Chapter Four

AJ

I didn't mean to lose it in front of Kingston and Atlas.

But there'd been no stopping the panic attack when it started to take over me. And when I panicked, I cried. It was a frustrating but unavoidable part of the process.

I cried when I was frustrated as well.

And angry.

Hell, I cried if I needed to make a phone call I was nervous about.

I just… cried a lot.

And this house, this was my fresh start, the beginning of my new life. A chance. For things to be better. For me to build a life that I loved.

Hearing that it was being ripped away from me just when I'd started to get comfortable had been overwhelming.

I hadn't been prepared for just how upset I'd been. I'd barely made it into the privacy of the bathroom before the tears started to flow as my heart slammed against my ribcage, and my breathing got fast and shallow.

I never used to have anxiety.

I'd been such a laid-back kid and teen.

It wasn't until I turned seventeen that the anxieties started. Back when…

Nope.

No.

I wasn't going there. Not when I was already feeling so out of control.

I leaned against the bathroom wall, eyes closed, trying to focus on my breathing until I could feel the tension loosening up in my chest, could expand my lungs completely again.

I grabbed some tissues, blowing my nose, then grabbed a washcloth, soaking it in cold water, before pressing it into my tear-red eyes.

Down the hallway, I could hear the muffled voices of the men speaking. Likely deciding how long they could possibly give me to collect my things and put me out on the street.

What would I do without this house?

Maybe I could find something short-term. A house rental. An apartment sublet. Just… something until I could figure out my next step.

I made decent money.

I didn't need to squirrel away as much of it as I did.

It was overkill.

It was just… if I needed a quick out, I wanted to be prepared.

I never wanted to be caught off guard again.

I sniffled hard, then re-wet the washcloth, pressing it to my skin.

No matter what, I would figure it out. I'd gotten this far, right?

King's voice, familiar and once so comforting, called down the hall, asking me to come out to talk.

"Right," I said to my reflection. I might as well not have bothered with the compress. I was never someone who could cry and then look like it never happened. I always stayed red—my eyes, the tip of my nose—for hours afterward. And most times, I woke up puffy-eyed the next morning too.

Oh well.

It is what it is.

Taking a deep breath, holding, then releasing, I pulled open the door, and made my way back into the living room where the men were waiting for me.

Kingston's head tipped toward his shoulder, his brows scrunching, eyes looking sad. Because, of course, he could tell I'd been crying.

Thankfully, though, he didn't mention it.

"I will just need a couple of hours to, ah, pack my stuff," I said, hearing the crack in my voice, but ignoring it.

"No, wait," Kingston said, holding up a hand. "Atlas and I have been talking," he said. "And we think we might have a possible arrangement that will work for everyone."

"O…kay," I said, tone as dubious as I felt.

Kingston looked at Atlas, but he didn't say anything, leaving his older brother to take the lead.

"Here's the thing. Atlas is never here. That's why we had you move in. And he's only here right now because he needs a place to recover," he started.

"Yeah," I said, wincing at his body and having to force back visions of his leg bone sticking out of his leg. What can I say? I didn't do gore well. Or blood. I once accidentally trimmed Samson's nails and clipped the quick. It didn't even bleed that much, but I'd been nauseated the entire day about it.

"And he clearly needs some help here and there. But it's not easy at our house with the kids. So, we were wondering if maybe it would work for you if you both temporarily cohabitated," Kingston said.

"Cohabitate?" I asked.

"There are enough bedrooms. And you could make sure this moron doesn't end up on the floor and unable to get back up," he said, jerking his chin toward his brother.

Could I do that?

Live with a man?

A man I didn't even know?

I mean, he was a wreck.

It wasn't like he was a threat to me or anything. He looked like he was in pain just sitting still.

"Not gonna try anything, if that's what you're worried about," Atlas said. "Pretty sure you could outrun me anyway," he added, waving down at his leg.

"We'll waive rent while he's here, of course," Kingston went on.

"That's… that's too much," I said, even as I mentally wondered how far I could stretch that money. My car desperately needed to go into the shop. New tires. New brakes. I'd been putting it off because it was just so damn expensive.

"Or maybe we can work out an arrangement where you drive Atlas to the occasional doctor's appointment in exchange for staying on while he's here recuperating."

"I… I could do that," I said, nodding.

"No one is expecting you to take care of him," Kingston went on. "If he needs help showering or anything like that, one of us will come."

"I can shower myself," Atlas insisted, unmistakably grumpy at being so down for the count.

"You can't even sit up by yourself," Kingston shot back, rolling his eyes.

