Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cora
Pulling up to the soccer field in the morning, I grab Noah’s bag and water bottle for him. I asked him to layer up this morning, but he refused because he wanted to show Dane Kash’s handiwork.
“So, you’ve turned the kid into a punk, huh?” Mara jokes.
Rolling my eyes, I gently shove her. “You know that’s not true.”
“Man, is this where he gets the fighting from?” She smirks. “You used to be nice. Now look at you, hanging out at a tattoo shop, the kid is fighting, and then comes to a soccer game with a—is that a skull on his arm?” She stares at him as he warms up. “Oh my God, it really is a skull. I love him.”
“Yeah. Big sister of the year over here,” I grumble.
He was so excited to show it to Dane. It makes me wonder if the guys would be interested in a little party. I’m not really mad about it; I’d just rather Kash not do it all the time.
Last night was so hectic, I didn’t even think about mentioning it to them.
Kash basically hid from me the entire night, and Atlas was glued to my side in between clients and drawing with Noah.
He seems naturally good with Noah, and I never thought that was possible.
Atlas never makes me feel bad for having to take care of him.
“Holy shit.” Mara smacks my arm. “They came.”
Looking in the direction she’s pointing, I watch Atlas and the guys walking toward our field. Think of the Devil and he shall appear.
The guys look so out of place at a kids’ soccer game. I look around at the parents already camped out in their chairs, then see them in hoodies and jackets with the organization’s logo on them. I haven’t bothered buying any of it yet, but if Noah continues playing, I might have to.
Atlas is wearing dark jeans, a pair of dark sneakers with green accents, and a gray hoodie underneath his jacket.
His hair is tucked under a gray beanie, a few stray pieces poking out of the front.
The tattoos that wind up his neck are still visible, and I tell myself it’s only the cold that makes me shudder.
He seems deep in conversation with Rhett and has a scowl on his face. Whatever they’re talking about must not be good.
As if sensing my attention, his eyes find mine, and a smile splits his face.
Fuck me, he’s beautiful when he smiles like that.
It reaches his eyes and makes me want to keep it there.
From what I’ve learned about Atlas so far, his life seems to have started out like mine, so he deserves every bit of happiness I can offer him.
As the guys get closer, Kash yells out, “Let’s go, Noah!” then waves at him when he turns around. Leaving the field, Noah runs over to greet them. Standing up from my seat on the bench, I tug my hat down a bit further. It’s cold as hell and I can’t wait for the season to be over.
“Look, I left the bandage on, just like you said.” He proudly shows Kash.
Having the decency to look sheepish, Kash turns his gaze to me. “Seriously, it’ll wash off in a day or two. Probably be gone by Monday; if not, we have some stuff that’ll take it off.”
As the whistle blows, I send Noah back to his team and tell the guys they can sit with us. I guess we’re doing meet the family today, then. Mara grins, while Mila and her parents look at our little group with curiosity.
“Hey, boys. You remember Mila and Mara; these are their parents, Daniel and Willa,” I start the introductions.
“These are the guys I work with at the shop.” Pointing to each one, I keep it brief.
“This is Rhett, Seth, and Kash. He’s the one who gave Noah that tattoo you see on his arm. And this is—”
“I’m Atlas.” He holds his hand out to Mr. Morgan. I don’t miss the way Daniel looks down at the tattoos that cover Atlas’ hand and twine around his neck. He’s not really judgmental, but I catch the questioning look he gives me. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“Same to you, boys. Why don’t you join us?” he offers, sliding over on the benches, making space. I go to move to the side, but Atlas stops me. “Here, I brought this. I know you said it gets chilly out.” He holds up a light blue blanket.
Kash says something to Rhett, and they snicker while Seth silently stares out at the field.
The game has started, so I shoot Kash and Rhett a look, and they pay attention.
It’s not overly exciting, sure, it’s a bunch of seven- and eight-year-olds after all, but it’s still sweet that they came to support Noah.
