“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 2:23a.m.
CHAPTER 11
Atlas
Grayce’s whimper threadsthrough 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.
I didn’t fall asleep until after three.The game adrenaline took forever to burn off, and the conversation at two a.m.didn’t exactly allow for peaceful slumber.I should have been dead to the world this morning, but that tiny little baby whimper had me flying out of bed like the house was on fire.
I hop in the shower and within ten minutes, I’m dressed and mentally sifting through the contents of the fridge with the idea of cooking breakfast.
In the kitchen, I find Maddie at the table with her laptop open, hair scraped into a messy knot, one leg jiggling under her chair in time with Grayce’s unhappy little grunts.Grayce is slumped against her shoulder, cheeks pink, fist stuffed in her mouth, tugging her ear with the other hand like it personally offended her.
Maddie’s phone is on the table, wedged between a notepad and a pen and she’s got an earbud in her left ear.“I understand you’re full today,” she’s saying, voice clipped with effort.“Can you recommend someone taking new patients?She’s eleven months.No fever yet.Ear tugging.Fussy since last night—yes, we tried Tylenol.”A long pause and her expression darkens.“So, you’re saying if she has a fever, you could work us in, but otherwise, I’m shit out of luck?”
Maddie closes her eyes against whatever’s being said on the other end, and I skirt by her to the coffee pot.I pour myself a cup and lean against the counter, watching.
