Chapter Six

AJ

We fell into a comfortable kind of domestic partnership. One where I would go to work, then come home to find that Atlas had done an online grocery order to save me from having to go out and do it, just bring it in and put it away.

Then I would make dinner.

And he would usually work at my puzzle or toss Samson's toys across the house for him while I cooked.

I helped him transfer from the couch to the chair and back again, so he didn't fall.

Some days, his family perceptively had come around when I was gone to help him get in and out of the shower because he was clean and changed and there was a new shower chair in the hall bathroom.

Occasionally, there would be food in the fridge that his loved ones had dropped off. Some of them even came with cards with little scribbles or sketches from, obviously, the children.

Each time I saw one of those things, my heart squeezed a bit in my chest, seeing how big his circle was, how loved he was.

I wondered if he appreciated it. Because I constantly found him on a laptop that appeared one day, scouting out new trips to take, ones that wouldn't be as physically taxing on him as he was still weak and recovering.

He was in such a hurry to get well… just to leave again.

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

But, I guess, we came from different lives. And I couldn't begin to understand why Atlas lived the way he did. Not without details about his life.

"What are you doing?" I asked, coming into the kitchen to find Atlas on his office chair with the back door opened, letting in the cool air.

"Christ," he hissed, wincing as he looked over at me. "Seems like your old lady hobbies are rubbing off on me."

"You're watching the birds, aren't you?" I asked.

"The bluejays won't let the cardinals eat the peanuts."

"The cardinals can eat out of the feeder," I told him. "The jays are too big. Don't feel too bad for the cardinals."

"Fair enough," he said. "Samson is chasing the leaves."

"He might not be the brightest dog, but he sure is entertaining," I said.

"How long have you had him?" Atlas asked.

I felt myself tense. A knee-jerk reaction whenever anyone asked me about things that involved my past.

"A few years," I told him. "He was the cutest puppy." A tiny little bright spot in an otherwise dark period of my life. "A complete terror, but cute. He used to try to eat everything. He had this thing for socks. I used to have to keep all my laundry in a closed plastic container, or he would try to scarf them down."

I used to live in fear that he would eat something that would cause an obstruction. And there would be no money for surgery. Then what? They'd put him down?

"You okay?" Atlas asked, brows pinched as he looked at me.

"Fine," I said, forcing a smile as I tamped those memories down. "So, what do you want for dinner?" I asked.

"Sweetheart, you've been cooking nonstop for three weeks," he said, shaking his head. "Don't you want a break? How about you take the night off?"

"We could do that," I agreed.

I actually really loved to cook. I especially loved cooking for him. He was like a little kid each time you put a plate in front of him. Plowing in, gushing about it, demanding to know what was in it. He asked for seconds while complaining that he was gaining weight.

"I got an idea," he said, eyes bright.

"That's a mischievous look," I said.

"How about we go out to eat?" he suggested.

I felt a little skipping in my heartbeat that I tried to ignore. It wasn't the first time. Actually, I'd been having it a lot lately. I would have gone to see a doctor about it if I hadn't realized it only ever happened around Atlas.

Like when his arms went around me when I helped him transfer. Like when we sat side-by-side on the couch, and his arm would brush me.

When he would call me ‘sweetheart.'

"We could do that," I said, trying not to sound as excited as I felt.

We were closing in on a month of him being back in his house with me. But, somehow, I'd become even more reclusive than I'd been before. I didn't even go food shopping much because he ordered delivery.

Aside from work, I spent all my time in the house.

While I actually kind of liked being holed up with Atlas, the idea of going out with him was even more exciting.

"I would normally say Famiglia," he said.

"But all those steps," I filled in for him, thinking of the big Italian place built on, like, stilts over the Navesink River. It was a gorgeous place I'd fantasized about visiting more than a few times since moving to the area, all the while knowing it was way out of my budget.

"Haven't been around enough to know of anywhere else," Atlas admitted.

"We could… drive around and pick a place," I suggested.

"I like the way you think," he declared. "Alright. Scoot me to the room. I'm gonna get into something decent."

I actually liked him in his casual sleep pants and t-shirts.

Did I like it because the tees would sometimes cling to his midsection, and give me the view of abs under there? Or have the material bulge over his biceps?