Atlas drapes the blanket over our legs and puts his hand on my thigh. He doesn’t move it; he just keeps it there. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m hyper aware of his touch, and when the breeze picks up, I can smell his cologne. I will not get turned on at a kids’ soccer game.
“So, Atlas, tell me, how does one get into tattooing?” Mr. Morgan asks from behind us, as his eyes track Noah’s body on the field. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was being rude.
As he keeps his eyes locked on Noah, Atlas gives my knee a quick squeeze.
“I found I really liked to draw when I was a teenager. I was working a part-time job, and a customer came in covered in them. He watched me doodling on some paper while bored and challenged me to draw something for him. He came back a week later and asked if I had drawn it.” He pauses a moment to cheer as Noah’s team scores, then turns his head in Mr. Morgan’s direction.
“He looked over my drawing, told me I didn’t suck, and asked if I had ever considered doing it for real. The rest is history,” he finishes, rubbing his finger in circles on my thigh.
Sitting on my other side, Mara nudges me and gestures toward the blanket. I’ve tuned out their conversation to glare at her.
Smirking, she leans back and focuses on the game. “He looks good today,” she remarks.
Watching Noah run back and forth as Matt directs from the sidelines, I nod in agreement. “Yeah. He really does.”
Mara gives me a look, then shakes her head. Okay then.
“I keep telling Mara we should get some new ink. Do you guys have any openings?” Mila asks.
Kash looks at Mila in surprise. “You have a tattoo?”
“Tattoos. Plural.”
“There’s no way.” Kash looks her up and down. “Where?”
I know for a fact the twins have matching tattoos. I went with them when they got them done, but I chickened out on mine. I’m about to answer when Mr. Morgan clears his throat, giving us a look.
Kash refocuses on the game, and drops the subject, even though I’m sure it kills him to. Their parents weren’t super happy when they got them a week after turning eighteen, but they couldn’t stop them.
“Has Cora gotten one yet?” Mara asks.
“Not yet,” Atlas answers. “I have the perfect one in mind, though.”
My head whips to him. “Really?”
Smiling, he nods. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
I don’t have an answer. Looking down at my coat-covered arms, I try to imagine myself with tattoos and come up blank. “Maybe I’ll get something little, like a flower or something in black ink,” I think aloud.
“No,” Atlas says, his eyes finding mine.
Everyone else is engrossed in the game. Seth is watching the plays, not making any comments, Kash is not so subtly sneaking glances at Mila, and Rhett is chatting with Mr. Morgan about cars. I look at him in confusion. “What do you mean, no?”
Atlas turns his head, his gaze meeting mine. “I would never put anything dark on your body, Cora.” The breeze cuts through us, and his hair blows up at the sides under his hat. It makes me want to run my hands through it.
Atlas grabs my hand under the blanket and twines our fingers together. “There is no amount of color in this world that would do you justice, but damn if I won’t try, Firefly.”
His response leaves me speechless. I don’t know what to think when he says things like that to me.
My biggest worry is that one day, Atlas will realize that I’m not as special as he thinks I am.
It will hurt when he learns that I’m too busy or have to cancel on him because I have something with Noah and decides it’s not worth the hassle. That I’m not worth the hassle.
Focusing back on the game, I look in time to see Noah kick the ball into the net. Cheering along with the other parents, he looks back at me and smiles widely. He’s such a good kid, skull tattoo and all.
The game ends about twenty minutes later. Noah’s team wins by a goal, but at this age, it’s supposed to be more about having fun.
Standing, I stretch and start to gather my things. Mara is the first to greet Noah when he comes over to join us. “Good game, punk! That was some goal.”
“Thanks, Mara! I did good!”
“You sure did.” I hear Matt before I see him. He’s walking over with his duffel bag on his shoulder, while Dane carries his. “How’s the rest of your week been, Cora?”
“Her week has been fine,” Atlas answers for me.
Shooting him a look, I turn to Matt. “It’s been good. Noah will be back to school on Monday.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. I can’t believe that kid said what he did.” He shakes his head.
