My tattoo is healing nicely, and as promised, Atlas still helps me apply the ointment. It leads to other things, but I can’t say he hasn’t stuck to his word. As we pull outside Emma’s, I take a deep breath and park.
Turning to Noah, I ask, “Are you ready?”
Before he can respond, my door opens, and a cold breeze filters into the car. “You’re here, Firefly.” Atlas grabs my hand and helps me out of the vehicle. Looking to the other side, he nods at Noah. “What’s up, punk?” he greets with a smile.
Ever since Noah got into a fight with that kid, Atlas and Mara started calling him punk. I hate it because it makes me feel like they’re saying he’s a bad kid, but Noah loves it, so I don’t protest.
Heading into the house, Atlas takes the bag of treats I brought and kisses me on the head. I ignore the gagging sound Noah makes. We’re used to it now.
The guys and Emma are in the kitchen, filling bowls with food. “What can I help with?” I offer, feeling out of place.
“Nothing.” Emma smiles. “The table has already been set, and food is being transferred. If you want to get some drinks out, you can do that.” She points toward the fridge.
Grabbing the pitcher of tea Emma always keeps here, I head to the dining room with it.
“Who’s ready for food?” Kash shouts, gaining a cheer from Noah.
Shaking my head, I remind him to use his inside voice. Emma waves it off, though. “I raised these boys. I’m used to the noise.”
Settling in to eat, Atlas grabs a plate for Noah. “Here, let me grab it.” I reach to take the plate from his hand. “He doesn’t like?—”
“Corn,” Atlas cuts me off. “I know, Cora. He doesn’t like corn or gravy on his mashed potatoes. I got this.” He smiles.
I don’t catch what Kash says to Rhett, but it makes him snicker, and I feel my ears heat as he looks at me. Atlas scowls at him, and it just makes them laugh even harder. I feel like the butt of a joke I don’t understand.
“Ignore them.” Atlas shakes his head.
As we eat, I watch the guys and how they interact with Emma. You can tell they’re all so different, but they respect her and care about her. Noah’s seated at the table between me and Atlas.
Midway through the meal, Noah reaches for his drink, but knocks his cup over, spilling the contents onto the table. “I’m so sorry, Miss Emma,” he says as his eyes grow large with panic.
“It’s no big deal,” Atlas assures him, standing to grab some extra napkins.
I pick up Noah’s cup so no more will spill out and pat his leg. “It’s okay, buddy. It happens.”
Quietly nodding, Atlas comes back with some extra napkins. Standing, I reach for them. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ve got it, baby.” He motions for me to sit, cleaning up the mess instead.
Nodding quietly, I retake my seat. Feeling eyes on me, I notice Seth watching us with a curious expression on his face. His eyes shift to Kash’s but then quickly lower to his plate. The feeling of unease tightens in my gut.
After the meal, the guys stay in the kitchen to clean dishes. I offer to help, but Emma ushers me and Noah out to the living room. She serves us a slice of pie into a bowl with ice cream.
“Everything was delicious, Emma. Thank you again for having us.”
“Of course, Cora. I love having you and Noah here. Atlas seems very happy.”
Shifting uneasily, I nod. Atlas seems happy, but I can’t shake thefeeling that something is wrong. Maybe it’s just me, but my instincts are telling me to stay alert, but for what?
Noah falls asleep on the couch shortly after finishing his pie. Taking in his sleeping form, I think about how much he’s grown this past year. It makes me wonder if it’ll always be this good between us. Atlas told me what a shit he was as a teenager, and I think most of that was due to his environment. I’ve been so grateful to have the support system I do with the Morgans, and now Atlas, that I think he’ll be okay.
“I’m going to run some food over to the neighbors real quick,” Emma interrupts my thoughts, putting her coat on. “They’re an older couple; kids never visit. Assholes.” She scoffs. “Be right back.”
After she leaves, I grab the bowls Noah and I were using and take them to the kitchen. Maybe the guys will let me help put stuff away at least. I hate feeling like I’m not helping.
Walking back toward the kitchen, I hear their raised voices. Atlas and Seth’s voices seem louder, as if they’re arguing.
“What the hell are you going on about?” Atlas barks loudly.
