, and I was shivering in my damp clothes. Without a word, he peeled off his hoodie and pulled it over my head. It was huge on me, swallowing me whole, but it was warm and smelled like him... faintly like pine and something clean and masculine I couldn't name.
He bought us snacks from the store and tried to cheer me up by playing our favorite songs on his phone, singing along in the silliest voice that made me laugh, even though my leg throbbed and the storm outside scared the hell out of me.
When that wasn't enough, he started a ridiculous game of "I Spy" with random items on the shelves, making up hilarious backstories for each one like he was narrating a cartoon episode just for me.
It should've been just another moment where he took care of me. He had done it a million times before. But that day? It felt different. It felt like he gave me a little piece of himself without even realizing it.
Maybe it was the way he held eye contact longer than usual, or how gentle he was when he helped me limp to the car. Whatever it was, something inside me shifted.
After that day, I started seeing him… differently.
I got butterflies just from hearing his voice in the hallway. I would blush when he looked at me, flustered when he got too close. I started putting more effort into how I looked, testing out makeup, styling my hair in new ways... always hoping he'd notice.
I didn't want to analyze what I was feeling. I just wanted to enjoy the rush, the thrill, the giddy anticipation that came with being near him.
But one day, he walked through our front door with a woman.
His girlfriend.
I remember the way my stomach dropped like I had been punched in the gut. She was pretty, confident, dressed like she belonged on the arm of a man like him. And he looked happy... too happy. I sat through dinner barely able to speak, my hands clenched under the table while I watched him smile at her the way I'd been hoping he'd smile at me.
I hated it.
I hated how close they were sitting. I hated how her laugh filled the room. I hated the way he leaned toward her when he talked. And most of all, I hated the ugly, hollow ache in my chest that refused to go away.
I shut down. Pulled away. Stopped texting him back. I avoided being home when I knew he might be around, and when he noticed... because of course he did... he cornered me about it. Asked if he had done something wrong.
I lied. "I am fine." I said I was just tired or busy with school.
But the truth eventually came spilling out in the ugliest way. I broke down, sobbing in my room, overwhelmed by jealousy I didn't know how to handle. It felt like he had chosen her over me and I didn't understand why it hurt so much. I didn't even have the words to explain it.
My Mom noticed I wasn't myself. She thought someone at school was giving me a hard time and was ready to storm down to the principal's office and raise hell. I wanted to tell her, but how could I? How do you tell your Mom you're spiraling because you're in love with her friend?
So I made something up. I told her there was a boy at school. Someone I liked who didn't like me back. She listened carefully and didn't buy it for a second. But she didn't push. Instead, she gave me one of her trademark Mom talks. Said that heartbreak was part of growing up. Those strong emotions meant I cared deeply and that I should give myself space to figure things out.
And then came the slap in the face... realizing I was in love with Atlas.
Actually in love.
With the man who used to help me with my homework. The man who called me "bunny" ruffled my hair and teased me about my messy handwriting. The man who was nearly two decades older and my Mom's closest friend.
I tried to move on. I dated boys my age, hoping they would distract me, hoping someone would make me forget. But it was a joke. They were immature, loud, and obsessed with s*x and status. They didn't get me. They didn't see me the way Atlas did. They didn't look at me like I was something delicate and precious.
And every time one of them disappointed me, I thought of him.
"But, isn't this illegal?" I asked myself, but my heart wouldn't listen.