"But if you could, you know, bring in the takeout he orders, maybe get him drinks now and again, that kind of shit," Kingston said.

"I could do that," I said, nodding.

"Maybe if he needs anything and you're already heading to the store…"

"Sure," I agreed, thinking that wouldn't be too bad.

I wasn't a complete stranger to caretaking. When I'd been a kid, my paternal grandparents, then maternal grandparents had moved in with us as they declined. Even as a little kid, I was helping feed them or bringing them their meds.

I'd never minded it, either.

I always liked feeling helpful.

"Keep track of your mileage," Kingston suggested. "And Atlas will pay you back for it. And wear and tear on the car."

"That's really not—" I started to object.

"AJ," Kingston said, shaking his head. "I know you're too nice to say it, but this is a major fuck-up on my part that has led to an inconvenience for you. Let us make it up to you."

I mean, he was right.

This was his fault.

And I knew I was a little too apt to let people take advantage of me. I was working on it. This was an opportunity to do that, right?

"Okay," I agreed, nodding.

Kingston owned his own thriving business. I'd gone to his offices to meet him about the house. He was clearly doing well for himself. I didn't know anything about Atlas and his financials, but he was obviously doing alright if he owned a whole house to only spend a week or two in it a year, right?

"Good," Kingston said, nodding, looking relieved. "I'm gonna go see if I can get the guest room more accessible for you," he said to Atlas, who gave him a distracted nod.

"Can I get you some… ibuprofen or something?" I asked as his face kept tensing. "You look like you're… feeling it," I said.

Those pretty dark eyes of his flicked up to mine, and he gave me a tight nod. "If you have any acetaminophen," he said. "I can't have ibuprofen with a concussion."

"Yeah, I have it," I said, rushing off to the bathroom to grab the bottle, then to the kitchen to get a glass of water. "This is all I…we… have," I said, handing him the glass, then opening the bottle for him. "But if you give me a list, I can run out."

"This is fine," he assured me, bracing the glass on his thigh to take the pills I shook into his hand. "Thanks. But I'll give you my card to stock up whenever you have time."

"I can go right—" I started.

"AJ," he cut me off, his smirk a little boyish. "If you're that accommodating all the time, people are gonna leave treadmarks all the fuck over you."

Well, damn.

There was nothing like getting called out on one of your most glaring flaws from a complete stranger.

"And I'd like to say I'm better than that," he went on. "But in this condition, I can see myself asking for too much too often. So set a boundary and stick to it."

"Okay," I said, nodding. "Well, in that case, I will go tomorrow before work."

"There you go," he said, shooting me that charming smile again. Just before there was a loud rap at the door that had me nearly coming out of my skin. "Whoa there," Atlas said, brows pinching. "It's probably Shane."

"Shane?" I asked.

"A family friend," he said. "King!" he called.

"Yep, I heard him," Kingston said, rushing down the hall to answer the door, stepping outside to talk to this Shane guy.

"Go eat your dinner, sweetheart," Atlas told me, nodding toward the kitchen.

"Do you want some?" I asked. "I always buy enough to feed a small army. I can never decide what I want, so I get a bunch of stuff."

"Probably a good idea to get some food in my stomach," he said, nodding. "Thanks."

Happy to have a moment alone to let my mind really work through this new arrangement, I scurried off to the kitchen, grabbing two dishes out of the cabinet.

It finally made sense why there were only four plates. And they were all those brightly colored melamine plates they put at the end caps of big box stores in the summer. Because what man thinks to fully stock his kitchen? Especially when he doesn't even actually live in the house? He probably just passed them while buying other necessities, grabbed four, and went on with his life.

There had also only been two coffee mugs. And the only glasses in the house were two rocks glasses that went with the whiskey in one of the cabinets that I hadn't touched.

Stocking the kitchen was something I found myself fantasizing about, even going online and saving a bunch of items to a wish list. Plates and pasta bowls and a cutlery set that actually matched. Shelf liners. Spoon rests. You name it, I had it all mapped out.

In fact, in my little fantasy world, I'd redecorated this entire house. New paint, art, lamps.

Even the yard had been meticulously planned, opening up a few beds to fill with flowers for pollinators. Maybe a nice little back deck with some rocking chairs. A hammock under the big tree for temperate weather outdoor naps.

Maybe it wasn't healthy to have planned this house out so much, considering I knew it would only be temporary.

But thinking forward was important for me.

It gave me hope for a better future.

I shook those thoughts away, forcing myself to stay in the moment.