I mean, I wasn't proud of it, but yeah.

And as for the pants? Yeah, that part I was really, really not proud of. But, well, you know… sometimes if I would come out at night for a snack or a drink, or if I got up earlier than him, and he was sleeping and having, you know, happy dreams…

Ugh, I felt like a predator for even thinking that, let alone fantasizing about it.

I honestly had never really ever had much of a sex drive in the past, so I didn't understand why I was suddenly thinking about Atlas in that way.

"Did I lose you?" Atlas asked, shooting me that sweet, boyish smirk.

"Nope. I was just thinking about what I should wear," I said. And then I was thinking just that. Obsessing, in fact, about it. "You're not wearing a suit, are you?" I asked.

"Don't think I could fit one over my cast," he said.

"Okay. Then I have stuff to wear," I said, grabbing the back of his chair, and pushing him down the hall.

I wasn't sure why he insisted on using the office chair in the house since his electric wheelchair was delivered two weeks before.

He used the wheelchair to go out with his family for doctor visits and whatnot. But in the house, he always used the office chair.

I was inclined to believe it was because he was used to being physical, and using the office chair allowed him to use his good leg to scoot around still, get a small bit of exercise.

"Do you need any help?" I asked when he was in the guest room. He still didn't sleep there, but he kept all his clothes and personal items in it, so he didn't clutter up the living room.

This time, his smirk wasn't quite so sweet and boyish, and was a lot more devilish. "Wouldn't mind you undressing me, sweetheart," he said, and there was that little skipping beat again, "but I can manage."

"Okay," I said, wondering if my face looked as heated as it felt. "I'm right across the hall if you change your mind," I said, then rushed into my room, and closed the door, leaning against it until my heartbeat went back to a normal rhythm.

Then I went ahead and fretted about my outfit in a way that I hadn't done since high school.

In the end, I settled on my only fall dress—a blue and cream button-up plaid long-sleeved dress with a hem that fell about mid-calf. I paired it with a wide belt for some structure, and a pair of knee-high flat boots to keep my legs warm.

"How's it going in there?" I called when his door was still closed when I'd finished not only dressing, but adding a little makeup and refreshing my hair.

There was a sigh from the other side.

"I could use a hand," he admitted, sounding upset about that fact.

I pushed the door open to find him standing, his good leg holding his weight, the cast kind of just balancing him.

He'd managed to get a pair of loose slacks on, though the one leg looked stretched bulkily over his cast. But he was struggling with his shirt—a black button up that he had on one arm, but couldn't seem to reach around to get his other arm in.

All that fantasizing about what he looked like under his shirt? Worthless. Because my mind didn't come anywhere near the reality.

Atlas, and all his brothers I'd seen, were all tall and a lean sort of fit. None of them were very bulky. But I guess I'd underestimated just how chiseled abdominal muscles could be without being big.

He didn't just have a six-pack.

Oh, no.

He had an eight-pack.

And those deep lines near his hips that created a deep V that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

Evidently, all those stunts Atlas made his lifestyle had etched some delicious muscles.

Delicious?

What the heck was wrong with me?

"Um, here," I said, praying I hadn't been staring at him as long as it felt like before I moved in closer, then reached behind him.

Which only made me closer to those abs I'd been ogling. Worse than that, I got to breathe in the scent of his cologne. It was something fresh and cool that made me want to suck in greedy breaths, so I wouldn't forget it.

But that was crazy, so I grabbed the arm, pretending to ignore that I could feel the heat of him against me as I carefully helped his arm into the sleeve, mindful that it was his bad shoulder.

"God, is that better?" I asked, gaze moving over to his ribs where his bruises were a mix of purple, blue, red, green, and yellow.

"Believe it or not, yeah," he said, glancing down.

I knew they were feeling better. He wasn't wincing and hissing when he twisted as much anymore. I imagined if something rammed into that area, he would see stars, but general movements were clearly getting easier.

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing toward his buttons.

"Oh, right. Of course," I said, thinking of his fingers. He was still taping them up, but they didn't seem to be swollen or too painful anymore.

I reached down for the lowest buttons, fishing the eye through the hole. And trying really, really hard to focus on the task, and not the way my body seemed to be reacting to his nearness.

