His eyes soften before he shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, Cora. Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and tugs me out of the hallway and toward the exit, where everyone is waiting.
The cool air is a welcome change from the heat I feel on my face. If he had held me there any longer, I don’t know what I would have done, or admitted to, and that scares me.
“Dude. What the hell was all that?” Rhett shoves Atlas.
“Hey. Stop. There’s been enough fighting,” I scold him. “Are you okay, Kash?”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m better than okay.” He smirks. “Been a while since I’ve been in a bar fight.” I notice a bruise already forming on his face and shake my head.
What is it with these guys and fighting?
Huffing out an annoyed sound, Mara grabs my hand, shoving my coat into it. “Here. Put this on. We’re leaving. This has been some girls’ night. You guys aren’t invited anymore.Ever.”
Following behind her, I look back at Atlas standing with the guys. His dark eyes haven’t left me, and I’m curious about what he meant, and whether or not I really want to know.
This was not how the night was supposed to go. We were going to dance, have fun, and I wasn’t going to worry about laundry, the store,or soccer practice. I could have stayed home and put together my new bookshelf or done something worthwhile.
God, he makes me so mad.
I don’t spare the guys another backward glance as I get into the car with the girls. I’m more confused than ever, and I don’t know if I want the answers to my questions or if Atlas is right. Maybe I’m not ready to hear them.
Chapter Eighteen
Cora
Huddling deeper into my chair, I watch as Noah runs around the grass with his team. It’s too cold for this. I’ll be glad in a couple of weeks when the season is over. It’s already mid-October, and there’s no way they can keep going. There are still remnants of frost coating the ground, and it took a solid ten minutes for my car to warm up this morning.
Mila and Mara are sitting on either side of me, but I refuse to talk to them. I know they want answers about last night, but I don’t have any. I was having a bit of fun dancing, and then Atlas came out of nowhere.
I had no intention of going home with the guy, but it’s been so long since I’ve been held in anyone’s arms, and it felt nice. Really nice, and I refuse to apologize for that.
The amount of violence Atlas showed is also concerning. What would it take for him to turn that on me? Would he ever hit me? I don’t think he would, but I never would have thought my own dad would be the one to hurt me so much when he was the one who gave me life. I don’t know how to wrap my head around it, so until I can give myself answers, no one else is getting any either.
Refocusing back on the game, Noah dribbles the ball down the field. He’s gotten so fast and has good control, by the looks of it. He’s only seven, so it’s mostly making sure the kids still go in the same direction, but Matt’s team looks well put together.
Noah sneaks to the side of a kid from the other team coming at him. Rushing toward the net, he kicks it, and we all watch in awe as it goes past their goalie.
Jumping to my feet, I shout, “Good job, Noah! Great kick!” I notice that most of the parents are still sitting, so I quickly retake my seat. I guess none of them actually stand and cheer at these things.Weird.
Mr. Morgan is laughing behind me and whispering to his wife. Turning to give him a mock scowl, I ask, “What’s so funny, old man?”
“Oh, just you being you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans down from his seat and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder before he points toward the field where the kids are playing. “It means that you were always worried you wouldn’t be what he needed, but look at him, Cora. Noah is happy, he’s healthy, and you can tell he’s well-loved. You’ve done well on your own.”
It’s been a hard five years since our parents died, but maybe he’s right. I’ve always prioritized Noah’s happiness above all else. I needed to make sure that he’ll never experienced what I did. I can only imagine what he saw in those two years before they died, but I’m hoping that he was too young to remember any of it.
“Thanks, Daniel. I appreciate it.”
Settling back in, we watch the rest of the game in relative silence. We cheer here and there and clap when one of the kids scores. Noah gets another goal right before the game is over, but I can’t lie that I’m not glad it’s done. It’s freezing out here, and even though we came equipped with blankets and our coats, it’s still chilly.
“Did you see my goals, Cora?” Noah shouts as he runs over with a sports drink after the game.
“I sure did, bud. You were amazing. I should probably get an autograph from you before you get famous,” I joke, handing over his coat. “You should put this on. You just got over a stomach bug, so I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”
Noah nods and puts his coat over his jersey and pulls his beanie down over his almost too long hair. I guess we’ll be getting a trim soon.