“Same,” I agree with a nod. Noticing that the other three guys are standing off to the side with the Morgans, I decide to keep it brief. “I hope he learns to be kinder.” I know it sounds lame, but it’s true. There’s already enough ugliness in the world.
“Oh, I don’t know. His dad coaches the other team, and the guy’s a tool, so I’m not surprised his kid acts how he does.”
Following Matt’s line of vision, I see a small light-haired boy standing next to the other coach. Nudging Noah, I look down at him. “Is that Dylan?”
Judging by the scowl on his face, I’m guessing it is. “Yeah.”
Before I can say anything at all, Atlas turns away and starts walking toward the pair. Shit. “I’ll talk to you later, Matt. Great game, Dane!”
Looking to Mara, I gesture toward Atlas, then Noah. Her eyes widen, and she yells Noah’s name and waves him over.
Running to catch up, I get to Atlas right as he says, “Are you the father of the little punk who made fun of Noah?”
The man turns to face Atlas. I can already tell what he thinks as he looks Atlas up and down. He sees the tattoos and automatically makes a judgment. “What’s the big deal?”
“I’ll tell you the big deal.” Atlas steps into his space. Fortunately, most of the other parents have left, but I’m afraid that if we stand here too long, we’ll attract a crowd. I watch as the woman I assume is Dylan’s mom walks over.
“Is there an issue here?” she questions, looking from Atlas to me. I’ve seen her type before. She’s wearing leggings tucked into boots, paired with a sweater and a puffer vest. The woman looks like every other quintessential soccer mom.
“The issue”—Atlas cuts her a look—“is that your kid is a bully.”
“Excuse me?” She raises an eyebrow.
“You’re not excused. Do better. It’s not a good look to have a kid going around school making fun of classmates who are technically orphans, ya know?”
“Don’t talk to my wife like that,” Dylan’s dad interjects.
I tug on Atlas’ arm, feeling the panic rising in me. “Atlas, come on. It’s not worth it. It’s over.”
“Yeah. Listen to your little girlfriend there, buddy. She knows her place.”
Atlas’ body tightens, and I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I doubt it’s anything good.
“Look, asshole. I heard what your kid said to Noah. Your place is to teach him not to be a little shit. Try being better human beings, and maybe your kid will be one too,” Seth cuts him off. I didn’t realize he followed us over, but I’m suddenly grateful for his appearance.
“He hit my son.”
“Be lucky I don’t hit you,” Atlas returns. “You’re not worth the grass you’re standing on. If he does something to Noah again, though, I promise this won’t be the last you see of me.”
“We aren’t afraid of you thugs,” the woman spits out.
Now I’ve officially lost my temper. Taking a deep breath, I tilt my head in her direction.
“Look, you blonde bag of bones, tell your kid to leave mine alone, or so help me God, I’ll make your life so miserable that you’ll never be able to show your face at a PTA meeting again.
Especially when everyone finds out that your son bullies other kids who have dead parents.
It’s pretty sad when a kid who is being raised by his sister”—I move closer and sneer—“is raised better than a kid with two dickhead parents.”
Turning on my heel, I grab Atlas’ hand and Seth’s as well. “Let’s go. It’s cold, and I’m done.”
Not waiting to see their reaction, I head over to where Noah and everyone are waiting. “So,” I start, “who wants to get pizza?”
“I’m buying,” Seth offers.
Turning to look at him, I take in his dark hair and small smile. Seth rarely smiles. “Who says you’re invited?”
He waves my comment off and stuns me with his response.
“The least I can do for my buddy’s girl is buy her lunch when she calls someone a— What was it?
Oh yeah— blonde bag of bones. That’s the best shit I’ve heard in a long time, Cora; plus, it probably saved Atlas from going to jail.
” He gestures to my side, where Atlas is glaring at the retreating forms of the family.
Mara gives me an appreciative glance, while Mila looks at me in shock. “I don’t want to talk about it, but those are the parents of the kid who was picking on Noah.”
“Assholes,” Mr. Morgan says.
Laughing, I stare at him in shock. He’s not wrong.
I can’t believe this is my life sometimes.