Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
My spine stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You’re determined to do all of it alone.” He gestures around us. “You don’t have to.”
“But I do have to.” Heat flares under my skin. “I have done just fine my entire life without anyone swooping in.”
“I’m not swooping,” he says. “I live here too. We’re both parenting and contrary to your beliefs, it’s not a solo sport.” The words sit between us like a dare, and then he goes for my emotional jugular. “It will take both of us in a partnership to do right by her.”
It shouldn’t hit like it does, but it lands right in the softest part of me, the one I keep under lock and key. My temper spikes before I can leash it.
“You think you know what makes a good parent?” My voice cracks sharp, rising louder.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I know showing up matters. Gray trusted us to do this together.”
My control blows apart like a bomb. “Showing up?” I bark a laugh that has no humor in it. “You have no idea what it’s like when nobody shows up. When you’re just a kid waiting for someone—anyone—to give a damn, and they never do.”
The air between us goes taut and I see a flash of regret in Atlas’s eyes. I’ve said too much, and we both know it. Silence swallows the kitchen, thick and immediate. I wish I could drag the words back into my mouth. Instead, I laser my focus onto a scratch in the wood of his kitchen table. I need to look anywhere but at him.
Atlas doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t reach for pity. He analyzes. “That’s why you’re a social worker,” he says quietly. “Because nobody showed up for you as a kid.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “What matters is that she never feels that.” I tilt my head toward Grayce. “Ever.”
“She won’t,” he says, like he’s promising himself too. “Not on my watch.” And to my surprise, he plucks Grayce from my lap and nods toward my mug. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
It’s such a kind gesture, one that Gray would have made on any given day. But with Atlas, I’m distrustful of his motives and I wonder if I’ll ever get over that. Unlikely, because Gray was the only person in this entire world who I learned to trust, and that didn’t happen overnight.
Before I can stubbornly refuse his command, Grayce launches a Cheerio that hits Atlas in the neck and sticks there like a badge.
He plucks it off and places it carefully on the counter. “Assault with a delicious weapon,” he says gravely, then leans in to blow a raspberry on her neck.
She shrieks and lets loose a chorus of baby giggles, and against my will, the corner of my mouth ticks upward.
Atlas glances at the clock on the microwave. “Okay. I’m going to put on my game-day face right now. Since you won’t ask for help, I’m just going to start unpacking boxes and putting shit where I think it goes. If that doesn’t work for you, give me better direction, but you have me until two p.m.”
“Wait a minute,” I say with a heavy sigh, feeling like I’m sludging through mud uphill. “You’ll just cause more work for me if you do that. Would you be willing to make a grocery run?”
He smiles triumphantly, like we’ve negotiated a trade deal at the UN. “Absolutely. Make a list.” He slips Grayce into her high chair, gives her another small scoop of Cheerios and boops her nose. “I’m going to get dressed.”
Atlas disappears in the direction of his room, and I start a list on my phone while I sip at my coffee, which is surprisingly good. Bread, eggs, grapes, Greek yogurt, pasta, sauce, spinach, chicken, formula, diapers, unscented wipes, coffee, oat milk, bananas (ripe now), bananas (green for later).
I text it to him with the order, Text or call if you have any questions.
After that, I rinse out my cup and wipe down the counters. I grab the first box, noting that it’s Gray’s collection of spices. I smile at the memory of the many wonderful meals we cooked together.
Before long, Atlas is back in a pair of jeans and a black Henley that fits him very well. His hair is wet and spiky and he didn’t shave. It would be a lot easier to dislike him if he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking. Combine that with his general affability, and I’ll grudgingly admit that I can see why Gray liked him so much.
He picks up his keys from the counter and pockets them. “Got the list you texted. Be back in about an hour,” he says and turns away but then seems to reconsider and spins back. “Listen, I didn’t ask before, so I’m asking now… did you want to come to the game tonight? I can get you a ticket, but we’d have to scramble to find a sitter for Grayce.”