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)
I slept.
Like… slept slept.
Followed by guilt that I didn’t hear Grayce when she woke up. But Atlas did, and he sleeps downstairs and went to sleep much later than I did. The team flew back after the win in Boston last night.
Another squeal, followed by a deep, soft laugh that slides down my spine like warm syrup.
Trying not to hate myself for not being the one down there with her, I hasten to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and catch my reflection in the mirror. Despite the good night’s sleep, I look haggard. Ugh.
I pull on a robe and head downstairs, following the coffee scent like a cartoon character floating toward nirvana.
In the kitchen, I find Atlas on the floor in sweats and a faded Titans T-shirt, his long, thick legs crossed as he sits across from Grayce. Her little legs are spread in a V, which is how she keeps herself balanced when sitting up. He’s holding a stuffed giraffe and they’re apparently having a very serious conversation.
“And what did we learn about having core strength to make it easier to stand and walk?” he asks the giraffe in a mock-serious tone.
Grayce answers by grabbing the giraffe’s ear and shoving it into her mouth.
Atlas grins like he’s never seen anything better. “Correct. We learned that everything is delicious.”
My eyes roam over him critically. His hair is damp and finger-combed, his jaw shadowed by scruff. There’s a full pot of coffee brewed and a pan on the stove that smells suspiciously like actual food. He’s been busy.
For a second, the picture hits me so hard my throat tightens. It’s domestic and ordinary and… safe. Like this is just a Saturday morning and we’re a family.
Much like many of my days were with Gray back before he got sick. Not always, but often enough, I would stay the night in the guest bedroom. This was only if either of us weren’t dating someone, because our romantic partners always had a hard time understanding our close friendship.
I treasured moments like this with him, because it meant seeing Grayce have all the things I never did.
And so it continues, and that warms me like nothing has in a long time.
Atlas looks up and the smile that hits his face steals whatever air I had left. “Hey,” he says quietly, like the word is only for me. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I manage, my voice husky from sleep. “You’re—” I gesture at the scene. “Busy.”
“The queen requested a royal audience,” he says, tipping his head at Grayce. “I wasn’t about to risk treason.”
“I didn’t hear her this morning,” I say, the guilt in my tone evident.
“Kind of hard to hear her if I turn off the monitor so you can sleep in,” he replies breezily.
I’m shocked he’d do such a thing. What a kind gesture, even if overly high-handed.
I move to the pot so he can’t see the warm blush on my cheeks and pour a cup. A tiny sticky note hangs from the machine. Don’t drink coffee near Grayce.
Heat prickles my eyes for a completely ridiculous reason. Atlas made himself a safety reminder so he wouldn’t risk burning Grayce.
“You made coffee.” It comes out like a known revelation. “I mean… thank you for making coffee. And continuing to play with her for just a bit so I can enjoy it!”
His head tilts my way, eyes shining. “Not just coffee. I scrambled eggs. There was spinach in the fridge that looked a little suspect, but I used it anyway, along with some cheese.”
My eyebrows shoot up, amused. “Impressive. Is this because you won last night? Sweeping in four games turns you into a domestic god?”
He smirks. “Don’t get used to it. I was trying to bribe you into not making me do anything too strenuous today. I’m exhausted.”
Grayce kicks her legs, delighted by nothing and everything. Atlas steadies her again, all big hands and gentle touch. I sip my coffee and the first swallow gives me a zing of energy.
“How late did you get in?” I ask. “I didn’t even hear you.”
“Two, and that’s because I move quiet like a mouse.” He jerks his chin toward the baby monitor on the counter. “She fussed around five, so I checked on her.”
Embarrassment prickles and guilt gnaws at my gut. “I should’ve—”
“Nope.” He cuts me off, firm but kind. “You did everything while I was gone. I can handle a morning.”
My defenses flare on instinct, habit rising like stubborn reflux, and then… they stall. I feel them, acknowledge them, and let them drop. He’s not criticizing my competence. He’s sharing the load. It’s new and it’s nice. It’s also still very weird. Admittedly, a struggle to recognize, but I did it and I pivoted.
“Thank you,” I say, proud of my growth.
“You’re welcome.” His mouth twitches. “Also, the kitchen cabinet remains unharmed.”