Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Atlas
I learned early how to wait.
You have to, when you’re watching the second hand tick by, waiting for the medicine to work, for your mother to stop shaking, for her breathing to even out.
When you’re waiting for your dad to show up after she’s gone, hoping he’ll make it better, even when you already know he won’t.
Waiting has always been a part of me, ingrained in my bones, stitched into the moments between hope and disappointment.
I know how to wait.
I’m fucking patient.
But this? This feels different.
I brace my hands against the back of the couch, staring at the clock like it might give me an answer.
Like it might tell me how the hell I’m supposed to feel right now.
Sanford’s people just checked in—no breaches, no movement from Winston’s side that we haven’t accounted for.
Birchwood Springs is locked down.
For now.
And yet, something claws at my chest.
I roll my shoulders, try to push it down, but the feeling lingers.
My body knows something is coming.
The way you feel the air shift before a blizzard.
The silence before a storm.
I should be thinking about that, about what’s next, about the fights I know are ahead of us.
But I’m not.
Right now, the only thing running through my head is her.
Blythe.
She’s in the bedroom, waiting for Simone to arrive with the ultrasound machine.
Waiting to see the baby for the first time.
I should be in there.
I should be holding her, reassuring her, telling her this is good.
That this is something we should be happy about.
But I’m still standing here.
Because I’m fucking terrified.
Not of the baby.
Not of her.
Of what this changes.
Of what this means.
Of everything I’ve never thought I wanted.
This little one is hers—but what am I to her?
A protector? A friend?
Just some guy who helped her mother once and now can’t seem to walk away?
But then I think of that moment—when I felt the baby move under my palm.
That tiny flutter. That quiet, undeniable proof of life.
And something cracked open inside me.
I thought I was already protective of Blythe and the baby.
But now?
Now it’s more.
It’s deeper.
It’s something I don’t have words for yet.
And I have no right to it.
No claim. No real place in this, not in a way that matters.
And how the fuck do I ask for something I don’t even deserve?
It’s just like wanting to claim Therese as my mother.
I never could because I wasn’t hers, even when at the end she told me I was her son as much as the other four.
They say history repeats itself, and fuck if that isn’t true.
For weeks, my focus has been on one thing—keeping her alive.
Keeping her safe. Every move, every decision, every breath I’ve taken has been about her survival.
But now?
Now, I have to face the fact that this isn’t just about protecting her.
This is about them.
Her and the baby’s future.
And fuck if I don’t want to say: Our baby.
The thought slams into me like a sledgehammer, leaving cracks in places I didn’t know were breakable.
Ours.
Mine.
But I’m not a part of this—not really.
Not yet. And what the fuck do I have to do to become someone important?
To be more than just the man standing in the doorway, waiting for permission to matter?
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slow, but it does nothing to calm the pulse hammering in my veins.
“Atlas?” Blythe’s soft voice drags me out of my trance.
I turn.
She’s standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of my sweatshirts, the sleeves swallowing her hands, her hair damp from the shower.
She looks . . . nervous.
Like she doesn’t know if I’m actually going to walk into that room with her.
And that? That fucking guts me.
I close the distance between us in two steps, reaching for her, my fingers threading into her hair as I cup the back of her neck.
“I’m here,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I mean for it to be.
“Just waiting for Simone to arrive so I can help her.”
She exhales like she’s been holding it in.
Like she was wondering if I would want to be a part of this moment.
“Okay.”
She laces her fingers through mine and pulls me into a kiss.
Soft at first. Searching.
A breath shared between us, hesitant, but unmistakable ours.
Then she presses closer, her free hand sliding up my chest, curling into my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
Like, maybe she needs me.
A groan catches low in my throat, and I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, tasting her, feeling the way her lips part for me like she’s letting me in.
My hands slide down, one gripping her waist, the other pressing against the curve of her lower back, pulling her against me.
I could get lost in this.
In her.
But that’s not what happens, because the doorbell chimes.
