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)
“And that made them undependable,” he concludes.
My eyes shoot up to his, blazing with hatred. “No, it made them monsters.”
Atlas takes a step back from me, the venom in my voice seeming to propel him. But it doesn’t make him a coward as he presses me. “What did they do?”
“Enough to land me in foster care for most of my childhood. Trust me when I say, I’m well aware of what a shitty parent can do to a child.”
Atlas’s eyes narrow. “You’re calling me a shitty parent?”
A wave of guilt hits, because that was a low blow. “No. I’m sorry. I’m not calling you that. I’m only saying, you have no clue—”
“At least your parents had a reason,” he says quietly, cutting off my words. Cutting off my indignation.
“What does that mean?” I ask hesitantly because I’m curious, but I don’t think I’ll like the answer.
“Addiction. Demons. Whatever you want to call it, part of it was probably due to a force beyond your parents’ control.” He stares at me expectantly, as if the answer is so obvious. “I’m not excusing them, I’m just pointing out that there are different types of shitty parents. Mine didn’t have an excuse. They just didn’t care. No demons. No addictions. Just complete indifference.” He stares at me, the pain evident. “I don’t know which is worse.”
A wave of sorrow hits me and I’m not sure what I’m regretful about. Sorry my childhood sucked? Sorry that Atlas’s childhood clearly sucked? “Atlas—”
He shakes his head. “That’s why Gray was everything,” he says, looking at me… no, looking through me. “He showed up, every time. He was the family I picked when the one I had was a joke.” His words slice, even as his eyes soften in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. “I bet that’s the biggest thing we have in common. He was the only one you had too.”
I nod vigorously, because he nailed it. “He was my person. And then he went and—” I swallow against the ache.
Atlas runs a hand through his hair and releases an exhausted sigh. He pulls out the chair adjacent to me and sinks down into it.
“I don’t know how to do this without him,” I admit, barely audible. I’ve never admitted such weakness before. Even with Gray, I was always confident that I could do anything I set my mind to.
“Me either,” Atlas says, and for once there’s no edge in it. “I’m terrified all the time. I think you want me to fail. I think I’m going to. Then Grayce smiles at me and I think maybe I won’t. It’s a lot.”
I stare at the green numbers on the microwave until they blur. “I don’t want you to fail,” I say, which is the truest thing I’ve said all night. “And I’m sorry I took my frustrations out on you. I know you’re trying hard…”
“I am,” he says. No hesitation. “I’ll continue to try hard.”
We sit like that for a long beat, both of us spent and brittle. And yet, I somehow feel unburdened.
Lighter than I’ve felt in weeks and weeks.
“We can’t screw this up,” I whisper. “She deserves better than what we had.”
“She will get better,” he says, voice steady and confident. “Because we’re both going to make sure of it.”
The baby monitor crackles, a rustle and a soft, plaintive sound that’s not yet a cry but is definitely a warning. I move on instinct, but Atlas lifts a hand.
“I’ve got it,” he says, and the words feel different tonight.
They aren’t a statement of my shortcomings but of his willingness to be my partner.
I hesitate, then nod.
He heads for the stairs, steps so light for such a big man. I listen to the creak of a floorboard above, the whisper of a door. It’s silent through the monitor, only the occasional crackle.
I wrap both hands around my cooled mug because there’s nothing else to hold. The kitchen looks the same but feels different. I’m still angry, but it doesn’t feel as layered. I’m still scared, but it’s not as intense. I still hate that Pittsburgh is my new reality, but there’s a definite crack in the wall I’ve built. In its place, I find myself understanding Atlas a little better.
He interrupts those thoughts when he comes back down a minute later, as quiet as he entered. “She’s out,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, and it’s not grudging.
He nods once. He looks exhausted. I feel it.
“We’re not friends,” I tell him, because I don’t know how to end this otherwise.
He huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Okay,” he drawls.
“I think we’re more.”
Atlas’s eyes flare, then slowly… his mouth curves into a smile. “I can accept that.”
We let that sit and the clock blinks 2:23 a.m.
CHAPTER 11
Atlas
Grayce’s whimper threads through the baby monitor and easily breaks my slumber. It’s not a full-on wail—just a tired, miserable sound that has me jolting out of bed. I can hear Maddie cooing to the baby, which means she’s already in the nursery. A low murmur follows—Maddie’s voice, frayed around the edges but soft in a way I haven’t heard directed at anyone but Grayce.