Page 93 of When Love Found Us
“That’s a kick,” I whisper.
“She’s kicking,” he murmurs, voice thick.
Something swells between us. A shift. A tether that wasn’t there before. This isn’t just about running anymore. It’s not just about escaping Winston or fighting to stay safe. It’s about this life. This future.
A tear slips free, streaking warmth down my cheek. My hands tighten over my stomach, over her. I want this. This baby. This moment. Him.
Atlas exhales, slow and deep, his hand never leaving me. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s real.”
And then he moves.
One moment, I’m sitting there, drowning in the weight of it all, and the next, he’s pulling me into him. His arms band around me, his forehead dropping to mine. His breath skates over my lips. “You’re not alone in this,” he says, voice low, reverent. “You never will be.”
The words undo something inside me. They unravel years of fear, of loneliness, of thinking I had to do this alone.
I close the distance, pressing my lips to his, tasting everything. His promise. His devotion. His love. Atlas kisses me like he’s giving me something back—like he’s replacing every broken thing with something whole. And I wish I could give him something in return, anything. I just don’t know if I have what he needs, but how much I wish I did.
ChapterThirty-Five
Atlas
I learned earlyhow to wait.
You have to, when you’re watching the second hand tick by, waiting for the medicine to work, for your mother to stop shaking, for her breathing to even out. When you’re waiting for your dad to show up after she’s gone, hoping he’ll make it better, even when you already know he won’t.
Waiting has always been a part of me, ingrained in my bones, stitched into the moments between hope and disappointment.
I know how to wait.
I’m fucking patient.
But this? This feels different.
I brace my hands against the back of the couch, staring at the clock like it might give me an answer. Like it might tell me how the hell I’m supposed to feel right now.
Sanford’s people just checked in—no breaches, no movement from Winston’s side that we haven’t accounted for. Birchwood Springs is locked down. For now.
And yet, something claws at my chest.
I roll my shoulders, try to push it down, but the feeling lingers. My body knows something is coming. The way you feel the air shift before a blizzard. The silence before a storm. I should be thinking about that, about what’s next, about the fights I know are ahead of us.
But I’m not.
Right now, the only thing running through my head is her.
Blythe.
She’s in the bedroom, waiting for Simone to arrive with the ultrasound machine. Waiting to see the baby for the first time.
I should be in there. I should be holding her, reassuring her, telling her this is good. That this is something we should be happy about.
But I’m still standing here.
Because I’m fucking terrified.
Not of the baby.
Not of her.
