Page 65 of Keep You Close

The only person I found it hard to believe had that past was Kingston himself. The man just seemed so calm, well-rounded, and kind. It was strange to imagine him younger and full of so much grief and vengeance that he would, essentially, lead his younger siblings into a dangerous scheme to get revenge.

That said, I guess some of the most interesting, non-judgmental, and kind people I’d met in my life were the ones who’d lived very unconventional lives.

Time had matured and softened Kingston. And, of course, his wife and kids likely only took him even further from that old life.

It wasn’t hard for me to picture the grumpy Nixon as being that angry. Or even the jocular Rush being willing to partake.

I didn’t know Scotti well enough to draw any conclusions.

As for Atlas, well, he was an adrenaline junkie. He liked all things dangerous. I imagined that a much younger version of him would be even more unruly, more prone to engage in questionable situations.

Besides, that was all the past.

I, more than most people, could understand how the people we once were, weren’t the people we were now.

So I wasn’t off-put by his confession.

If anything, it just seemed to intensify our bond.

That morning had been the first time in over a week that I’d had peaceful sleep.

Sure, maybe you could say it was because of the all-nighter. But I was inclined to believe it was because the tension in our house had dissipated.

I’d been half-awake when I heard Atlas softly knock on my door before pushing it open, and rolling inside to come over to my side of the bed.

He didn’t immediately call out or try to touch me.

He seemed to sit there for a moment, looking at me. Something that had my belly wobbling. Especially after I realized that I’d somehow wiggled out from under the covers and was lying there in nothing but my panties and an old tee that was tight and worn soft from too many washings.

I swear I could feel his gaze drifting over my bare legs, the peekaboo effect of my shirt with my belly, and the way my breasts were straining against the material, my nipples pebbled underneath, thanks to the chill in the room.

He didn’t try anything, though.

And I couldn’t tell you why I was so disappointed about that fact as his fingers lightly brushed some hair out of my face.

“Time to get up,” he said, voice soft.

It was then I remembered that I only had a few minutes to get up and get to work, so the magic of the moment fell completely away, leaving me rushing around to do a quick body wash, get dressed, and make my way out, leaving Samson with Atlas, since it would only be a few hours.

In my hand was a little brown baggie full of snacks and a sandwich Atlas had actually prepped for me.

And I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then and there.

When I got home that evening, Atlas was showered, changed, had done some cleaning, and ordered dinner.

Which we ate on the couch, watching one of his favorite movies.

It was just so… domestic.

Comfortable.

Like it was before the whole distance thing, but better. Because there were no secrets between us anymore.

I ended up, just like the last time, falling asleep right there beside him, eventually curling off to the other side, my legs finding their way up and onto his lap.

I couldn’t say how much later it was, but I woke up to the feel of his fingers gently massaging my foot, thumb pressing in at my perpetually achy arch.

I hadn’t been prepared for the way desire sparked through my system at the chaste touch. It was like there was a little, shivery thread of desire from my foot right to my core.

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