Page 15 of Westward

Atlas frowned as he stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him.

“Something smells good.”

“Pulled pork sandwiches, and I made coleslaw earlier.”

His eyes widened, and his lips formed a pout.

“You can have some. My God. Please do not whimper.”

“I thought you liked it when I whimpered.”

We both froze as the words echoed between us, and I just blinked.

“Sorry. I must be more tired than I thought.” Atlas ran his hand along the back of his head and winced. “Pretend I didn’t say that?”

“That’s fine. Though I don’t know if I ever actually liked the whimpering,” I teased.

“You’re right, I should have made a moaning sound.”

“I swear to God, Atlas. You and I are friends. But I really don’t need to know things like that.” I wanted to reach out and touch him, to bring us back to where we had once been. But then again, so many years had passed that I wasn’t even sure what that time had felt like. Lives had been lived, hearts had been bruised, and times had altered irrevocably since we’d parted. Since I’d been too much and he’d been too far.

And now here we were in my kitchen, and it felt as if no time and an eternity had passed within a breath.

Atlas tightened his jaw, the tension between us slightly dampening. But never fully. And that was damn annoying. We moved into the kitchen, with Atlas behind me. This all felt normal, and yet so wrong, but I didn’t care in that moment. I was hungry, needed to check on my family, and Atlas was here. In my house.

Again.

I turned to face him, not knowing what to say, when glass shattered behind me. I let out a scream, not realizing what was happening, and then Atlas’s arms were around me, his body covering me as a rock slammed onto the floor beside us, my chest heaving, and Atlas holding me close, bracing me.

And before I could say anything, Atlas cupped my face, checked me for cuts, and without a damn word, ran out the back door as if hellhounds were on his tail.

Chapter 4

ATLAS

The moment my foot hit the grass of Elizabeth’s backyard, I knew I’d made a mistake. I had leaped over the stairs, bypassing them with my long legs, and my knee nearly threatened to go out. It wasn’t a permanent, career-ending injury, but I would always have an ache there until the end of my days. Even if I had surgery to repair any swelling or scar tissue, it wouldn’t help.

So running after someone who had thrown a rock into Lizzie’s house was probably the most idiotic thing I could do. I could hear the sound of footfalls in front of me, and I knew I was close to catching who did it. And since they had thrown a rock, I assumed they didn’t have another weapon. Then again, I could be massively wrong. And here I was, running to my death because I was a damn idiot. For all I knew, they were after me just like they had been in the shower.

I held back a shudder at that. No. I didn’t want to think about the uncertainty of the so-called incident. The authorities would figure it out, and I’d focus on keeping Lizzie safe. I didn’t care who the hell I was after at that moment.

But someone had scared Elizabeth. Lizzie never screamed as she had a few moments ago, and I would do all in my power to make sure she never did again.

I turned the corner through the woods behind my land when a voice shouted from in front of me.

“Whoa. Seriously, don’t hurt yourself. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

The deep voice had a slight edge to it that told me whoever it was had to be young, and now that everything was coming into place, the fact that Elizabeth was a high school teacher meant she probably had to deal with teen antics often.

Fuck this.

A kid with dark hair, with one of those haircuts that looked like a head of broccoli, moved forward, hands up.

“You’re Atlas Carter.” His eyes widened as he looked at me, and it would’ve been nice if my celebrity had helped here, but not so much.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I asked as I moved forward and gripped the kid’s shirt. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, and that meant he was damn tall.

“I’m sorry. Fuck. I like Ms. E. You know?”