That makes me wonder what Viper knows, and what he thinks about it all.
“I’m going to go top off the generators,” Atlas says. “I’ll be in later. You’d better get some sleep.” He squeezes my hand again, then opens the door for me, and closes it behind me when I’m inside.
For a moment, I lean against the wall inside the door, my heart full. Whatever happens, one thing is certain. I’m not walking into it blind.
And neither is he.
The storm arrives as Atlas predicted, and it hits with a vengeance.
I get flashbacks to the night I fled the city, and I thank god I’m here, safe and warm.
By morning, everything outside the compound has vanished under blankets of white, and it’s comforting to feel even more cut off from the rest of the world than before.
None of us is going anywhere, and that’s okay, because the men are well prepared for this sort of emergency, and every other sort of emergency.
Even though the three of them still mostly go about their usual daily routines, Atlas and I keep finding ourselves in the same rooms. My body lights up every time we pass each other in the kitchen or the hallways. When I’m in the laundry room folding a load of clothes, he comes in and sets his hand on my hip as he reaches something down from the top shelf.
Every brush of contact lingers a moment longer. Every look we share carries more weight than it did a week ago.
There’s no urgency to any of it, only a slow, undeniable pull.
By the third evening, the storm shows no sign of letting up. Snow taps against the windows as the four of us share a hearty stew for dinner. After cleanup, Grizz and Viper disappear down to the ops center, their voices low in discussion about a project for one of Sentinel’s clients.
I sit by the fire and crochet, but after a while, I get restless. My intention is to go upstairs to find a book to read, but instead, I find myself drifting toward Atlas’s side of the hall, giving in to an unrelenting pull.
The door to his bedroom is open, light spilling out. I’ve been in the room before, very briefly, to deliver laundry and to try to find surfaces to clean. The room has always been spotless, and it appears that way tonight.
All of the furniture is solid and functional. The only things on the walls are a topographical map of the area and a small shadowbox containing military insignia. There are flashlights at the ready, on the nightstand and dresser, and an ever-present pair of boots near the door, separate from the ones in the mudroom he usually wears.
Atlas is sitting in a chair, boots off, sleeves pushed up, scanning something on his tablet. When he looks up, his expression softens immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just got a little achy from sitting too long.” As I stand in his doorway, I rub my lower back. The pain is new this week, but has been persistent, probably from my body carrying more weight than it’s used to.
“Would you like a massage?” The word alone sounds like heaven. “I’ve been told I give good ones,” he says.
With hands as strong as his, that’s not a surprise.
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t want to interrupt you.” I gesture to his tablet.
“I could use a break. Here, have a seat.” He gets up and offers me the chair he was sitting in. “Would it be comfortable for you to straddle the chair?”
He takes my hand and supports me as I lower myself into the chair facing thebackrest.
“Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I rest my head on folded arms on the back of the chair. The room’s quiet except for the wind outside and the regular rhythm of my breathing, which hitches when his hands settle at my shoulders.
I don’t often feel small, but under Andrew’s big palms, I feel almost delicate. His hands move with tender care, exploratory and respectful, but not so gentle that they’re ineffective. It’s as though he’s listening to my body, rather than imposing anything on it.
“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.
“Amazing.”
“You have some tight spots. I should have been doing this for you sooner.”
“You do plenty for me.”
He murmurs vague disagreement as he eases my tension with his very capable hands. Warmth spreads throughout my body, along with a vibration of restless energy I try to ignore.
