Page 73 of When Love Found Us
Because he isn’t.
I’m becoming too dependent on him. Not in a physical way, but emotionally. I take a breath, shifting slightly in my seat. He notices.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” His voice is low, rough.
I nod before I even know if I mean it. “Yeah. Just tired.”
The whole truth is that I’m exhausted, but not from the night—from everything. This dinner made me realize a lot of things and I don’t know what I can do to help myself. It’s like I have one too many problems and not way to fix any because I’m too busy running away.
“Do you regret going?”
I glance at him, startled by the question. “Do you?” I ask instead of responding.
“No,” he answers, and it sounds like a very honest no. “I think it was necessary.”
“Necessary?” I don’t see how. “Did you get physical with your brother when you were in the office?”
“I wanted to. I wanted to punch that stupid smirk off his face, but I controlled myself,” he states.
“Then, why do you think it was necessary?” I ask, trying to figure out what the angle is. Did I miss something?
He hums, a second passes, then the next and suddenly he says, “They know you’re important. If I need them to protect you when I’m not around, they will. Even when they hate me, they will.”
“Where are you going?” I try not to panic, but he can’t leave me.
“Nowhere, but what if you decide to go to the bookstore, and I can’t get to you on time?”
“Oh, you’re just covering your bases.” I sigh with relief.
“Exactly.”
“So, you and Ledger really don’t get along, huh?” I ask, pushing for more even though I already know how this ends.
“He hates me the most, yeah.”
Back at the house, Nysa, who was really close with Atlas in high school, filled in the gaps—the grudges, the way Ledger refuses to let go of whatever he thinks Atlas took from him. But she also told us something else: When they were teenagers, Atlas used to take the worst of their father’s anger, stepping in so Ledger wouldn’t have to. He took the pain so his older brother wouldn’t miss a game or any hockey activity that would take him away from his dream.
They don’t realize it, but they were never each other’s enemy. Just two kids caught in the fallout of a man who never should have been a father.
When we pull up to the building where the shop and apartment are, Atlas kills the engine, but neither of us moves.
The silence lingers. A pause too long. There’s something brimming between us waiting, pressing, but never spilling over. Maybe we need to discuss more about his brothers or maybe . . . I don’t know, there’s so much unsaid between us. A lot of words that we could tell, but should we?
After a long moment, he exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “You should get some sleep.”
“You too,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle.
I don’t expect him to follow. Maybe tonight is the night he decides I can sleep alone, that the great wall of pillows will finally be broken. He’ll either take the other room or move upstairs, putting space between us that I probably need.
But of course, I’m wrong.
A second later, he’s opening the passenger door and helping me down. His hand finds mine—like it has so many times lately—and he pulls me closer so we can walk side by side.
Inside, the apartment is dim, the quiet stretching between us. My arms curl around my body, fingers tracing over my skin in a restless, absent-minded motion. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until Atlas notices.
“Cold?”
I shake my head. “I’m just . . . processing.”
