Page 22 of Atlas
Barefoot. In joggers and a vest top. No makeup. Her hair scraped into a messy bun like she’s halfway through a breakdown or a Netflix binge.
She freezes.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I lean against the doorframe. “Checking if your starter motor’s acting up again.”
“Piss off.”
“You gonna slam the door in my face?”
She hesitates. That’s all I need. I shoulder my way past her into the flat.
“Make yourself at home,” she snaps, slamming the door behind me.
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”
The place looks like a magazine spread. Designer couch. Art she probably doesn’t even like. It’s her and not her, all at once. Too polished. Too cold.
She crosses her arms and glares. “Did you come here to gloat?”
“No.”
“To throw the wordjealousin my face? Cos I’m not.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, turning to face her fully. “Because you nearly took my fucking head off over a girl who wears crop tops and lives to piss me off.”
“She called youdaddy,” she spits. “What was I supposed to think?”
“That she’s a kid I was told to protect, not fuck.” She flinches. “Or,” I continue, stepping closer, “you could’ve trusted me. But that’s never been your style, has it, Nita?”
Her chin lifts. Defensive. Proud. God, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.
“Idotrust you,” she lies. “I just . . . I saw her there and it caught me off guard.”
“You think I’m screwing someone else. You think I moved on. Hell, youwantme to move on. You keep pushing me away like I’m some bad habit you’re trying to quit.”
“I’m trying to protect my life!” she shouts suddenly. “You don’t get it, Atlas. You never did. I can’t have people like you in it and expect everything to be okay.”
I step in, closing the gap between us. “You mean people who make you feel something.” She doesn’t speak. “You’d rather marry a man who makes your parents smile at dinner than admit you love someone who’d burn the world down for you.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t know what I feel.”
“I know,” I say quietly, “because I feel it too.”
We’re nose to nose now. Her breath’s shaky. Mine’s a wildfire.
“You were supposed to be gone longer,” she says, voice cracking. “I thought I had more time.”
“To do what? Replace me?”
“No. To forget.”
I nod slowly, jaw clenched. “Then you’re fucked. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t stop me.
“Nita,” I murmur, “just let yourself want this.”