I piled a little bit of everything onto two plates, and brought one out to Atlas.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

To that, he shot me that boyish smile again. "Feeding me? Fuck, I hope not," he said, reaching for the fork, and sliding it between his little finger braces. It wasn't a smooth move, but he managed without spilling much.

I left him alone, not wanting to make him feel insecure as he tried to feed himself, and went into the kitchen to eat by myself, sticking some pieces into the puzzle I was working on.

It was actually one I had made myself from a picture I'd taken of the beach not far from here with Samson dancing in the waves as they crashed on the shoreline.

It was an "old lady hobby." One of many I'd picked up since moving to Navesink Bank. I also suddenly enjoyed growing a windowsill herb garden, making scarves—using a loom because for the life of me I couldn't figure out how to do it just with hooks or needles—and I'd recently started a pretty strong birdwatching addiction, thanks to the several bird feeders I set out in the backyard.

Did some part of me crave adventure?

Sure.

But I had to work with what was cheap and safe right now.

Someday, I promised myself, I would go explore, have vacations, do things worth telling grandchildren about.

That was simply not today.

So I stabbed pieces into my puzzle and ate my once-weekly takeaway splurge. While pretending not to listen to the low voices of the men in the other room.

At one point, I heard the clicking of the wheels as Kingston wheeled Atlas down the hall. Likely to the bathroom. Then back. A task I would have to help with too, whether Atlas knew that or not.

I did let myself think about how different things were going to be for a while. In small ways. Like how I was going to need to throw on a robe before coming out of my room in the morning since I slept without pants and in tees that didn't exactly hide ‘the girls.' Or how I likely would not be doing any deep cleaning while singing my heart out to one of my playlists.

But also, I would need to be running errands and helping in the daily care of another person. A man, nonetheless. One I didn't even know.

Sure, Kingston said he or his brothers would help with something as intimate as showering. But I was pretty sure Atlas was grossly underestimating just how much help he was going to need in his daily life.

Sure, once his fingers healed, he might be able to do more for himself. But until then, even transferring himself to the office chair—or a wheelchair if he got one—was going to require help.

I wasn't sure if it was just pure male bravado that had him thinking he was going to be able to mostly take care of himself, or if he just had been in survival mode, and hadn't gotten a chance to see how helpless he really was, but I had a feeling in a day or two, the truth was really going to smack him upside the head.

From experience, I also believed a period of a really sour mood would follow that realization.

"Hey, AJ," Kingston's voice said, soft and reassuring as ever, enough that he didn't even startle me when he'd been sneaking up on me.

"Hey," I said, turning to give him a small smile.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said, and what's more, he meant it.

"It's alright. You couldn't have predicted this."

"No, but I should have predicted him coming home at some point, and you being here. Needing to protect yourself with a damn frying pan," he said, lifting his arm to show me it, then placing it on the stove. "In my defense, I had sick kids and a sick wife when I'd been talked into this arrangement. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Really, it's okay, Kingston."

"It's not," he corrected. "But I appreciate you rolling with this. Between the two of us, my brother has no fucking idea how hard this is gonna be for him for a solid month. Before those fingers start feeling better. And his rotator cuff. Atlas has always been pretty go-with-the-flow, but he can't let these injuries slide right off his back like he does most things."

"I was actually just thinking how much harder this is going to be than he realizes."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I want you to know I am only asking you to do errands. To bring him drinks. That kind of shit. Anything else he needs, I want you to call me. Actually, I'm gonna leave you a list of numbers," he said, walking over to my magnetic grocery list on the fridge, taking it down, and starting to scribble.

"How many numbers?" I asked as I stood and watched him write for what felt like forever.

"I'm listing them in order of priority. So me and my other brothers—Nixon and Rush. We can do more of the heavy-lifting if necessary. If you can't get us, I'm leaving Mark's number. That's our sister Scotti's husband.

"If you can't get him either, there is Shane, Ryan, Eli, and Hunter. They're all Mark's brothers. And then under them are the names and numbers of all our wives. And Helen and Charlie Mallick.

"Atlas, whether he remembers or not, has a really big circle. And we're all happy to help. There is no reason for anyone, especially you, to need to stress yourself out over his care. We can all pitch in."

"He's really lucky to have you," I said. I meant the words. I didn't intend for so much longing to slip into my voice.

But, God, how I wanted that.

I'd always wanted that.

A big, happy, supportive family.

Both of my parents had been only children. The only family we had were their parents. And once they all passed when I was young, all there was left were the three of us. Then… two. And, as of a few years ago, one.

Me.

