Chapter 11 Atlas
ATLAS
Viper’s down in his office, multiple screens glowing and updating. Grizz disappeared into the workshop hours ago and is likely humming off-key while he welds or hammers away.
Which leaves the main floor quiet enough for me to hear Kira pad in wearing socks, leggings, and one of the sweaters I picked out for her.
She stops when she sees me sitting at the kitchen counter. “You’re still up?”
“I’m about to finish the last of the dishes. I’ve had the skillet soaking.”
“I can get that for you.” The gentle smile on her face hits me harder than it should.
I should say no. She’s still recovering from her injuries, and I prefer to handle things myself. Despite that, I find myself saying, “I’ll wash. You can dry.”
The way she stands next to me at the sink, a towel ready in her hand, stirs up memories I usually keep locked away.
“Do you always stay up this late?” she asks as I’m scrubbing a stubborn spot.
“Usually. I have to, to keep up with the intel Viper stockpiles. He doesn’t power off like most humans.”
Her soft laugh tightens something in my chest. “The briefings you’ve been giving me are more helpful than you probably realize,” she says.
“The more you know about what we’re tracking, the less helpless you’ll feel.” I rinse the pan, then turn off the tap and let the water drain from the skillet before handing it to her. “And you are not helpless, Kira.”
Emotions flicker across her delicate features as she focuses on the task at hand. “Thank you.”
When she’s finished, I put the pan in its place in the cupboard. “Fire’s still going. Want to sit for a few minutes?”
She hesitates, but nods, her eyes shy when they meet mine.
I ladle hot cider into two mugs from the pot Grizz keeps simmering on the stove in the evenings. I usually add a shot of bourbon to mine, but that wouldn’t be fair to Kira, who’s avoiding alcohol.
When I hand off one of the mugs, her fingers brush mine, and I ignore the sparks that shoot up my arm. I have no business reacting to her like that.
We settle in the living room, in front of the fire. Kira takes a spot on one side of the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. I choose the armchair, where I’m close enough to talk and far enough away to keep myself in check.
She holds her mug in both hands and stares into the fire as warm reflections dance in her clear blue eyes. After a sip, she says, “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Go ahead.”
“How old are you?”
That was more of a softball than I expected. “Forty-eight.”
Her brows lift. “You don’t look it.”
I huff a laugh and rub a hand over the top of my head. My hair’s due for a trim. “That so? Despite all the gray?”
Viper reported that Kira’s twenty-eight. Two decades younger than me. I’m old enough to be her father.
I must seem ancient to her. Hell, I am ancient. My back reminds me every day.
“And Grizz?” she asks.
“Forty-five. Viper’s forty-three.”
“You all look younger than that … and stronger than men in their twenties.” She’s being kind, ignoring all the deep-etched lines on our faces. “Did you all meet in the Marine Corps?”
I nod and take a drink of cider. “We enlisted young. Grizz and Viper joined my team in Afghanistan, and we served together there, plus a few other places no one’s supposed to mention.”
“You saw action?”
“We did. Grizz was our explosives specialist. Viper worked reconnaissance and precision fire. A sniper, if you want the plain version.”
“Viper the sniper.” She grins at the rhyme as she takes in the information. “Were you the captain?”
“Gunnery Sergeant. Team leader.”
Kira tilts her head. A few strands of hair fall across her face before she brushes them away. “Thank you for your service.”
I shake my head. “I just did my job. The men did the hard part. But … thank you.”
“How long did you serve?”
“Eighteen years. Been out a little over a decade now.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I’m proud of what I did, but I knew when it was time to step away.”
Kira nods. “And then you founded Sentinel Security?”
“More or less. The three of us got out at different times and eventually drifted back together. We bought this land and built what we needed. Work gave us purpose.” I rub the back of my neck. “Still does.”
She continues to look thoughtful. “Makes sense.”
“What we do now isn’t combat, but our skills carry over.”
We sit and drink in silence for a few minutes until the energy shifts and Kira fidgets, changing position. “Atlas … I’ve noticed you wear a wedding band.”
I stiffen, then force myself to take a breath and exhale. “My wife’s name was Sarah.” Saying her name aloud is both warm and painful at the same time. “I met her at one of Sentinel’s first clients, a nonprofit in the city. Shortly after our fifth wedding anniversary, she collapsed during a hike.”
