The Thousandth Floor (The Thousandth Floor #1)(16)

There was that hesitation again. The sounds drifting up from below seemed suddenly amplified. “Guess I’m not back in party shape yet,” Leda answered, but her laughter was hollow.

Avery watched her best friend, the way she shifted back and forth, studying the tiny bows on her black heels. She was lying about something.

The realization made Avery’s chest hurt a little. She’d thought she and Leda told each other everything. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” Leda said quickly, though she didn’t sound like she believed it.

“Where were you this summer, really?” Avery pressed.

“Just let it go, okay?”

“I promise I won’t—”

Leda’s mouth formed a hard line, and her next words came out cold and formal. “Seriously. I said let it go.”

Avery recoiled, a little stung. “I just don’t understand why you won’t talk to me.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes it’s not about you, Avery.”

Avery started to reply just as a commotion sounded from downstairs, voices rising up in greeting. She glanced down in curiosity—and saw the figure at the center of all the turmoil.

Everything came to a halt, the room suddenly devoid of air. Avery struggled to think. Next to her she felt Leda stiffen in surprise, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away long enough to look at her friend.

He was back.

“Atlas,” she whispered, though of course he couldn’t hear.

She ran blindly down the stairs, the crowds parting to let her pass, hundreds of eyes on her, probably taking snaps and loading them straight to the feeds. None of it mattered. Atlas was home.

The next thing she knew, Avery was in his arms, burrowing her face in his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent for a single precious moment before the rules of normal behavior forced her away.

“You’re back,” she said stupidly, her eyes drinking in every inch of him. He was wearing rumpled khakis and a navy sweater. He looked a little stronger than she remembered, and his light brown hair was longer, curling around his ears like it used to when he was little. But everything else was the same: his chocolate eyes framed by thick lashes, almost too thick to be masculine; the sprinkling of freckles across his nose; the way one of his bottom teeth was slightly turned, a reminder that he wasn’t perfect. That was one of the things she’d loved about Atlas when her parents brought him home twelve years ago—the fact that he had actual, visible flaws.

“I’m back,” he repeated. There was a shadow of rough stubble along his jaw. Avery’s hands itched to reach out and touch it. “How’s it going?”

“Where were you?” She winced at the sound of her own voice and lowered her tone. No one but Leda knew that Atlas hadn’t told his family where he was this whole time.

“All over the place.”

“Oh,” was all she could think to say. It was hard to form coherent thoughts with Atlas so close. She wanted to run back into his arms and hold him so tight he could never leave again; to run her hands over his shoulders and assure herself he was really here, really real. She’d made so much progress this summer, and yet here she was, fighting the familiar need to reach out and touch him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” she managed.

“You’d better be.” His face broke out into a broad, easy smile, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to show up at a party unannounced after being gone for ten months.

“Atlas …” She hesitated, unsure what she wanted to say. She’d been so worried. For his safety, sure, but even worse had been the worry at the back of her mind—the terrible, persistent fear that he might never come back.

“Yeah?” he said softly.

Avery took a step forward. Her body was reacting instinctively to his nearness, like a plant that had been too long in the dark and was finally exposed to sunlight.

“Fuller!” Ty Rodrick barreled over and slapped Atlas on the back. The rest of the hockey guys appeared, pulling him forward, their voices loud.

Avery bit back a protest and stepped away. Act normal, she reminded herself. Over the chaos she locked eyes with Atlas, and he winked at her. Later, he mouthed.

She nodded, breaking every promise to herself, loving him.





LEDA


LEDA DROPPED HER clutch on the marble countertop of Cord’s bathroom and blinked at her reflection. Her hair was pulled into a bun and adorned with feathers, and her black ballerina costume clung to her in all the right places, even managing to create the illusion of cleavage. Real, illegal peacock feathers dusted the hem of her tutu. She reached down to run her fingers along them. Totally worth the import bribes.

Leda had long ago accepted that she wasn’t beautiful. She was too severe, all sharp edges and narrow angles, and her chest was painfully small. Still, she had her mother’s rich brown skin and her father’s full mouth. And there was something interesting in her face—a bright, hard intelligence that made people look twice.

She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sense of uneasiness prickling over her. It almost didn’t seem possible, yet after all these months, it had finally happened.

Atlas was back.

Music played suddenly in her eartennas, the upbeat melody of a pop song she and Avery had been obsessed with last spring. Avery’s ringtone, again. Leda shook her head to decline the ping. She knew Avery was looking for her, but she couldn’t face her best friend yet, not after the way Leda had blown up at her earlier. She hadn’t meant to; she was just on edge and defensive about the rehab stuff. Why couldn’t Avery just stop pushing and give her some space? Leda didn’t want to talk about it.