I shook those thoughts away, feeling my eyes getting watery again, and not wanting to cry twice in one night around these men.

"We all love him. And, between the two of us, we're all going to enjoy actually being around him for longer than a few days. Even if we don't love that he's hurt during it. Maybe this was God forcing him to slow down for a bit, to spend time with his loved ones."

There was some hurt there in his words.

But I didn't know enough about their family to fully understand it. And I certainly couldn't ask.

"I'm sure he will be happy to have you guys around. Once he gets used to this new reality of his."

"That's the hope," he said, nodding, then placing the list of numbers on the fridge under my Lettuce Eat magnet that made his lips curve up as he grabbed it. "Call any of us. At any time of day or night if you need help. Or even need someone to vent to. I know taking care of people can… it can take a lot out of you," he said. And, again, there was a story there. I found myself wanting to know it, too. But I couldn't ask.

"I think we will be just fine tonight," I assured him with more confidence than I felt. "He's probably going to crash hard after he eats."

"What's your schedule like, work-wise?" he asked. "Just so we know when Atlas might need company."

"Four days a week, I work eight-to-five. One night a week, I do the overnight boarding shift. Usually on a Tuesday night," I added. "I almost always bring Samson with me, so he won't be pestering Atlas either."

"Okay. Great. I will talk to everyone to figure out who can be here and when. I apologize for a bunch of strangers being in and out of the house too."

"It's not my house," I said, shrugging.

"Honey, it is," he said, head tipping to the side. "Which is why, during the hours when you will be here, I will make sure everyone texts first to let you know they're dropping by. And that no one stays later than seven. Your life is going to be disrupted enough. I don't want you to feel like you have to play host to our family too."

"I don't mind," I said. And I truly didn't. Loneliness had been my dominant feeling since I'd arrived in town. And the idea of not being so alone all the time actually brought some comfort. Even if these people were strangers. I'd get to know them soon enough.

"You're a sweet kid, AJ," he said, making a warm sensation move through my belly. God, when was the last time a man said something nice to me? Ages. "Atlas will be getting his new bank card tomorrow after I take him to the doctor. So he will get some cash to keep on hand for expenses, and—"

"Kingston," I interjected. "It's all going to be okay," I told him, sensing he really needed to hear that.

Sure enough, I saw his shoulders lower a bit. Like a weight had been lifted.

"I've been the parental figure to everyone for a long time," he admitted. "It's a hard habit to shake, even when they're all adults."

"They're lucky to have you. But he's going to be okay. And he has me here."

"We don't deserve you, AJ," he said, coming over to me, and giving my shoulder a squeeze. I got the feeling that he was likely a hugger, but worried that might be overstepping.

I suddenly had the urge to throw my arms around him. To feel him hug me back.

I'd always wanted a big brother. Someone to keep an eye on me. To protect me.

I reached up, squeezing the forearm of the hand on my shoulder.

"But I'm glad we have you. Please, call me if you need help with anything."

"I will," I assured him, giving him a smile.

With that, he said his goodbyes and made his way out.

I walked back out, finding a pill bottle on the coffee table. I figured that was what their Shane friend had dropped off. Maybe I should have balked at someone sharing their prescription medication. But if there was anyone who needed it, it was Atlas right then.

I collected Atlas's empty plate and watched his brother's car back out of the driveway.

"You're really lucky to have him," I told Atlas, "All of them," I added, the longing in my heart so acute that it hurt. A physical pang behind my ribcage that I wanted to rub at to ease.

Atlas's head tipped to the side, watching me, and I got the feeling he was seeing more than I wanted him to.

"I know," he agreed, nodding.

"Do you?" I asked, knowing I was pushing it, but unable to help myself.

I was projecting and I knew it.

But if you had a family that loved you that much, why the hell would you spend ninety-nine percent of your time away from them?

"I do," he said, but his voice was smaller.

I shook my head, trying to force the weird thoughts out of my mind.

"So, do you want to crash here tonight, or do you want me to help you to your room?"

"Honestly, the idea of moving again right now sets my teeth on edge," he admitted, suddenly looking exhausted and pale.

"The couch works in a pinch. I've fallen asleep there more nights than I care to admit to," I said, shrugging. "But you need a couple pillows. And maybe another blanket," I told him, then scurried off to get him comfortable.

Pillows under his neck, more under his heavy cast.

I scooted the coffee table closer by his upper body so he could reach the acetaminophen, pain pills, water, and remote.

By the time I fed Samson and took him outside, Atlas was out cold.

Leaving me alone with my many thoughts until, eventually, I passed out too.