The way my breathing felt faster and more shallow.

And how, as crazy as this sounds, my breasts almost seemed, I don't know, heavier.

My skin was heated and kind of uncomfortable, so even the brush of my dress created this scratchy, unpleasant sensation.

Then, yeah, there was that throbbing sort of ache in my core, between my thighs, that I could barely think past as my fingers kept moving upward, my knuckles brushing his warm skin as I went, the muscles twitching at the contact.

"What am I, a priest?" he asked, making my head shoot up, confused, and finding him smirking at me before glancing down toward his neck. Where I'd buttoned him all the way up.

"Oh," I said, shaking my head at myself as I undid the top button. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart," he said, and his voice sounded different. Thicker somehow. I didn't understand why but the sound of it washed over me, made my sex pulse hard.

"Sure," I said, taking a step back. "I'll, uh, go get your chair ready," I said, rushing out of the room to do just that after tossing Samson out of the back door to go potty.

"Are you going to be able to lift that into your car?" Atlas said as he scooted down the hall toward where I was setting the chair up by the door.

"I lifted you off of the floor. I'm sure I can manage to shove it in the trunk," I told him as he scooted closer. "Shouldn't you put your sling on?" I asked.

"Not to sound like a kid, but I don't want to," he said. "It's feeling okay," he said. "And it's not like I'm going to overdo it going out to dinner."

"Alright, I agreed, moving closer to lower down, and wrap my arms around his midsection like I'd been doing every day for weeks.

It's just that… my body was still throbbing with need right then. And the touch of him had all sorts of little sparks of desire pinging off all of my nerve endings.

"You okay?" Atlas asked.

"Yeah, why?" I asked, sounding breathless to my own ears.

"Because you're barely touching me," he said as his arms went around my neck.

"Oh, right," I said, arms tightening, so he could pull against me.

And for just a second, as his much bigger body was yanking against mine, making me plant my feet to stabilize both of us, I got a break from the need.

But as I started to slowly twist him, our chests crushed together, it came raging back, leaving me needing to press my thighs together to ease the ache as I lowered him into his fancy electric wheelchair.

"Alright. Let me just go bring Samson in and grab my purse. Do you need anything?" I asked as he grabbed his wallet from the mail table by the front door.

"I'm all set," he said, watching me with those gooey eyes, but there was something in them that I couldn't quite place.

I was glad for Samson's stubbornness as I moved outside to wait for him to finish sniffing the entire perimeter of the yard.

I leaned back against the house, feeling the cool of the late fall air chill me, bringing some calm back into my body.

By the time Samson came back, I felt somewhat less frazzled as I led him inside, gave him a quick biscuit, then made my way to the front door, pushing it open for Atlas, then following him out.

The transfer to the car was easier than I'd anticipated. But getting the chair in the trunk was another matter entirely.

"You alright?" Atlas asked when I dropped into the driver's seat, letting out a frustrated breath.

"I think I just got a week's worth of exercise getting that thing in there."

"I hate feeling so fucking useless," he admitted, face darkening.

"You're not useless. You're healing," I insisted. "Okay, I hope you like my mixed CD from years ago," I told him as I turned the car over. "Because it's stuck in the player. And none of the radio stations work."

My car was, to put it kindly, a piece of junk. But it was all I'd been able to afford when I'd gotten it. And it had been there for me. Steady, if a bit clunky, dated, and cold since the heat only worked sometimes. Also hot because the air didn't work at all.

But it was a key to freedom.

Both then and, to an extent, now.

So I loved it and all of its eccentricities.

Atlas was a surprisingly upbeat passenger, jamming out to the pop songs, and belting out the ballads as we just… drove.

Honestly, for the longest time, neither of us even seemed all that intent on actually finding a restaurant. Until we found ourselves over the bridge and into the more city-type area of Navesink Bank that featured a ton of boutique shops and lots of little independent restaurants.

"Good thing your chair is all charged up," I said as we parked in the main lot in the center of town. We'd decided a little Italian place was calling to us, and I was suddenly having dreams of some really good penne vodka. And bread. All of the bread.

About twenty minutes later, we were seated at a table with a basket of bread and a little dish of herbed olive oil for dipping.

