Page 112 of These Wicked Hearts

“I don’t like that saying, why would I want dogs to fight? Now a robot fight, I can get behind that.”

He closes his eyes for a moment then kisses me. “Get your gorgeous ass up and get ready.”

“Fine!” I whip my blankets off. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Very cruel and evil, yes.” I shuffle past him toward the bathroom. Still half asleep I hit the edge of the bedpost, stubbing my toe. “Fuck!”

“Jesus Christ.” Gage pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting out of this.”

I hold my foot, trying so hard not to cry. This shit hurts. “I don’t think I can go. Too injured.”

“Atlas.” He tilts his head into my line of sight. “Get in . . . the bathroom. Now.”

I squeeze my foot, letting it go, and get ready in the bathroom.

When I come back out to the kitchen, Gage has his hoodie on and is pouring a cup of coffee. “Oh, you made coffee. So domestic.” Gage looks up at me then shakes his head as I wander toward the cabinets to grab a mug. I pour myself a small cup and bring it to my lips as I notice his eyes on me. “What?”

“Nothing.” He sips his own. “This is all I could find. We can grab food on the way up if you want.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You need to eat. We’ve got a long day. We’ll grab something quick. I’m sure I can find something wherever we go.”

“You sound like a parent.”

“Well, you act like a toddler, so here we are.” I roll my eyes, sipping my coffee and trying so hard not to overthink. It’s Grey. Grey is one of the kindest, gentlest men I know. Today will be fine.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.” He sighs, pushing off the counter to walk up to me. I think he’s going to pat my face like he always does, but instead his hand rests gently on my jaw. “It’s going to be okay, alright.”

I nod. “I know.” I set my mug in the sink. “Are you ready to spend another three and a half hours in a truck with me?”

He sighs but laughs a little, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on my lips.

“Lucky me.”

TWENTY-SIX

Atlas

“Not that I’m not enjoying this at all, but why are you so quiet? I don’t think you’ve said a word this last hour.”

“It’s just sinking in. I’m so nervous.” I glance at him quickly. “I had the thought that I could drive somewhere else, and you’d never know the difference, and next thing we knew we’d be in like Canada or something.”

He shakes his head. “What are you nervous about?”

“Are you serious? You know what.”

I hear him move and glance quickly at him as he turns toward me. “Atlas, think about it. What’s the fear? Where is it coming from? What’s the worst-case scenario?”

I stare ahead, jaw tight. The answer is there, deep down, but I don’t want to say it out loud. My mind does this all the time. It spirals until I can’t find my way out and see reality clearly.