Kira’s hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes pinch in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“She had a heart issue we had no idea about, until it was too late.”
Kira’s voice is a whisper when she speaks again. “Were you with her when it happened?”
I lock down that part of my brain, refusing to let the images of that morning replay, but a few break through anyway. I swallow down the pain, grateful for its bitter taste. “Yeah.”
Kira sets her mug on the coffee table and slides across the couch to where she can reach me. She squeezes my forearm and lets her hand rest there. “I’m so sorry, Atlas.”
I mumble thanks, biting back the objections I want to voice. I don’t deserve the sympathy. I failed Sarah. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t protect the person who mattered most.
Grizz and Viper have argued with me about the guilt many times. They say sometimes there are situations where nothing can be done, no matter how prepared you are.
I understand the logic. Believing it is another matter.
After a minute of companionable silence, Kira’s hand still on my arm, she gives another squeeze and pulls away. “What was she like, if you don’t mind talking about her?” Her voice is gentle, nearly a whisper.
I’m always glad to talk about Sarah, even though it hurts. “She was kind. Brave. Smarter than me by a mile.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to lose her.”
“Work keeps me going. Provides structure. Purpose.”
Kira nods her head. “I understand wanting structure. Maybe because of my mom dying, I’ve always grabbed onto whatever seemed stable. Preston seemed solid and safe when we first dated.”
Hearing the man’s name makes me tense.
“When I found out I was pregnant, he proposed right away.” Kira’s hand goes to her stomach. “He said he wanted to do the right thing, but he rushed the wedding with the hope I wouldn’t be showing yet. He said he needed to ‘keep things clean’ for his image.”
“That’s not a proposal. That’s strategy.”
“I know, but I didn’t see it at the time. Or maybe I didn’t want to.”
She’s been full of sympathy for me, but her story makes me sad. A young woman as vibrant and beautiful as Kira deserves romance. She deserves a man who’ll move heaven and earth for her, not someone who expects her to fit into his life in the ways he wants.
The room goes quiet again, with only the fire occasionally crackling. A log shifts. The clock on the wall, another of Grizz’s handiworks, ticks into the silence.
Kira’s still resting her hand on her stomach when suddenly, a smile spreads across her face. “I’m starting to feel the baby sometimes,” she says.
“Really?” The baby can’t be very big. Her pregnancy is barely visible.
“Little flutters.” She glances at me. “They’re faint, but they’re unmistakable.”
An old scar I’d stopped noticing suddenly aches again.
“That’s … incredible.” My voice comes out low, raw. “Really incredible, Kira.”
Her pretty pink lips have drawn together. She’s still smiling, but not as broadly. “It makes everything feel more urgent. And more hopeful,” she says. “Both at once, if that makes any sense.”
Hope. It isn’t a word I use anymore, but she says it like she believes it.
My body sits heavy with loss, regret, and darkness.
Kira isn’t even thirty. She’s young, soft, and open.
She’s full of hope and promise, and I’m something old and wizened, whittled out of grief and duty, like a creation from Grizz’s shop.
A long-buried part of me would like to give this woman what she’s been missing and show her how she should be treated by a man. The better part of me knows I’m not what she wants or needs.
I’m too old. Too set in my ways. And hope is something that ran through my fingers long ago.
But the way she’s looking at me, with her cheeks flushed from the firelight, is hitting me somewhere deep.
God help me, she seems like something special.
I take a swig of cider, then clear my throat. “You should get some rest. Viper will be working ‘til dawn, and he’ll steal your breakfast if you’re not down here in time.”
She blinks as if breaking a spell, then gets to her feet. “Thanks for talking with me.”
“Anytime.” I mean it more than I should.
She takes her mug to the sink and rinses it before walking to the stairs. At the bottom, she pauses and turns back to me. “Atlas?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad I’m here. With you. With all of you. It feels safe here.”
My throat’s suddenly thick. “Good. That’s what we want.”
She smiles and slowly climbs the staircase, and I watch her go. With every sway of her curvy hips, I tell myself to look away, but I keep watching until she’s out of sight.
Then I stare into the fire like there’s meaning to be found there. Its warmth brushes against the cold corners inside me.
I won’t let attraction compromise a mission. Not now, not ever.
But the truth sparks in the flames and echoes in the room around me.
She’s getting under my skin.