Blythe stills, lips hovering against mine, breath warm, unsteady.
A moment ago, it was just us.
Just this. Now, reality crashes back in.
Blythe exhales, her forehead pressing to my chin for a fraction of a second before she pulls away.
“That’s probably her.”
I nod, jaw flexing as I step back.
There are too many people in my apartment.
Malerick and a couple of his guys helped bring the equipment inside, their presence lingering even though they’ve moved to the other room.
Simone doesn’t usually use this machine in her office.
This one’s portable—the one I “donated.”
Okay, fine.
The one she made me buy because her clinic doesn’t budget for cavemen like me.
It makes our bedroom feel smaller than usual, like the walls are pressing in, closing the distance between every breath.
Simone moves efficiently, setting up the machine on the stand near the bed, checking the cords, flipping switches.
The soft whir of the ultrasound fills the silence, blending into the low murmur of conversation outside the room.
Then she glances at Blythe.
“You ready?”
I stand there, arms crossed, my body locked tight.
I don’t move as Blythe settles onto the bed, shifting slightly as she pulls up her sweatshirt.
My throat feels tight, like something is lodged there, something I can’t swallow down.
Every instinct in me screams that I need to be ready.
For what? I don’t fucking know.
Simone squeezes gel onto Blythe’s stomach, the coolness making her shiver.
She exhales a shaky laugh, her fingers twitching slightly against the blanket beneath her.
“That’s cold.”
I should say something.
I should tease her, make her smile, cut the tension that’s been coiling in my chest like a goddamn live wire.
But then, the sound hits me first. A rapid, rhythmic woosh.
The heartbeat.
I’ve heard it before, back at Simone’s office during the consultations, but this—this feels different.
Like something electric shooting straight through me, rearranging things that were never meant to be moved.
I take a step forward without realizing it.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
Then another. And another, until I’m at Blythe’s side, reaching for her hand.
Blythe’s breath hitches, her fingers wrapping tightly around mine.
Simone moves the wand slightly, adjusting the angle, and then—there.
The screen shifts, and suddenly, there’s more than just a heartbeat.
There’s movement. A small, curled figure, kicking lightly, shifting in the grainy black-and-white image.
I can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
Holy shit.
Blythe’s fingers dig into my wrist. “That’s—” Her voice catches, her free hand covering her mouth.
Simone smiles, warmth in her expression.
“That’s your baby.”
The room disappears.
The noise fades. Everything narrows down to this—to her, to the screen, to the tiny life moving inside her.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Blythe squeezes my hand tighter.
I look at her. At the screen.
At her again.
She’s crying.
Not breaking down. Not sobbing.
But silent tears streak her cheeks, her expression filled with something so raw it makes my chest ache.
And me? I feel like someone just reached inside me and rewired my entire fucking existence.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, needing to ground myself in her.
Her breath shakes against my lips.
My hand trembles where it grips hers.
“You okay?” I ask, voice rough.
She nods quickly, sniffling.
“I just . . . look at that little person—our little person.”
Our.
The word sinks into me, buries itself somewhere deep.
I close my eyes for half a second, press my lips to the top of her head, but I don’t say anything.
Because if I do, my voice might fucking break.
Simone clears her throat, clicking a few buttons on the machine.
“Do you want to know the gender?”
Blythe pulls back slightly, blinking up at me.
I see the hesitation in her eyes.
The fear.
Like this moment is already too much.
Like if we name it, it’ll become something even bigger, something neither of us can take back.
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her damp skin.
“You want to?”
She swallows hard, then nods.
Simone turns back to the screen, adjusting the angle again.
The room is silent except for the hum of the machine, the quiet tension stretching between each breath.
Then Simone smiles. “This is so exciting. You’re having a little girl.”
Blythe gasps softly.
Her grip on my hand tightens.
A daughter.
I don’t know if I’m breathing.
I don’t know if I’m even functioning.
All I know is that I’m here, holding onto Blythe, watching our daughter shift on the screen, and realizing there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.