I can’t see him tracking down Atlas, though. Yet. I’m sure if I go a week avoiding his calls and texts, he’ll look everywhere he can possibly look to find me. But for now, I don’t think he would show up here.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. I feel safer here than anywhere else I could possibly go. And Atlas has an alarm system, so there’s that.

I glance at the nightstand to look at my phone. I skip over all the missed texts from Ryle and open the one from Allysa.

Allysa: Hey, Aunt Lily! They’re sending us home tonight. Come see us tomorrow when you get home from work.

She sent a picture of her and Rylee, and it makes me smile. Then cry. Damn these emotions.

I wait until my eyes are dry again before I walk into the living room. Atlas is sitting at his kitchen table, working on his laptop. When he looks up at me, he smiles and closes it.

“Hey.”

I force a smile and then look in the kitchen. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Atlas stands up quickly. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sit down. I’ll get something ready for you.”

I take a seat on the couch as he works his way around the kitchen. The television is on, but it’s muted. I unmute it and click on the DVR. He has a few shows recorded, but the one that catches my eye is The Ellen DeGeneres Show. I smile and click on the most recent unwatched episode and hit Play.

Atlas brings me a bowl of pasta and a glass of ice water. He glances at the TV and then sits down next to me on the couch.

For the next three hours, we watch a full week’s worth of episodes. I laugh out loud six times. It feels good, but when I take a bathroom break and come back to the living room, the weight of it all starts to sink in again.

I sit back down on the couch next to Atlas. He’s leaning back with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I naturally lean into him and just like he used to do when we were teenagers, he pulls me against his chest and we just sit there in silence. His thumb brushes the outside of my shoulder, and I know it’s his unspoken way of saying he’s here for me. That he feels bad for me. And for the first time since he picked me up last night, I feel like talking about it. My head is resting against his shoulder and my hands are in my lap. I’m fidgeting with the drawstring on the pants that are way too big for me.

“Atlas?” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry I got so angry at you that night at the restaurant. You were right. Deep down I knew you were right, but I didn’t want to believe it.” I lift my head and look at him, cracking a pitiful smile. “You can say, ‘I told you so’ now.”