Taste of Iron

Forty One: Atlas Is Not A Punk

Forty One: Atlas Is Not A Punk

"Oh. Hi. I didn't know you lived around here," Atlas said, surprised to see the man in front of him.

"I don't," Esteban replied, his gaze fixed on Atlas's face. "My aunt does."

"Makes sense," Atlas mumbled, pulling down his hood further. It was of no use anyway, since Esteban had already seen what was to be seen.

Esteban hummed, not saying a word as he turned away. He picked up a jar and began to read the label, completely ignoring the chef. Atlas shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he cleared his throat.

"I know it's a big ask but I would appreciate it if you don't tell Emil about...you know," Atlas spoke.

"Okay," Esteban mumbled, not giving Atlas another glance.

"It's nothing, really. I just bumped into..."

"A pole?"

"Yes. Right. A pole."

"Or into somebody's fist," the man muttered, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Just don't tell him. Please," Atlas requested. He didn't know whether he could trust Esteban or not. After all, he was Emil's friend. He didn't owe it to Atlas to keep secrets for him.

"So this is why Emil has been moping," Esteban sighed.

"He's moping?" Atlas frowned. He was expecting that Emil wouldn't exactly be pleased by Atlas's sudden outburst and disappearing, but moping sounded a tad bit more serious. The chef was already drowning in guilt, and this wasn't helping.

"Uh huh," Esteban continued. "I won't tell him."

"Thank—"

"But you should," Esteban finished.

"I can't," Atlas stated.

"Why not?" Esteban asked.

"It's a long story. It'll be the best for everyone involved if Emil doesn't find out about this," Atlas answered.

"If you really believe that then you're an idiot," Esteban retorted, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.

"Excuse me?"

"It will break his heart to see you like this."

"Which is exactly why I don't want him to see me!" Atlas exclaimed.

"It will break his heart even more if you keep it from him," Esteban said. "The former is fixable. The latter is not. Secrets are never good."

"It's for his own good," Atlas was not going to budge.

"For his—" Esteban furrowed his brows, finally turning to face the chef again. Atlas could see the wheels turning in his head as the Mexican man began connecting the dots. "Somebody Emil knows did this."

"Look—"

"Who was it?" Esteban asked. Atlas kept his lips zipped. He didn't want the cycle to continue. "Marty...no he never goes for family. Louis is too smart to mess with Emil again. Who else— Randy."

"Esteban..."

"It was Randy, wasn't it?" Esteban inhaled sharply. "He's the only one stupid enough to fuck with Emil by going after his boyfriend. That estúpido hijo de puta."

"Please. He said that his payback or whatever was done. It's all over. I know Emil would want to get back at him for what he did to me and... and I don't want to risk that. I don't want Emil to get hurt," Atlas all but begged, stepping closer to the other man.