Waking up fully, I decide to get dressed and clean up around the house. If Atlas is working to protect me, the least I can do is keep our space clean.
The kitchen is quiet, save for the rhythmic swish of the sponge as I clean the counter. The domesticity of tidying up feels normal in a profound way. I like taking care of Atlas just as much as he cares for me. Not that cooking breakfast and cleaning is anywhere close to putting my life at risk like Atlas does, but it’s a start.
I finish up, drying my hands, and head toward the living room to find my cat, who has been spoiled with shredded chicken and gravy most nights. Atlas might pretend to despise Mr. Kit-Kat, but he sure goes out of his way to appease the tiny beast.
The soft smile on my lips morphs into a shocked “O” as I stop dead in the entrance.
The scene is almost too good to be true. Atlas is sprawled on the couch, completely asleep for once, his guard entirely down. And curled right against his chest, tucked securely into thecrook of his arm, is Mr. Kit-Kat. The cat is purring so hard he’s practically vibrating, his eyes closed in bliss.
Atlas must have crashed from his work outside without me noticing, and I’m glad he did. This moment is pure and perfect, and settles deep in my soul.
The sight of my two favorite people (yes, my cat is a person, too), hits me right in the center of my chest, melting away any remaining doubts. I watch the rise and fall of Atlas’s chest, the way his hand is subconsciously resting over the cat’s back, and I find myself spinning a fantasy I never dared to imagine: forever. A life filled with days just like this, lazy and safe, where the rest of the world stops at the front door.
The reality of the Shadow Syndicate is still out there, lurking in the shadows, but inside these four walls, we are a fortress. We are a unit. Looking at them, I realize with a sudden, startling clarity that I’m not just surviving anymore. I’m thriving here, trapped in his possessive, protective orbit, and I wouldn’t trade this life for anything in the world.
8
ATLAS
The darkness in my head isn't just a void; it’s a living, breathing weight. I’m back in the desert, the air tasting of sulfur and dry, choking heat. The sound of a pinned-down soldier screaming for cover—a sound that has haunted every quiet moment of my life for years—tears through the silence, amplified a thousand times. I’m running, but my boots are sinking into quicksand, pulling me down with every desperate stride.
Then, the explosion. A blinding, searing white light that wipes away the horizon, followed by the suffocating, heavy press of earth burying me alive. I’m clawing at the dirt, my lungs burning as they fill with dust and grit. I reach for a hand that isn't there, trying to pull someone out of the wreckage even though I know, with soul-crushing certainty, that I’m already too late.
The faces of the ones I lost are etched into the smoke, their eyes hollow, their voices repeating a single, agonizing accusation that I couldn't protect them. I’m drowning in the failure, the weight of their lives pressing down on my chest until my own heartbeat is the only thing I can hear, frantic and dying.
I bolt upright, gasping for air that refuses to fill my lungs. My skin is slick, drenched in a cold, phantom sweat, and my heart is hammering a frantic, erratic beat against my ribs. It takes me a second to realize where I am. The room is dark, quiet, and Kienna is there, sitting up, her silhouette soft against the moonlight filtering through the blinds.
"Atlas," she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm against the jagged edges of the nightmare. She doesn't pull away. She leans in, pressing a hand to my chest, her touch grounding me until the remnants of imaginary mud washes away and I’m finally, fully back in my own skin.
I drag myself to the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of the vision. The familiar acidic feeling of of shame turns my gut. I’m a liability. A broken, useless machine.
Kienna moves closer, but I try to brush her away. She doesn’t need to see me like this. I have to keep my distance to hide the wreckage, but Kienna doesn’t seem to agree. She kneels on the floor directly in front of me, forcing me to look at her. She captures both of my shaking hands in hers, her grip firm and unyielding.
The contact is electric, washing away the last of the demons. The quiet strength in her eyes is absolute.
"You’re here," she says, her voice low but steady, vibrating with a conviction that steals the breath from my lungs. "You are safe, Atlas. And you aren't alone." She holds my gaze, repeating my own words back to me, but with a weight I never expected to hear. "You told me you’d be my anchor. But I’m here, too. I will beyouranchor in this storm. I am the one person you can trust, and I’m not going anywhere. You are not broken, and you are not in this alone."
“Kienna, I… I failed so many people. No matter how many clients I protect as a bodyguard, it will never make up for the lives of the fellow soldiers I let slip through my hands.”
The angel of mercy in front of me lifts my hands and places the sweetest kisses over my knuckles. “These hands held me through the most horrific night of my life. They comforted me when I discovered the horrible truth about my father.” She turns my hands over, kissing one palm and then the other. “These hands are rough and calloused from the time spent serving your country, but with me, they are gentle and purposeful.”
“But, I–”
“I know you, Atlas. Even though we haven’t known each other long, Ifeelyou. I don’t believe for a second that you failed anyone. You give one hundred percent to every mission, you are fierce, intelligent, and stubborn.”
A small, pathetic smile turns up the corners of my mouth. “Stubborn?”
“In the best way,” she confirms with a wink before turning serious again. “The point is, I know you would never leave a fellow soldier behind if it was in your power to save them. You didn’t take their lives, the cruelty of war did.”
She means every word. I can see it in the set of her jaw, the fierce loyalty in her eyes. God, I don’t deserve her, but I’m keeping her anyway. I still can’t quite accept her words of absolution, but for the first time since returning stateside, I want to heal. I want to be a man worthy of Kienna’s pure heart and devotion.
With our hands still linked, she stands and pulls me toward the bathroom. The silence between us is heavy, but it’s no longer the silence of shame—it’s the silence of understanding. Kienna guides me into the shower, the water turning warm as she begins to wash away the sweat and lingering filth of the nightmare.Kienna treats me with such tenderness, pouring soap into her hands and massaging my tense muscles.
I tilt my head back, letting her soft hands and healing touches sink into my being until I’m fully grounded, right here with my angel.
Taking the soap from her, I begin washing her delicate skin, mapping out every curve I’ve come to love in such a short amount of time. I love all of her, heart, soul, and body, and I can’t believe she’s mine.
“Kienna,” I whisper, cupping her cheeks in my hands. “Thank you.”
