CHAPTER 20
ATLAS
A cold cup of coffee sits on the desk. My eyes are fixed on the screen, but my brain’s gone AWOL.
The ever-present electronic hum that fills ops presses in on all sides of me as my thumb worries the edge of my wedding band, turning it until the metal warms against my skin.
Twist. Stop. Twist.
Some nights I don’t realize I’m doing it until the ring snags on a callus and sends a sting up my finger.
I turn it anyway.
Sarah’s laugh lives in the grooves of the band. So does the moment she put it on my finger and we vowed to love each other ‘til death parted us. Turns out love lasts far longer than that.
So does pain.
It’s late. Grizz already retired to his room, and Viper went out to check the outer fence. Kira’s probably directly above me, sitting by the fire, crocheting.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Kira.
Which means I can’t stop.
It started as a simple, solvable task. A woman appears, half-dead in a snowstorm, pregnant and running from danger. I made the same call any of us would have. We brought her here to keep her safe while we assessed the threat.
We offered her comfort, but she opted for truth. She asked for information and fearlessly turned her face toward danger.
Her reaction caught me off guard, and I’m still reeling.
“Andrew.”
The word is so soft, I’m sure it’s in my head. Something out of my memories.
Then I hear it again, louder. Kira’s hovering in the doorway, arms wrapped around her middle. She’s cold. Or hesitant.
I clear my throat and wish I could clear my head as easily. “Everything okay?”
“It’s getting late. Would you like me to bring down a cup of cider for you?”
I put my monitor to sleep and get to my feet, my back creaking. “I’m done for the night. I’ll go up with you.”
She smiles, and I tell myself not to notice the way her cheeks dimple. As she climbs the stairs, I ignore the lovelycurve of her backside and the sweet fragrance that trails after her.
She reaches the stove first and pours cider into the mug she already has waiting for me. Her cup is nearby, steaming. “Anything new down there?” she asks.
“Nothing noteworthy. How about you?”
“Finished two more rows on the blanket.” Before giving me the cider, she adds a slice of orange that had been waiting on a plate, and drizzles the top with caramel sauce. Her additions elevate the simple drink in the same way her presence lights up this dark house.
She steps close to hand me the drink. “I was getting bored.”
“Sorry about that.” I wrap my hands around the mug, but she doesn’t let go.
“It’s not your fault.” Her fingers slip away, but she stays close.
Too close.
My body moves with a mind of its own, leaning toward her, breathing in her warmth.