"So, you're not from Navesink Bank, right?" Atlas asked as we both picked at the bread. "When you talk about it, it sounds… new to you."

"It is. Just since a few weeks before I started renting your house, actually," I told him. I went ahead and left out all the other details.

"What made you settle here?"

"I actually don't know really," I said, aside from nearly running completely out of money, that is. The thing was, a quick online search told me that Navesink Bank wasn't exactly the most reasonable place, financially, to call home. "It just… felt right," I added. "I can't explain it. I was walking Samson down the road and I just got this feeling of home. You know?"

"No, I mean… I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I guess nowhere has really ever felt like home."

"Ever?"

"We moved around a lot. As little kids with my mom. There wasn't a lot of money. Especially after she got sick and her medical bills started piling up. Then after she passed, we were with King, and there was even more moving around. A fuckton of moving around. Never stayed anywhere longer than a few months."

"Is that why you travel so much?" I asked. "Because it's what you're used to?"

"I think that's part of it, yeah. I got to see almost all of the States growing up. But there was so much else to explore. But then there's the love of the thrill of doing new or crazy shit."

If he didn't even know what home felt like, I could honestly see why he didn't think twice about not being in his own home much.

"Don't you miss your family?" I asked. "Since you moved around so much with them," I clarified.

"We all crashed here for a while when Scotti got with Mark. And everyone else was eager to start putting down roots. I just… wasn't ready for that. Back then, I was in the area more than I was gone, though. I needed the money, so I worked for King. Then as soon as I had enough, I was off again. I was lucky to have a brother who would put up with that bullshit."

"Kingston seems like an all-around great guy," I said.

"He is. The man doesn't have a flaw," Atlas agreed. "Was really fucking happy when he got with Savea. He deserved that kinda happy."

"All your brothers have wives, right?" I asked. Even though I knew the answer, thanks to my handy dandy list of phone numbers.

"Hard to believe someone actually wanted to put up with Nixon for life, right?" he asked, shooting me that smirk I liked so much.

I'd met Nixon briefly. And, yeah, he was kind of a grump. But a lovable sort of grump. Always picking at Atlas, but just as willing to take a ribbing too.

"He's the one who is with the, like, whiskey heiress or something like that, right?"

"Right," he agreed, nodding. "You know all about my family. I know nothing of yours."

"Because I don't have any," I said, shrugging off the pang of hurt, of need. "We were a very small family. And then my parents each passed. Now it's just… me."

"Oh, sweetheart," Atlas said, those gooey eyes of his looking so sad for me. As if I needed more reasons to like him.

"I really envy your family," I admitted. "You have such a big circle around you. That must be so nice."

"You must think I'm a real dick, huh?" he asked, making me stiffen, my belly twisting hard. An old, familiar feeling. That worry I'd screwed up. That I said the wrong thing.

"What? No!"

"It's okay," he said, watching me with those eyes I swore saw just a little too much sometimes. "I meant because I have this big circle and I don't spend any time with them. When you, clearly, would like to. They'd totally fucking adopt you, by the way. That's how they are."

"I don't think that about you, though," I said, shaking my head. "I just… don't understand it, is all."

"Guess I don't really either," he admitted, then looked really far away, like he was trying to wrap his head around why he did things the way he did.

Luckily, the server showed up to save us from the awkward turn of the conversation.

"So, did you always work with animals?" he asked after we ordered.

"Ah, no," I said, trying not to lie, but also not offer him the truth of what I'd been doing prior to coming to Navesink Bank. "I did volunteer at the animal shelter a lot as a kid and teen, though."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," I told him truthfully. "I love dogs. They're full of life and love."

"Never had one of my own, but I'm digging Samson," he said. "He does the weirdest shit."

"You should drop by the doggy daycare sometime if you think Samson is a trip," I said, shaking my head. "We have a particularly instinctual Border Collie who herds all the smaller dogs into a circle at least ten times a day. And a Basset Hound who lets out this soul-deep howl when the delivery truck makes the backing up beeping noise. And there's a Beagle mix who takes all the toys, little by little, and hides them."

"That's a good look," Atlas said, making my brows pinch.

"What is?"

"Your face lights all up when you talk about work," he said.

