“Don’t.”The word is too sharp, and I regret it.No matter what, he doesn’t deserve that, so I soften my tone.“I don’t think it’s good for us to blur lines, especially when this goes sideways.”
His gaze flicks to Grayce and back to me.“I’m not planning on things going sideways.”
“Nobody plans to fail.”The bitterness tastes like cold, day-old coffee.“It just happens.”
“Because people bail when it gets hard.”His jaw ticks, the only sign of temper.“I get it, Maddie.I know what you’ve been through.I know why the idea of us scares the hell out of you.”
“Don’t you dare turn this into a narrative about my childhood.”Heat flashes up my neck, humiliation braided with fury.“I’m telling you a boundary and I need you to respect it.”
His eyes dim a notch, then steady.“I respect you and I respect your boundaries.But I also respect the truth.”He gestures between us, palm open.“Last night wasn’t nothing.”
I make a small, pained sound that I hope passes for a laugh.“It was sex.”
“Sure.”He says it lightly, like the word shouldn’t make me shiver.“And it was more.”
The urge to cry is sudden and ferocious.I swallow it back because once I start, I won’t stop.“We have roles, Atlas.Clear ones.You’re her dad.I’m—”
He waits, like he’s willing to hold the silence until I name myself.The label feels like a trap either way.
Mom.
Temporary.
Caretaker.
Friend.
None of those cover the way I want to keep his T-shirt on just to have him on my skin in some small, secret way.None of those will protect me when he realizes this new life is boring and I’m not good enough to hold his attention.
He rescues me without meaning to.“You’re Maddie.”
It sounds so simple when he says it, like the name is a title.I hate him a little for that tenderness.
“I’m the person who’s supposed to keep this house stable for Grayce,” I say, forcing each word.“And I can’t do that if my judgment is compromised.”
His eyes flick back to the oatmeal streak on my wrist and then to my mouth, and his throat works like it costs him.“Was your judgment compromised last night?Or did you choose me?”
The question is a scalpel.It also doesn’t matter.
“It doesn’t change what is smart,” I whisper.“We can’t do this.The morning routine.The coffee the way I like it.The version of a family we play at.Because I will—” I bite it off before I say the truth out loud.
I will want it.I will crave it so hard it will burn me down.And I’ll be destroyed when you take it away from me.
His face shifts on the wordfamily—something bright and pained at the same time.“You think I’m playing?”
“I think you want everything to be simple.”I gesture around at the tidy kitchen, the sippy cup, the bib catching oatmeal.“It isn’t.”
“Simple and good aren’t the same thing,” he says quietly.
Grayce starts to fuss, little whimpers building toward a cry.She’s exceeded her oatmeal patience.Atlas moves immediately, wiping her hands with practiced quickness, murmuring nonsense in that low, steady tone that works better than mine most times.He knows how to move toward a need—not away.It’s one of the first things I noticed about him.One of the first things that scared me.
He lifts her from the high chair, tosses her gently—just enough bounce to get a breathy giggle—and then presses his nose to her cheek.
My chest squeezes.I shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be watching him with her and imagining this is a picture of us.I clear my throat and force out the words.“Last night was a mistake, Atlas.I can’t… we can’t do relationships.Not with our history, not with what I’ve been through.”
He looks up, brows raised.Not defensive, not hurt.Calculating.Then his mouth quirks, slow and deliberate.“Okay, then we don’t make it a relationship.”
I blink.“Excuse me?”
