But his words can’t stop my hands from shaking while unbuttoning the shirt to verify he’s indeed unscratched. With that piece of fabric out of the way, my fingertips trace every inch of his skin, making sure there are no cuts and that none of the blood staining his flesh belongs to him.
Once I’ve confirmed that, and only then, I cup his face, running my thumbs on his cheeks.
“You’re okay,” I say in a quivering voice, injecting reassurance into my veins as a much-needed sedative. “You’re okay.”
“I’m fine, love,” he says, pulling me closer for a gentle kiss.
I’m the fucking bunny who got too close to the edge and fell into the trap. My own trap.
I pull away, even though that’s the last thing I want, but theneed for answers takes hold of me.
“Whose blood is this?”
The smell of smoke reminds me there are more questions to be asked.
Atlas shifts, leaning his back on the headboard, and I follow right after, sitting on my legs, further inspecting him for any injuries.
“The blood of the man I killed.”
His gruff voice reaches me while his eyes scan for my reaction.
“Did he deserve to die?”
“He did.”
“Guilt?”
He lowers his head.
“Not for him.”
Straddling him, I grip his face again, forcing his gaze on me.
“Tell me what happened.”
His hand slides on my nape, dragging me closer to him, and I close my eyes at his touch.
“You’re the only woman I can tell everything, knowing you won’t run for the hills.”
“I will... if you need me to bury someone there.” My words aim to lower the tension, but the look he gives me... I’ve never been looked at this way.Like I’m his world.“I’m not going anywhere but by your side. Whatever you did, I’m sure you had a reason.” I glide my palms over his chest, waiting for him to trust me with the truth.
“I made a series of wrong decisions and an innocent man died because of me.” He pauses. Only a beat of hesitation, before he tells me everything. And though I hear the words “pummeling his face until his brain was a bloody pulp”, all I can think of is what a good man Atlas is. And it’s not my feelings making the excuse for him. It’s because of the way he takes the innocent life lost to heart.
Pain burns in his eyes while he keeps looking into mine, probably searching for shock, for horror to register there when he stops talking. He’ll find none, as I inch closer to him instead of pulling away.
“The guard’s death is not on you. You couldn’t have known that was going to happen.”
“But I should have!” His words come out sharp, strained by anger. “I should have.”
Then his attention shifts away from me.
“Atlas, look at me.”
He does.
“Every small decision leads somewhere, but that doesn’t mean we’re always responsible for what happens after. That guard could’ve died in a car crash on his way to work. Would that be your fault? Is it your fault your cousin is an asshole who chose to do a horrible thing? Or that this junkie made a lifetime of bad choices that led him here? Maybe it’s simply chaos—one tiny thing somewhere else set off this whole shitstorm.”
Shaking his head, he tries to fight my words.
