Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CALVIN
It’s been a week and I feel on fucking edge. Other than one more phone call with heavy breathing, shit is super quiet and I don’t like it. Atlas hasn’t gotten any more photos or bullshit phone calls and I’ve heard nothing about Mitchell.
News reports have run constant segments on my ex-husband and how he’s still missing. They’ve interviewed some of his old associates and done raids on his old hangouts, but he’s nowhere to be found.
It worries me.
Not just for myself, but for Atlas. Hell, even North and Ranen. If this Keegan dickhead knows about Atlas, he has to know about his kids. I don’t know Wylder, but I’d rather my association with Mitchell not put him in any danger.
Though, from what Atlas says, it’s nearly impossible to sneak up on North and Wylder. If they learned from him, I think they can take care of themselves.
I’ve seen all the scars on Atlas’s body, showing that he can’t be taken down easily. But all it would take is one well-placed bullet or blade to end his life. I’ve seen it more times than I can count.
So why the fuck isn’t anything happening?
Mitchell isn’t a bitch—he likes to come at his opponents head-on. So where the fuck is he?
I scoff as I finish charting my patient’s vitals. Why do I want him to show himself? I should be hoping he’s skipped the country, not worried about me and my new family. But I’ve done enough looking over my shoulder since he got locked up. I want it to end.
It takes a few steps outside the patient’s room before my brain screeches to a halt.
My new family? Like Atlas, North, and Ranen are family?
Oh fuck, I’m in deep with Atlas and it hasn’t been that long. But fuck, how could I not feel endeared by him and his kids? Even North, with his prickly attitude, makes me feel like he welcomes me.
Shameka sees me coming towards the nurses’ station and shoots me an exaggerated frown. “Why the long face?”
I shake my head and lean on the counter.
“Nothing. Just tired, that’s all. Can’t wait until the end of this shift.
” Tomorrow will be my first day off in five days and I fucking need it.
I thought it was a good idea to pick up two extra shifts because I didn’t want to sit around twiddling my thumbs, but I should have taken the break.
I’m so fucking exhausted. Three days off cuddling with Atlas is just what the doctor ordered.
My cheeks heat at just the thought of my man.
Over the past week, we’ve done a lot of exploring of each other’s bodies. There’s something to be said about dating a man who’s a pleaser. Some days, he just wanted to touch and kiss me without wanting anything in return.
“Let me watch you come apart for me,” he said just last night after two orgasms, while he pushed me for a third.
He’s been making up for all the years I spent celibate, that’s for sure.
My friend giggles and pokes me in the cheek. “I take it tomorrow you and that fine man of yours will be tied up for the whole day?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I just wanna rest. Get your head out of the gutter, girl, dang.”
She wags a finger at me like she knows I’m full of shit. “Just make sure you actually get some sleep in between your feet being pointed at the headboard. You’ll need to be fresh when your next shift starts.”
“How are you married?” I ask her as I shoot her a mock glare.
“Because my husband knew a good thing when he saw it, how else?”
We go back and forth for a few minutes until she has to do her rounds and I take my break.
I make my way to the break room, where I parked Atlas for the day.
Since he stays to himself and sits in the far corner, no one questions what he’s doing here.
Also, doctors—the nosy people who would probably take issue with someone who isn’t an employee hanging around—have their own break room.
All the nurses on shift know Atlas is my partner and he’s with me, so they don’t say anything.
He looks up at me with a smile, but it slips when he sees my expression. He sits up straight, his eyes sharpening. “You okay? Did something happen?”
It’s almost eerie how Atlas flips a switch like that. One minute, he’s relaxed and carefree, the next, ready to fuck some shit up if he has to.
It makes me wonder what he’s like when he kills. It has to be this, right? This alertness, the sharpness of his eyes, the rigidity of his muscles, the total command over his body?
Maybe. I’ll never know.
Waving him off, I sit right next to him on the break room couch and lean on his shoulder. “I’m good. Tired.”
He kisses the top of my head, but doesn’t relax. “What else?” He taps my temple. “What’s brewing up there, Nurse Hayes?”
I chuckle, though his using my title does strange things to my insides. “How do you know me so well?”
He shrugs, making my head rise and fall with the movement. “I just do. What’s on your mind?”
Sighing, I close my eyes for a few beats, then lift my head to meet his gaze. “Is this the calm before the storm? Or are we in the clear?”
Atlas’s gaze gentles as he cups my face. “I won’t lie to you, Calvin. It feels like we’re on shaky ground, but it won’t last. It can’t. Sooner or later, they’ll have to show themselves. And when they do, I’ll be ready.” I give him a look and Atlas grins. “We’ll be ready.”
“Thank you,” I say, sending him a cheeky smile. I sober when I say, “I just want it to be over.”
“I know you do, sweetheart.” He kisses my forehead, and I practically melt when his warm lips touch my skin. “Soon, I promise.”
Huffing, I take his word for it and offer him my lips. “Okay. Listen, I have to go home today. The underwear you bought for me are all gone and I want to grab more clothes. My clothes, not yours that are three sizes too big.”
I’ve been wearing Atlas’s clothes and they’re comfortable as fuck, but I want to wear my own things. Besides, we can’t go out for food with me swimming in every pair of pants I put on.
It’s probably not the best idea to want to sit in a restaurant when not one, but two crazy assholes have it out for us, but I don’t want to put my life on hold because of it. I want to go on dates with Atlas, even if it’s just a fucking buffet in a crowded restaurant.
Atlas nods, but his eyes are guarded. “Okay, yeah. But we—”
My pager beeps in my pocket and I huff, pissed that my break—and time with Atlas—is being cut short. But this must be important if Meka is paging me.
