Page 129 of His to Save

I allow him to fuss over me for a minute, knowing it’s something he needs to reassure himself that I’m truly here and okay.

But my mind wanders as he fluffs my pillow and tucks the blankets around me, thinking of all the ways I can convince him to believe me.

My mama was never one to buy into this woo-woo kind of stuff, as she called it, but my dad—healwaysdid. He said life was full of unexplained phenomena, and if we simply trusted our gut, we’d always end up where we’re meant to be.

He never once steered me wrong. I believe him wholeheartedly, and now I need Atlas to believe me.

“They were so perfect.” Tears fill my eyes, as I recount the details. But this time, they’re happy tears. “They had your eyes and your golden skin, but with my hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridges of their noses.”

He drags his fingertips over my cheek, swiping away the tears before taking my hand in his. “Tell me more, Pip.” The deep but gentle rumble of his voice soothes my frayed nerves. “Tell me everything.”

I send up a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening for him to believe me. I don't know why it's so important to me that he does, but it is. It really, truly is.

“The sun was setting, and we were cuddled up on the back steps, watching the kids play. James was pushing Lydie Grace on a tire swing.”

“What tree was it hanging from?” Atlas asks, his voice still neutral.

“You know the big one, to the left of the steps?” He nods and starts rubbing soothing circles over the back of my hand with his thumb. “That one, from the really big branch that points toward the house.”

“Always thought that tree would be perfect for a swing—or even a treehouse.”

“They were having so much fun. James was spinning Lydie Grace, and they were laughing and squealing and hollering.”

“How old were they?” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gazes down at me with a small smile curling his lips.

“James was eight and Lydie Grace was five.” My lips tip up into a watery smile. “They were so perfect, Atlas. I told them how much I loved them, and it felt so right. So perfect and right.”

My shoulders curl inward when he doesn't say anything. “I... I know how it sounds.” I laugh, but it's a flat, dull sound. I thought he believed me, but maybe he was just indulging me. “Never… never mind… it was just a –”

“I-believe-you.” The words explode out of him, all jumbled together into one long word rather than three.

“Really?” My heart swells in my chest, pressing against my ribs, as a sense of hope radiates within me, warming me from the inside out.

He huffs out a breath and then smiles down at me, with a look so tender it makes me melt. “Really.” He leans forward and presses the softest kiss to my bruised lips. “I love you, and I've always got your back.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, uncaring of the crack in my voice. I don’t know how I ended up lucky enough to have this man’s unconditional love, but I’ll spend the rest of my life not only basking in it, but loving him right back.

“There's something I've gotta know, though...”

“What's that?”

“Does our boy have a middle name?”

That was the absolute last question I expected, but also somehow the best.

“He does.” I clasp my hands together in my lap, grinning mischievously up at him.

Atlas leans forward, bracing his arms on the railings of my bed. “You gonna tell me, Pip?”

“Wilder.”

He whistles. “James Wilder—that’s gonna go straight to Ellis’s head.”

“What is?” Ellis asks, walking back into the room.

“Speak of the devil,” Atlas groans, and I giggle.

“Seriously.” He crosses his arms over his chest and pretends to glare. “One of y’all better tell me.”

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