Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Briar
I knock on the door to Atlas’s office and the scowl on his face tells me he knows exactly why I’m here.
Because after several weeks with Colt now being back and after Colt and I had that date, slowly making our way back to an us—one that’s both new because we never truly got to be an us before everything went wrong—and old because it’s been easy to slip into the us we used to be… just with a side portion of kissing.
Lots and lots of kissing.
And his fingers on and in me.
Mine on and around him.
And well—
“What’s up, Thorny?” Atlas calls grumpily.
I shake my head, dislodging the dreamy thought of Colt and our bedroom adventures, and focus on the problem in front of me.
That being, Atlas still acting grumpy and surly and distant with Colt.
Banks has come around.
Royal too.
Things aren’t easy and perfect and exactly as they were five years ago, but progress has been made and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Dash, on the other hand…
It’s not going to be an easy problem to solve. Even with our talk.
Neither is the man in front of me.
Atlas is doing his grumpy billionaire scowl, but I’ve seen it enough over the years that it doesn’t affect me.
Instead, I smile at him and step into his office, closing the door behind me.
His scowl deepens further…then further again when I move across his office and drop into the chair in front of his desk.
Then just look at him.
“I have a meeting in ten minutes,” he mutters.
“No, you don’t,” I tell him. “It could be handled with an email, so I did, and then canceled it.”
He glares at me for a long moment, muscle in his cheek flexing, before turning to his computer screen and jabbing angrily at his keyboard.
I let him stew.
For a little bit anyway.
“We need to talk.”
“You’re the one sitting there staring at me”—a few more jabs at the keyboard—“you need to talk to me then talk already.”
My mouth hitches up.
God, I love this man.
He’s always been there.
Always.
Even when it meant putting himself on the back burner.
I know that if I asked him to drop everything because I need to get home to Frankie or go to a doctor’s appointment or even just to take some time for a mental health break, he would bend over backward to make that happen for me.
So, I need to fix this for him.
And for Colt.
And for me.
I’ve worked hard to build our family, to keep us together through all the trials and tribulations that life brings.
I’m not willing to give that up.
Which means I’m going to heal this breach.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“No shit,” he mutters, still jabbing.
“Colt needs you,” I say gently and even with that gentleness, Atlas still goes even stiffer, his scowl deepening, his jabbing growing more intense. “He needs me and Frankie and you and Banks and Royal and Dash. He needs his family.”
That gets him.
I know it does.
Because the family we’ve built is important to him too—maybe almost as important as it is to me considering his upbringing.
He finally stops jabbing, though his scowl doesn’t soften. “I don’t even know what to say to him.”
“What do you mean?”
A long, slow exhale. “We mourned him, Briar. Grieved him. How do we move on from that?”
I still. Because I know exactly what he’s feeling.
The hurt. The anger.
But, more importantly, the knowledge that changed everything for me.
“We lost him,” I murmur. “But we’ve been given a gift, honey. A second chance. A way to make a life—a better one—with someone we grieved so intensely that we named a bar after him and celebrated his birthday for five years even though we thought he was dead.”
His expression softens, and I know that I have him—at least a little bit.
So, I keep pressing.
“He’s one of us. He’s our family,” I remind him. “And if I can forgive him after all that went down between him and me, you guys can too.”
Suddenly, his scowl is back.
And I know why.
Because Atlas is starting to agree with me.
And he doesn’t like it.
I push up from the chair, round his desk, and bend to kiss his cheek, to wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“I didn’t say I agreed.”
I straighten. “You didn’t have to.”
Then I start for the door, toss over my shoulder, “The jet’s waiting for you.”
“What?”
“You’re flying out tonight for Lily’s concert.”
He blinks.
I grin.
“Lily’s bringing the red lipstick.”
He jerks, cheeks going the slightest bit pink.
Then…he smiles.
And, since my work here is done, I head out the door.
“How was school, baby?” I ask as I turn on the car and back out of my spot.
“I’m not a baby,” she says pertly. “I’m four and three quarters.”
My lips twitch, but I don’t laugh like I want to. “Sorry to say, Frankie,” I tell her. “But you’ll always be my baby—even when you’re old.”
“Like when I’m nineteen?”
This time I do laugh.
Because…from the mouths of babes.
Nineteen is old apparently.
“Yup. Even when you’re nineteen.” Grinning, I make my way out of the lot, turning onto the road that will lead us home, listening as Frankie recounts her day—circle time and coloring, working on writing the number five, practicing opening and closing her lunchbox to get her ready for kindergarten next year.
No joke, my baby isn’t a baby any longer.
And I’m going to miss that part of her.
And Colt missed all of it—the first smiles and the first steps, her first day of school and learning her first song with Royal, the first time she called me Mom or said “I love you” or helped me cook dinner. So many firsts that he missed.
That Frankie missed too.
My heart pulses, but I don’t want to be sad, so I think about the sleepless nights and breastfeeding and diaper blowouts.
I think about being in survival mode for so long that I could barely breathe.
“Is Colt going to live with us forever?”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “Would you like that?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.
She falls quiet.
For so long that when I stop at a signal, my eyes flick to the rearview mirror.
She has her arms crossed and is looking out the window.
But her expression isn’t angry.
She’s…pondering.
So, I let her do exactly that, driving in silence until she’s ready to talk.
She doesn’t get there until we’re turning onto our street.
“You said family always makes sure to be here for the important things.” Her arms cross tighter. “And he wasn’t.”
That has my heart pulsing again, and I weigh my words carefully.
“He wanted to be here, baby. But the bad guys who had him made it really hard for him to get home.”
“I know.”
And she does know.
Both Colt and I have had several age-appropriate conversations about his captivity, trying to lay it out in simple but not scary terms.
I’m not sure we’ve succeeded.
Especially when she says, “What if the bad guys come again?”
I pull into the driveway, turn off the car, and meet her at her booster seat, wanting her to be able to see my face when I answer her. “The bad guys can’t come here,” I tell her. “They’re not allowed.”
She studies me closely, as though considering my answer. “Like when Josie and I say ‘No Boys Allowed’ at the train table?”
Laughter bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it back.
She’s asking a serious question and needs a serious answer.
“Like that, honey,” I say. “Except they’re so not allowed that they wouldn’t even have permission to come in the front door in the first place.”
“So, we’re safe?”
I nod even though I decide I need to clarify that with Colt—he’s back and I didn’t even consider if what he endured could cross the ocean and affect our lives here.
Aside from the obvious emotional and mental load, that is.
But even as I think that, I’m helping Frankie unbuckle. “Yeah, baby,” I say. “We’re safe.”
“’Kay!” She nods and hops down from the car.
“Do you want to talk more about it?”
A shake of her head. “Nope!”
All right then.
Smiling, I grab her things and start trailing her up to the house.
Then freeze when she says, “Colt kissed you. Josie says that means he’s going to be my dad for real now.”