Chapter 10
Maddie
Steam wafts up from my mug of tea, bringing the fragrance along with it.
I don’t drink tea, and I don’t particularly like the smell.
The only reason it sits before me is because I can’t sleep and I googled the chamomile tea I found in Atlas’s cupboard.
It seems a promising aid to my current insomnia.
Grayce finally went back to sleep about an hour ago.
She started fussing and tugging at her ear after dinner.
She doesn’t have a temperature, so I’m guessing she is either teething or she has an earache.
I gave her a measured dose of children’s acetaminophen, put Gray’s “You Are My Sunshine” on repeat, and rocked with her until her breathing evened out.
When I settled her in the crib, she rolled onto her side and tucked her fist under her cheek, the telltale sign that she’s down deep.
The front door opens softly, almost like an apology. I stay quiet in my dining table seat, hidden mostly by the gloom as Atlas enters the kitchen.
He’s a shadow, large and looming, but in no way threatening.
I received a text, presumably after the game was over—and I’m not quite sure about that as I didn’t watch it—but he said he was going out with some teammates and he’d be home around midnight. I didn’t respond because it’s none of my business or concern.
Atlas flips on the kitchen light, shock registering in wide eyes when he sees me. I look to the clock again—2:08 a.m.
I take a sip of tea I barely taste and push the fact that he’s two hours later than when he said he’d be home out of my mind. I refuse to obsess over whether this is an indication of his trustworthiness.
He sets his keys down carefully, like he’s afraid I might bolt. “Why are you up?”
“Grayce has had a hard time sleeping.”
Concern flickers across his face, mixed with possibly a little guilt. He knows Grayce is pretty much normally sleeping through the night. He rounds the island but stops a foot away, as if there’s tape on the floor he knows not to cross. “Is she okay?”
“She was fussy and tugging at her ear. I think it’s teething, and she doesn’t have a fever.” I nod toward the drying spoons. “I gave her Tylenol. She’s sleeping now.”
He nods, shoulders easing an inch. “Okay. Good.” He hesitates. “Do we need to call the pediatrician in the morning?”
“We don’t have one yet. It’s on my list to handle first thing.”
“I can help with that—”
“I’ve got it,” I cut in, unable to assuage the anger bubbling in me. All because he’s two hours late to a job that I told him he wasn’t needed for.
Why am I being like this?
Atlas studies me for a long moment. “You’ve been up this whole time?”
“On and off,” I say. “You know. Doing the thing we signed up for.”
His nostrils flare, much the way a dragon would before blowing fire.
“I’m a little confused as to where this anger is coming from.
You told me you didn’t need my help. It’s clear you don’t want it.
It’s also clear that you were completely capable of watching Grayce tonight on your own.
So, for the life of me, I don’t understand why you’re so pissed at me right now. ”
“Because I knew you weren’t cut out for this and yet you insisted on doing it,” I snap.
“Why am I not cut out for this?” he demands.
“Because it’s 2:08 a.m. and you’ve been out drinking all night. Is this what I can expect from now on in the co-parenting department?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls in a low tone. “I had two beers. I was DD tonight for Kace and drove him home.”
I let out a laugh I don’t feel. “Congratulations.”
His eyes flash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve heard this song before.” I set the mug down with a click. “Just two beers. It’s no big deal. There’s always a reason, always a buddy to drive home, always a celebration, always—”
“Stop,” he says quietly, and it hits harder than if he’d shouted. “You told me you didn’t need me home tonight.”
I hate that he’s right. “I meant it,” I say stiffly. “And I still handled everything.”
“Of course you did,” he snaps back, temper sparking. “You always will, because you refuse to let anyone else touch anything. But you don’t get to tell me I’m not needed and then crucify me for not being here. If you weren’t so damn narrow-minded and stuck on yourself, you’d know that.”
My hand curls around the mug until I feel the heat through my skin. “I can already tell what kind of parent you’re going to be.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Say that again.”
“You’ll always have an excuse,” I say, the words coming out like broken glass. “The game, the guys, the pressure, the—whatever. You’ll choose that. And I’ll be here, doing the real work, because that’s what people like me do. We pick up what other people drop.”
He stares at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “So going out for a few hours means I’ve failed as a father?”
“It’s a start,” I say, and immediately want to swallow it back, because it’s ugly and it’s mine and I don’t want him to see it. In this moment, I actually hate myself.
He steps closer. “This seems awful personal to you, Maddie.”
Heat surges up my throat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me,” he fires back. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m trying. I rearranged my life, I brought you here, I’m in it. And every time I take a step, you move the goalposts.”
“That analogy is lost on me,” I reply, not because I don’t understand, but because I’m embarrassed that my insecurities have taken me hostage.
He barks a humorless laugh. “Then let me spell it out. You’re being incredibly unfair. You said you didn’t need me. I went out. Now I’m the bad guy because it fits some story in your head.”