I pull it from my waistband and curse, getting to my feet. “It’s a code,” I say as I rush out of the room. “I’ll be back when it’s done.”
Other nurses dash down the hallway, one pushing a crash cart. I catch up and slide into Mr. Sams’s room. He’s flat on his back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Goddammit,” I mutter as I move into position, placing the pads from the defibrillator on his chest. “Don’t do this, Mr. Sams. Don’t leave.”
The doctor runs the code, shocking him twice before administering epinephrine and having us do chest compressions.
Over the past few days, Mr. Sams has been talking about his son and his regrets more and more. I should have known he was coming to the end, but I liked the old man and didn’t want to think about it. That, coupled with the shit going on in my life, and I didn’t pay his musings any attention.
We run the code for twenty minutes, with me begging Mr. Sams not to leave yet, but I know it’s useless. He was already gone when we rushed into the room.
Sighing, the doctor—the same one who stitched Atlas up all those weeks ago—wipes his forehead and lowers his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to call it. Time of death, seventeen fifty-two.”
We all stop and lower our heads, giving Mr. Sams a moment of silence. He might not have had anyone before his death, but he has a crew of us who were endeared by him. Hopefully, he found some peace.
By the time we clean up our equipment and prepare Mr. Sams’s body, my shift is over and I feel drained. More tired than I have been in a while.
It’s the golden rule not to get attached to patients, that we have to keep a professional distance, but it was hard with Mr. Sams. He was just an old man who needed someone to talk to in his final days.
By his own admission, he wasn’t the best man in his youth, but he was always decent to me and wanted to make amends for how he was when he was younger.
It’s a story as old as time, having regrets near the end, but I didn’t hold that against him. Now I feel carved out, empty, like I lost an uncle or close family friend.
When Atlas sees me, he immediately opens his arms and I step into them without question, tears leaving my eyes. I’m glad this is my last shift for a few days. I don’t think I would have mentally been able to come back tomorrow, not after losing one of my favorite patients.
Atlas rubs my back in soft circles, murmuring comforting words that I need to hear. But mostly, I just want to curl up in his arms so he can hold me through my pain.
Wiping my face, I pull out of his arms, but tuck myself into his side. “After I pack some things, I just want to lie down. Is that okay?”
“Anything you need,” he says earnestly. “Do you need to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not right now. But thank you.”
I drag my tired frame out of the hospital, Atlas’s strong arms holding me up. The long shifts, the shit we’re going through, and the loss of Mr. Sams just took all of my energy and I have nothing left.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Atlas to just take me straight home, that I can get clothes from my place another time, but I don’t. I still want to get my good pajamas, the ones that leave very little to the imagination.
My tired mind takes a second to latch on to the fact that I think of Atlas’s house as my home, not my cozy apartment. That’s something I can unpack later, not now when my head feels both too full and too empty at the same time.
I can’t focus on anything right now. Not being helped into the car, not Atlas putting my seatbelt on for me, and not him asking if I’m okay. I’m just… beat.
Grabbing my hand, Atlas keeps hold of me as he drives me back to my apartment. My head is so scrambled, I have to mentally tell myself what I want to pack so I won’t be wandering around my place like a chicken with its head cut off.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to my place and I sigh heavily before I climb out. Atlas hurries around the car and takes my hand, his strength bleeding into me and making me feel more loved than I ever have.
He’s doing nothing but being here, supporting me, but it’s enough. I’m sure anyone else would have tried to get me to talk, to tell them how I’m feeling, but Atlas is just letting me be. It endears him to me more than he already is.
I unlock my door and step inside, my nose wrinkling as the stale air hits me. It’s only been a week, but my house already feels empty and unlived in. Maybe it’s a sign that I should let Atlas kidnap me like he’s dying to.
Pointing to the couch, I tell Atlas, “Give me a moment. I’ll pack a quick bag, then we can go.”
He pulls me in for a long hug and I breathe him in, his spicy, manly scent burrowing into my senses. “I can help.”
“It’s okay. I won’t get much. Just enough for a small bag.”
He kisses my forehead and lets me go. “I’ll be here.”
After one more kiss, I head to my room, going straight to my closet to get a duffle bag.
My door inches shut behind me, the squeaky hinges making me smile. “Atlas, I told you—”
When I turn around, I see a man who’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I know him from. All I know is he has a sharp-looking knife in his hand and anger flashing in his eyes. My breathing catches in my chest, my eyes focused on the weapon he’s holding as if he’s proficient in using it.
“Took you long enough to get home,” he snarls, flicking the blade around his hand in a relaxed manner. “You fucked with the wrong person.”
“Please,” I whisper, raising my hands to show him I’m unarmed. I need to keep his attention on me so I can think my way out of this. I have to get Atlas out of this house so he’s not hurt by this fucking lunatic.
Is Mitchell behind this? Has to be. Who else would want me dead? Then again, why would he send someone else? Mitchell isn’t the type that would hire someone to take me out. I’m the man who left him when he was in the worst situation of his life. He’d want me to see it was him ending me.
But who else?
My mind is racing as the man glares at me, his knife now at his side. “I’ll make this as painful as possible. I was told to make it messy.”
The man rushes at me and I shriek and side-step him, causing him to run into the open closet, stumbling over shoes and clothes.
I got lucky, moving as fast as I did, but I don’t think I can do it again. I rush toward the door, hoping to get it open before he gets his bearings, but I’m not fast enough. He stumbles out and tackles me to the ground, almost knocking the wind out of me.
But the hit clears my mind and I do what I should have done when I first saw the stranger in my house.
Filling my lungs, I shout, “Atlas!”