Page 21 of Westward

I pressed my lips together, tears threatening, and hated myself that he would be the one I would break in front of. Of course, it was Atlas. It was always Atlas.

Within two large steps, he was there, holding me to his chest, and I let out a shaky breath, the soft tears finally falling and soaking into his thousand-dollar suit.

“I’ll ruin this fabric.”

“You can burn everything that I own for all I care,” he mumbled against the top of my head.

I wrapped my arms around him, needing the solace, even though it couldn’t be forever. It was never forever, but of all people I could break down in front of, I didn’t know why it could be him. And why it should be.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

I should tell him to stop calling me Lizzie. To walk away so people would stop talking about us. And so when he left again, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But the numbness settling in meant maybe it wouldn’t hurt at all. How could anything hurt more than this?

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, reassuring. My parents had once loved him. Honestly, they had until the end. They had hated the fact that they’d thought Atlas had broken my heart, but Atlas had been theirs. Not in the same way he had been mine, but he had been theirs.

“People keep telling me that they’re relieved that my parents went together, and I don’t understand why that’s supposed to be comforting?” I pulled away and began to wipe my face, annoyed with myself for even saying the words aloud.

“I don’t think people know how to deal with grief and then end up saying words that hurt.”

“I loved my parents. I loved my parents, and I always will, but I wish they would’ve stayed. At least one of them.”

“I know. It’s not fair.”

That seemed to be the understatement of the year. Because no, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

“I feel terrible for Thatcher, though,” I said after a moment, knowing there wasn’t much more to say.

My father had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up. Just like that, he had left this world, leaving me behind. My mother, in a panic, had called Thatcher, confused and worried. I would never know if she didn’t called me because she hadn’t wanted to worry me, thought she already had, or had merely forgotten me.

Because she hadn’t had a chance to call and tell me that my father was gone, until Thatcher, along with his team, had been there. And then my mother had held Thatcher’s arm, her eyes had widened, and she’d had a heart attack in my friend’s arms. I didn’t know all of the details, and I wasn’t sure if Thatcher would ever tell me, but my mother had died in my friend’s arms, and I would forever be grateful that she wasn’t alone, and part of me had wondered if it would’ve been better if it had been me. If my mother could have held me to her during that time. Then again, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to have survived that.

“Thatcher is strong. He’s seen so much. You know that he was grateful that he was there for your mother.”

I swallowed hard but wiped another tear. “I feel like I should bake him a cake or something. What does one give a friend who held your dying mother when you couldn’t?”

“A cinnamon mug cake, of course,” he said so deadpan that it didn’t seem real.

I just blinked up at him before my lips twitched. “I burned one cinnamon mug cake, and you’re never going to let me live that down?”

Atlas reached out and wiped a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “Never, Lizzie. Never.”

In that moment, the memory of our kiss slammed into me, but I pushed it away, knowing this wasn’t the time. Maybe it was never going to be the time.

“I need to go.”

“Okay. I’ll get you there.”

“I should drug myself.”

“You will not drug yourself. I’m not going to let you get hurt because you’re afraid of what the town is going to say.”

“Atlas, you never worry about what the town is going to say.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, but for now, you’re going to let me be your friend. For once, we’re going to walk together, as friends, and I’m not going to let you down.”

“Atlas—”

He put his finger to my mouth, quieting me, and I let out a deep breath. I wanted to hate him, but how could I? Everything this man did was to take care of me while I was around him. And maybe that’s why I could hate him just a little bit.