I feel the floor tilt, shame rising within me unchecked and I have no choice but to lash out.
“It’s not a story,” I say, my voice going low and dangerous.
“It’s a pattern. Parents who always choose themselves over their kids.
Parents who promise they’ll show up and don’t.
Who swear they only had a couple beers, or snorted a few lines, and who swear it’s just this once, who swear and swear until swearing is all there is.
” My throat tightens. “I know exactly how that ends.”
Then the worst thing happens. Empathy fills his expression. “You’re talking about your life,” he guesses. “This isn’t about what you see in social work but rather what you’ve lived.”
My gaze drops to the table, ashamed I let that much out. I’ve never spoken of my parents to anyone except Gray.
Atlas’s voice is rough. “Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Both,” I mutter, unable to put my walls up fast enough to keep that a continued secret.
“And that made them undependable,” he concludes.
My eyes shoot up to his, blazing with hatred. “No, it made them monsters.”
Atlas takes a step back from me, the venom in my voice seeming to propel him. But it doesn’t make him a coward as he presses me. “What did they do?”
“Enough to land me in foster care for most of my childhood. Trust me when I say, I’m well aware of what a shitty parent can do to a child.”
Atlas’s eyes narrow. “You’re calling me a shitty parent?”
A wave of guilt hits, because that was a low blow. “No. I’m sorry. I’m not calling you that. I’m only saying, you have no clue—”
“At least your parents had a reason,” he says quietly, cutting off my words. Cutting off my indignation.
“What does that mean?” I ask hesitantly because I’m curious, but I don’t think I’ll like the answer.
“Addiction. Demons. Whatever you want to call it, part of it was probably due to a force beyond your parents’ control.
” He stares at me expectantly, as if the answer is so obvious.
“I’m not excusing them, I’m just pointing out that there are different types of shitty parents.
Mine didn’t have an excuse. They just didn’t care.
No demons. No addictions. Just complete indifference.
” He stares at me, the pain evident. “I don’t know which is worse. ”
A wave of sorrow hits me and I’m not sure what I’m regretful about. Sorry my childhood sucked? Sorry that Atlas’s childhood clearly sucked? “Atlas—”
He shakes his head. “That’s why Gray was everything,” he says, looking at me…
no, looking through me. “He showed up, every time. He was the family I picked when the one I had was a joke.” His words slice, even as his eyes soften in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.
“I bet that’s the biggest thing we have in common. He was the only one you had too.”
I nod vigorously, because he nailed it. “He was my person. And then he went and—” I swallow against the ache.
Atlas runs a hand through his hair and releases an exhausted sigh. He pulls out the chair adjacent to me and sinks down into it.
“I don’t know how to do this without him,” I admit, barely audible. I’ve never admitted such weakness before. Even with Gray, I was always confident that I could do anything I set my mind to.
“Me either,” Atlas says, and for once there’s no edge in it. “I’m terrified all the time. I think you want me to fail. I think I’m going to. Then Grayce smiles at me and I think maybe I won’t. It’s a lot.”
I stare at the green numbers on the microwave until they blur. “I don’t want you to fail,” I say, which is the truest thing I’ve said all night. “And I’m sorry I took my frustrations out on you. I know you’re trying hard…”
“I am,” he says. No hesitation. “I’ll continue to try hard.”
We sit like that for a long beat, both of us spent and brittle. And yet, I somehow feel unburdened.
Lighter than I’ve felt in weeks and weeks.
“We can’t screw this up,” I whisper. “She deserves better than what we had.”
“She will get better,” he says, voice steady and confident. “Because we’re both going to make sure of it.”
The baby monitor crackles, a rustle and a soft, plaintive sound that’s not yet a cry but is definitely a warning. I move on instinct, but Atlas lifts a hand.
“I’ve got it,” he says, and the words feel different tonight.
They aren’t a statement of my shortcomings but of his willingness to be my partner.
I hesitate, then nod.
He heads for the stairs, steps so light for such a big man. I listen to the creak of a floorboard above, the whisper of a door. It’s silent through the monitor, only the occasional crackle.
I wrap both hands around my cooled mug because there’s nothing else to hold.
The kitchen looks the same but feels different.
I’m still angry, but it doesn’t feel as layered.
I’m still scared, but it’s not as intense.
I still hate that Pittsburgh is my new reality, but there’s a definite crack in the wall I’ve built.
In its place, I find myself understanding Atlas a little better.
He interrupts those thoughts when he comes back down a minute later, as quiet as he entered. “She’s out,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, and it’s not grudging.
He nods once. He looks exhausted. I feel it.
“We’re not friends,” I tell him, because I don’t know how to end this otherwise.
He huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Okay,” he drawls.
“I think we’re more.”
Atlas’s eyes flare, then slowly… his mouth curves into a smile. “I can accept that.”
We let that sit and the clock blinks 2:23 a.m.