I wish I could hear the answer.I’d kind of like to know that myself, but their sounds recede as we ascend.
Up in the nursery, the light is soft from a floor lamp in the corner.It’s not enough to let me see exactly what I’m doing, so I flip the overhead switch.
I talk both of us through the procedure—out loud, because it helps.“Okay, kiddo.We unzip the onesie, pull out the legs, and slide it up and out of the way.”Grayce chews on her hand and watches me.“Now we remove the offending receptacle filled with baby shit.”I pause, wondering if perhaps I shouldn’t cuss in front of her, then realize she’s going to hear it eventually.
I manage to take the diaper off, wrap it tight, and deposit it in the can.“Next, we wipe.We get that little butt squeaky clean.We do it efficiently, so we don’t get peed or pooped on.I hear that’s a thing.”Grayce kicks, grinning.I keep a hand on her belly, wipe fast, new diaper under, tabs even—no leaks tonight, please—and zip her back into the pajamas printed with tiny foxes.When I scoop her up again, she tucks her head under my jaw like we’ve done this a thousand times.
And I’m surprised at how right that feels.
CHAPTER 8
Maddie
Iwake tothe wrong ceiling.
New house, new light peeking through unfamiliar blinds.For a second, I forget where I am, then my brain clicks through the last week like scrolling photos on my phone.Gray dying.His letter.Atlas’s shocked expression that Gray wanted him to help raise Grayce.Packing my apartment.Giving my notice to my boss.Moving to Atlas’s house by the river.All of it hurts, and I take a moment of self-pity, cursing against the unfairness of it all.
But then I hear laughter floating up the stairs.Low, rumbling, followed by a squeal that’s all Grayce.Just that little sound causes the ache to subside, and I know that she is the good that has come out of all the misery.
I throw off the sheet and pad to the bathroom.My face looks like I slept in a drug house after a weekend bender.Not that I’ve ever done that, but I remember what my mom’s face looked like on occasion.
Coming here and having Atlas’s help should feel like relief.His house is gorgeous—three stories, porches stacked like wedding-cake tiers, a backyard fenced and ready for the kind of childhood Grayce deserves.The kind I never had and more than I could ever give her on my own.It’s the sort of place where little girls ride bikes with streamers on the handles and neighbors bring over cookies when you move in.
Lucky and Winnie are just as perfect—kind, welcoming, eager to help.Winnie had hugged me like I was family already, and Lucky made jokes until the tension in the air eased.They were wonderful, and although I tried really hard, I couldn’t feel the joy in it.
Because while they unpacked boxes and cooed over Grayce, I was grieving the life I lost.Grieving Gray.Grieving Chicago, and the kids I had to abandon overnight when I gave my notice.My boss tried to be understanding when I quit, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes.One of my last cases was a boy named Dante, nine years old, clinging to the hope that his mom would get sober and come back for him.I’ve been working his case for months, and now he’ll get shuffled to someone new.I hate that I left him, left all of them with no warning, but at least I’m able to work remotely to help pass the cases off to new case workers.
And then there’s Atlas.He’s been gracious, I’ll give him that.Offered up his primary bedroom without hesitation.He paid for movers, the cost to break my lease, for everything.Even last night, when I snapped, he didn’t snap back.And it’s not just the money—he’s stepping into this parenting thing like he means it.Changing diapers, preparing bottles, kissing Grayce’s head like it’s second nature.
It’s impressive, but it pisses me off.Because if he’s serious about this, if he really doesn’t flake out, then I’m stuck here.Stuck in Pittsburgh with a man I barely know, trying to stitch together a new life while mourning the old one.A new life as Grayce’s mom, and as a woman who needs to find a job, because as much as Atlas thinks he can bankroll everything, I refuse to be a charity project in his perfect house by the river.
I wash my face, pull my hair back into a short ponytail and throw on a pair of fleece joggers and an old Northwestern T-shirt, a token from where I met Gray our freshman year.I give myself a wan smile in the mirror and then follow the noise downstairs.
I find Atlas in the kitchen, a form fitting Titans T-shirt spread across his broad chest and athletic shorts showcasing muscled legs.He’s barefoot, hair a mess, and he’s got one hand on a coffee mug and the other bracing Grayce on the island while she slaps both palms on the counter like she’s calling a meeting to order.There’s a string presumably from Atlas’s hoodie in her fist, which she holds like a trophy, even though he isn’t wearing said hoodie.She must have liberated it at some point.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough but warm.“Coffee?”
Grayce throws up both arms like she’s cheering for caffeine.I resist a smile and move to Grayce, giving her a critical once-over.“Coffee would be great.”
“You watch the kid,” he says amiably as he moves to the coffee pot.I pick her up and nuzzle her cheek.She stares back at me not just with recognition, but with joy to see me, and I know I’d lay my life down for this child if ever requested.She coos a greeting back at me.
Atlas pours the java and slides a mug toward me.It’s black, just the way I take it, and he’s clearly absorbed that knowledge over the past week we’ve been around each other.“She’s been up since six,” he says, leaning an elbow on the counter.“She dispatched a bottle quickly and then insisted on world domination.”
I suppress the urge to laugh, and I hate that he’s so easily charming.“She’s eleven months,” I say.“Checks out.”
Atlas doesn’t hold back though and laughs heartily at my comeback.
I drop into a chair with Grayce on one knee and ignore the coffee for the moment.I never handle hot liquids while I’m holding her.I glance around the kitchen, a few boxes still left to be unpacked.Atlas readily admitted that his kitchen wasn’t well equipped, so I brought a lot.
“I’ve got a game tonight,” he says, and that surprises me, my gaze snapping back his way.
I know nothing about hockey and even less about Atlas’s role as a professional hockey player.I stare at him blankly, so he explains.“Playoffs start tonight.We play the Boston Eagles.Game is at seven thirty p.m., but I’ve got a handful of hours before I have to leave around two.”
“It’s a seven thirty game.”I can’t help it; the skepticism sneaks out.“Why do you have to leave so early?You guys just skate and…what?Punch each other?”
He snorts and doesn’t look too offended.“There’s a lot to be done before a game.”
“Such as…”
