Chapter 19 #2
The room shrinks to the soft humming of Grayce playing with a mushy strawberry. Atlas props his hands on the counter, muscles rippling as he tenses, but his voice is measured. “Okay. If that’s how you feel.”
I cup my face in my hands for a moment, thumb pressing hard against the bone beneath my eye until I see little bursts of light. “It’s not feelings. It’s more logic.”
His mouth crooks like I made a joke. “Those two things aren’t as separate as you want them to be.”
“Don’t.” The word is too sharp, and I regret it. No matter what, he doesn’t deserve that, so I soften my tone. “I don’t think it’s good for us to blur lines, especially when this goes sideways.”
His gaze flicks to Grayce and back to me. “I’m not planning on things going sideways.”
“Nobody plans to fail.” The bitterness tastes like cold, day-old coffee. “It just happens.”
“Because people bail when it gets hard.” His jaw ticks, the only sign of temper. “I get it, Maddie. I know what you’ve been through. I know why the idea of us scares the hell out of you.”
“Don’t you dare turn this into a narrative about my childhood.” Heat flashes up my neck, humiliation braided with fury. “I’m telling you a boundary and I need you to respect it.”
His eyes dim a notch, then steady. “I respect you and I respect your boundaries. But I also respect the truth.” He gestures between us, palm open. “Last night wasn’t nothing.”
I make a small, pained sound that I hope passes for a laugh. “It was sex.”
“Sure.” He says it lightly, like the word shouldn’t make me shiver. “And it was more.”
The urge to cry is sudden and ferocious. I swallow it back because once I start, I won’t stop. “We have roles, Atlas. Clear ones. You’re her dad. I’m—”
He waits, like he’s willing to hold the silence until I name myself. The label feels like a trap either way.
Mom.
Temporary.
Caretaker.
Friend.
None of those cover the way I want to keep his T-shirt on just to have him on my skin in some small, secret way. None of those will protect me when he realizes this new life is boring and I’m not good enough to hold his attention.
He rescues me without meaning to. “You’re Maddie.”
It sounds so simple when he says it, like the name is a title. I hate him a little for that tenderness.
“I’m the person who’s supposed to keep this house stable for Grayce,” I say, forcing each word. “And I can’t do that if my judgment is compromised.”
His eyes flick back to the oatmeal streak on my wrist and then to my mouth, and his throat works like it costs him. “Was your judgment compromised last night? Or did you choose me?”
The question is a scalpel. It also doesn’t matter.
“It doesn’t change what is smart,” I whisper. “We can’t do this. The morning routine. The coffee the way I like it. The version of a family we play at. Because I will—” I bite it off before I say the truth out loud.
I will want it. I will crave it so hard it will burn me down. And I’ll be destroyed when you take it away from me.
His face shifts on the word family—something bright and pained at the same time. “You think I’m playing?”
“I think you want everything to be simple.” I gesture around at the tidy kitchen, the sippy cup, the bib catching oatmeal. “It isn’t.”
“Simple and good aren’t the same thing,” he says quietly.
Grayce starts to fuss, little whimpers building toward a cry.
She’s exceeded her oatmeal patience. Atlas moves immediately, wiping her hands with practiced quickness, murmuring nonsense in that low, steady tone that works better than mine most times.
He knows how to move toward a need—not away.
It’s one of the first things I noticed about him. One of the first things that scared me.
He lifts her from the high chair, tosses her gently—just enough bounce to get a breathy giggle—and then presses his nose to her cheek.
My chest squeezes. I shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be watching him with her and imagining this is a picture of us. I clear my throat and force out the words. “Last night was a mistake, Atlas. I can’t… we can’t do relationships. Not with our history, not with what I’ve been through.”
He looks up, brows raised. Not defensive, not hurt. Calculating. Then his mouth quirks, slow and deliberate. “Okay, then we don’t make it a relationship.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“We keep it about sex.” He says it like he’s suggesting switching brands of laundry detergent.
“Sex?”
He shrugs one broad shoulder, setting Grayce on his hip like his body was built just for that purpose.
“You already said the relationship part won’t work.
But last night worked, didn’t it?” His eyes cut to mine, unflinching.
“Hell, more than worked. The dirty things you said lead me to believe it was as amazing for you as it was for me.”
A flash of heat shoots through my body, low and traitorous. He’s right. It wasn’t amazing—it was life altering. My body still hums with echoes of it. But hearing him strip it down to just sex stings like salt in a wound I didn’t know I had.
And yet, I brought that on myself.
“So, you’re saying we just… have sex?”
He gives me a steady look. “I’m saying I heard you and I accept your limitations. You don’t want a relationship. You want lines and boundaries so you feel safe. Fine. I’ll work with that. I’ll take the one thing we both know we’re damn good at together and leave the rest alone.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
My brain whirls through the possibilities he’s laying out before me.
I don’t know whether to be furious or flattered.
The sex was beyond amazing. The idea of more, without the threat of entanglement, sets my skin buzzing.
But the casual way he frames it? Like he’s boxed me into something I swore I’d never let happen again? That confuses me more than anything.
“You really think that can work?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.
He shifts Grayce to his other hip, calm as can be. “Why not? We both get what we want. You don’t have to risk the emotional mess of a relationship. I don’t have to pretend I don’t want you. And we both walk away satisfied, no guilt, no pressure.”
I stare at him, stunned. Part of me wants to argue, to call it reckless, to accuse him of reducing me to a body. But the part that hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he touched me, how he knew exactly what I needed, whispers yes.
Atlas smiles faintly, as if he knows what battle is happening in my head. “Think about it, Maddie. You’ve already admitted you can’t do the whole hearts-and-flowers thing. Fine. So don’t. Let yourself have this.”
I truly can’t tell if he’s manipulating me or rescuing me from myself.
Maybe both.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
I blow out a shaky breath, my pulse thundering in my ears. “You’re serious.”
“As a playoff game,” he says easily.
The idea is insane. Way too dangerous and everything I should run from.
And yet, “Okay,” I whisper.
His eyes heat, victory and desire flashing in equal measure. “Okay,” he echoes, voice seductive.
I’m not sure if I’ve just made the best decision of my life or the one that’ll ruin me completely.
But the one thing I know for sure is that I can’t give him up. And having this is better than having nothing.