"Do you feel like that about your work?"

"That's… a good question," he said, looking confused. "I honestly don't really care about filming and uploading. I don't think I've ever even looked at the comments on the videos. I never wanted to be famous or some shit. Posting them just… pays for the lifestyle."

"What's your favorite extreme activity?" I asked.

"Fuck, that's a big question," he said, sitting back and thinking on it. "There's a lot of experiences that were fucking insane, but I don't think they'd be as much fun if I did them over and over."

"Like?"

"Like… wing suit gliding. Or bungee jumping. Even sky diving. Shit I would never take back, but I don't think I'd take on as a hobby. I feel like it would lose the thrill.

"Then there's the shit that I enjoyed but it was too challenging for me to want to do it all the time. Rock climbing, for example. Interesting experience, but too hard to truly be enjoyable for me."

"What ones do you like doing over and over then?" I asked.

"A lot of the water sports, I guess. Love to surf, in all the ways you can surf."

"All the ways?" I asked. I was originally from a landlocked state, so I wasn't all that familiar with water sports.

"Regular, of course. But also kite surfing, windsurfing. And then there's wakeboarding and waterskiing. Jet skis… what?" he asked, making me realize my face was scrunched up.

"Oh, it's nothing," I said, shaking it off.

"No, what is it?" he asked. "I'm not gonna be mad," he added, like he knew that was what I was worried about. How, I had no idea. But he was right.

"I was just thinking that… your family lives in Navesink Bank…"

"Yeah…"

"And that… you're super close to the beach here."

"Huh," he said, nodding, looking lost in thought again.

"I wasn't trying to be offensive, or anything. I just…"

"AJ, it's alright," he cut me off. "Giving me something to think about isn't a bad thing. You're right. The beach is right here. And I could be enjoying all those activities I like the most close to home. Even if there are definitely nicer beaches in the world, you're right."

"I love the beach," I admitted. "I'd never been to one before," I added. "It was kind of… overwhelming the first time I walked on one. It's just so… big. And peaceful, if you go when it's not busy. Or to one of the beaches without lifeguards. After living here, I don't think I could live somewhere without the water again."

"I get that. I've been just about everywhere, but I definitely migrate toward places with beaches the most. Even just to sit on ‘em, watch the sun come up or set."

"Gotta get your leg all healed up," I said. "Then we could go. Short of pulling you on a sled, I don't think it would be possible now," I teased. "Or, you know, you could go with your family or friends. Or even, ah, I could drop you off there to—"

"AJ," he cut me off, head cocked to the side, watching me with those penetrative eyes. "I'd love to go to the beach with you as soon as I can bear some weight again."

Luckily, our food arrived, saving me from being embarrassed that I'd basically asked the man on a date. Even if it was just a, you know, friend date. Because Atlas had never made a pass at me. Or even insinuated anything.

The conversation veered more to food then, and local sights we could see after we finished eating.

"No, come on," I said, trying to pull the check folder out of his hand. "You've been paying for everything. Let me get this." Even if the total was probably going to give me a bellyache.

"Absolutely fucking not," he said, slipping his card into it, and holding it out to the server.

"The tip then."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be a cold day in hell that I let a woman pay for the meal. And I don't give a fuck how sexist that might be," he added with that boyish smirk of his.

We left the restaurant, walking around the little town until, suddenly, Atlas stopped rolling.

"Oh, no. Did the battery die?" I asked, calculating how far the car was.

"No. But your feet are killing you," he said, slipping up one of the arms of the chair. "Hop on."

"What? No!" I said, belly flip-flopping.

Because there was no way. I was struggling enough just helping him transfer. Sitting on his lap would be torture.

"Yes," he said, patting his legs.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's only… meant for one person."

"It holds four-fifty," he said, giving me a What else you got? look. "You're gonna have blisters," he added.

He wasn't wrong.

My feet were killing me.

There was a telltale burning pain at the pad under my toes that, from experience, I knew would blister.

"I can make it."

"Sweetheart, sit down," he said, holding an arm out.

And, God, I wanted to.

Even if it was a terrible idea.

Taking a deep breath, I did what I told myself I wouldn't.

I turned.

And I sat on his lap.

Come what may.