I cut him off with a harsh glare.“You’re not going to die.”
“IfI die,” he amended.“Will you look after Grayce?”
I didn’t want to talk about those things.My energy was focused on how to cure him.But he pestered me and finally, I told him, “Of course I’ll look after her.”
We had weeks of conversations after that.Gray spent all his lucid moments telling me what he wanted for Grayce.He even recorded videos that I could show her at certain milestones.Every birthday she’d have, when she turned sixteen, advice on driving, graduation from high school, college, and of course, when she gets married.In all those discussions and planning, not once did he indicate to me that he wanted Atlas involved.
Sure, I understand how much he loves that big oaf.They have years and years of history together, and yes, I know Gray thought of Atlas as his brother and vice versa.But never did he question my ability to raise Grayce.There was no indication he thought I needed Atlas.
That letter was a complete blindside and I’m still reeling, trying to come to grips with this complication.I have no clue what Atlas will do, but he texted me this morning to say he’d be by to discuss it.
To try to make sense of just how messy things have become, I decided today would be the perfect time to review all the paperwork I’d need to navigate the aftermath of Gray’s death.Of course, he had everything in order, down to color-coded folders and labeled binders.He’d gone through all of it with me over the last several weeks.
He created a trust for Grayce, laying out just how his estate would be used to provide for her.The life insurance documents are clipped neatly together, medical bills in another stack.
And in a sealed envelope, guardianship paperwork spelling out who would be responsible for his daughter.
I opened it and speed-read the pages.
Two sets—one with both our names listed as equal custodians, and then a second set that names only me if Atlas decides to walk away.
My throat tightens at that.Did Gray know Atlas might not want this?Did he plan for the rejection?Or did he just want to make sure I wasn’t left tangled in legal red tape if Atlas bailed?
Regardless, it seems Gray thought of everything.There’s no turmoil here, no unanswered questions.Gray made sure of that.
And yet, one question remains… why Atlas?
I know what the easy answer is.He’s successful and makes more money in one season than I’ll probably earn in a lifetime.But money isn’t everything.I may be a social worker who clips coupons and shops sales, but I can be a damn good mom on a budget.Grayce doesn’t need luxury.She needs love, stability and someone who won’t run when things get hard.
I flip through the stack again, my vision blurring.Grief burns behind my eyes, but underneath it, the sharper blade of anger.At Gray, for leaving me with this impossible mess.At Atlas, for looking like the letter was a death sentence aimed at him instead of a lifeline for Grayce.At myself, for not being enough in Gray’s eyes.
I swipe the tears away and force myself to think practically.I’ll need a death certificate before I can file insurance claims.I’ll have to write an obituary and that thought makes me want to crumple into a heap.
A sharp rap at the front door startles me.Grayce squeals happily in her playpen, as if she knows who it is.My heart beats faster, equal parts dread and… a feeling I can’t quite pinpoint.
I push up off the floor, stroking Grayce’s head as I pass by.“Be back in a hot second, Graycie.”
She coos at me, blowing a spit bubble.
I take a deep breath in the foyer, forcing myself to be nice and push the anger back.I absolutely forbid myself to show him my grief.I don’t trust him with that vulnerability.
I swing the door open and there stands Atlas Karolak.Short, dark hair that’s parted on the side, oddly sharp and neat.Hazel eyes that I notice shift between green and gold depending on the light.He’s tall, easily six three, and built like the professional athlete he is—broad shoulders, powerful chest, thighs that test the seams of his jeans.
It irritates me how good-looking he is.Gorgeous, really.The kind of man who turns heads when he walks into a room, and he struts like he knows it.Well, he doesn’t strut so much as hold himself with utter confidence, but I hate that even in my grief, even in my anger, I notice how magnetic he is.
“I’m back,” he says, voice low and rough.If a man as hot as this can ever look like shit, it’s after their best friend dies.His skin is pale, his eyes dull with grief.
“Hey,” I echo, stepping back to let him in, even though a part of me wishes I could slam the door and shut him out of this whole thing.
“Where’s Grayce?”he asks.
“Back here.”I turn and head toward Gray’s office, knowing Atlas will follow.
The minute we step inside, Grayce perks up from her playpen, giggling like she’s just seen her favorite toy.She plants both hands on the mesh wall, knees wobbling as she pushes to her feet.
Atlas stops dead.“Wait… she can do that?Stand up on her own?”
There’s genuine surprise in his voice, and a flicker of pride warms me in spite of everything.“Yeah.She’s been pulling herself up for about a week.Won’t be long before she tries to take her first steps.”
