“We do.” I smile as I pull out a chair for her. “Sit. I’ll make you some more tea. Your voice sounds off.”
Pleasure fills me when she sits in the chair without further complaint.So obedient.Noah heads out of the kitchen, and I look at Cora. Some of her original color has returned, but she still looks tired. Setting the mug in front of her, I level her with a serious look. “Drink, then go take a nap.”
“Noah probably has homework to do.”
“I’ll help him.”
She laughs. “It might be a math worksheet.”
I almost laugh at the irony. Of course it’s math. “It’s fine. I can help him.”
“It’s—”
“Not a problem,” I finish for her. “Now say ‘thank you, Atlas’and go lie down. Unless you’d rather have me take you upstairs?” I cock a brow. I couldn’t give a shit about getting sick, but if she gives me any type of green light, or yellow for that matter, I’m game.
“No. You stay down here.” Her eyes grow wide with panic as she stands.
“What’s the matter, Firefly? Don’t think you can control yourself?”
“Why do you call me that?”
Last night, as I lay on the couch and tried fifty different positions to try to sleep, I couldn’t help but listen to the documentary series. I learned quite a bit about fireflies in that time, and it fits her perfectly. “Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll tell you one day.”
A flush creeps up her cheeks.It seems my girl likes a bit of praise.I filethat note away for later.
Giving me a small smile, she turns and walks toward the stairs. She gets halfway up but turns around. “Thank you, Atlas,” she says softly, then turns and heads for her bedroom.
She’ll never have to worry about doing things alone now. I’ll do anything for her, and Noah too. I will always take care of them. They’ll never have to wonder if they can count on me. Emma taught us we’re only as good as our actions. Words are empty. They hold power, sure, but actions are what matter.
I’ll prove to her that I’m not going anywhere, no matter how long it takes. We’ve only just begun. Heading to the living room to help Noah, I feel myself smile as I think about all the possibilities.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cora
Life seems too good to be true. If you had told me a week ago I’d be sitting in the passenger seat of Atlas’ car, heading to his mom’s house, I’d have said that you were crazy, then laughed. But here we are.
I’ve heard him talk about Emma in passing, and the guys all seem to speak highly of her, so I’m hoping she’ll be okay with Noah and me.
I took a nap for an hour or two, and when I came downstairs, Noah was ready to go. Atlas had already helped him with his homework and apparently ordered a Halloween costume for him as well. I know Noah loves superheroes, so I wasn’t surprised to hear him say he wanted to be one again. At this point, I think we’re just rolling through the rolodex of characters.
I wondered if I was still sick or dreaming because when I got to the kitchen, they were folding laundry and debating superhero choices. Noah had a stack of towels he was working on, and Atlas had what looked like my clothes in his hands. I didn’t think there were any bras or panties in that load, but judging by Atlas’ knowing smirk, I’m betting there was.
Pulling up to a brick rancher house, I rethink my choice of attire for the tenth time. As if sensing my unease, his hand finds mine.
“It’s fine, Cora. You look beautiful,” he assures me, squeezing my leg.
“Gross. I’m hungry,” Noah cuts in. “Can we go in now?”
Laughing, Atlas turns back to him. “Yeah, Emma’s got some good stuff made.”
Grabbing the bag of treats I made Atlas stop for, I climb out. As we walk up, Noah at my side, I take in my surroundings. There’s a bench sitting on the porch and some hanging plants. I try to figure out how someone like Atlas—tall, dark, and tattooed—grew up in what looks like a little cookie-cutter house.
Knowing better than to judge, I shake the thought away. It’s not fair to make assumptions, even though it’s not what I was expecting. Atlas doesn’t bother knocking. He just opens the door and yells, “Emma! We’re here.”
Why would he call his mom Emma?
A petite woman with light brown hair in her late forties or early fifties comes around the corner. We’re dressed pretty similar in jeans and a sweater, but when our eyes meet, a flicker of recognition passes through me.Why does she seem so familiar?
