Chapter 277: With Me
"How do I live better?"
Atlas opened his mouth but closed it again. He held Lola’s gaze, watching her look away as she wiped her eyes with her arm. She had been trying not to cry, but the tears kept coming anyway.
"Damn it," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Shit."
He reached out, then paused midway and curled his hand into a tight fist. Maybe he should’ve listened to Slater’s endless chatter about sympathy, about how to console someone. Slater had even joked about making Lola cry just so Atlas could step in and comfort her. He would’ve known what to do to make her stop, instead of just standing there like a statue.
"Anyway." Lola cleared her throat and let out a sharp huff. "I understand now why you exhumed the body. I’m not saying I’m not upset, but if it’s true that that night was you, then... I guess you had the right to check, since you could’ve been the father."
She forced a smile, her eyes still fixed on the grave. "Right?"
Atlas said nothing. She didn’t expect him to.
"Damn." A bitter laugh escaped her as she raked her hand through her hair. "I finally got the answer to who could’ve been with me that night. And now, I have another question waiting for me. This shit’s never going to end, is it?"
Lola ruffled her hair and pushed herself up. Once standing, she faced him with a smile, but no words followed. Instead, she turned to leave.
This was exhausting.
"Don’t you have any other questions?" he asked, making her stop mid-step.
She chuckled softly, glancing back. "Honestly? I don’t even know what to feel. Aside from wanting to drive straight back to Vito and strangle him myself for opening this Pandora box. This all started because of him."
"I’m okay, Atlas." She nodded, her smile forced. "I’m used to life slapping me left and right. It’s not the first curveball life threw at me, and it won’t be the last. I’m strong. I might break a little, but... I can take it."
Her smile widened as she resumed walking. But after only a few steps, a hand caught her wrist.
Lola froze, looking down at his grip before meeting his eyes. His expression remained calm, but his gaze flickered with worry.
"I’m fine," she reassured softly. "Really. I’m just pissed, but not at you."
"I am not."
Her brows rose. She studied his unreadable face, but before she could question him, he continued.
"I’m sad," he said, voice flat as ever. "I need company. And I’d prefer it be you. Also, I’m hungry."
Lola blinked, then let out a small laugh through her sniffles. "You need acting lessons. You’ve got a superstar at your disposal. Why not let him teach you?"
Atlas pressed his lips into a thin line, unbothered by her jab. Slowly, he slid his grip from her wrist to her hand, then pulled her gently into his arms. Wrapping her against his chest, he patted her back.
"I’m not okay," he murmured, still patting her as if it were her breakdown instead of his. "I feel like crying some more. Maybe saying bitter things because that’s all I know how to do."
Her lips quivered as she clutched at his back, burying her face in his chest. His words sounded more like recited lines than heartfelt sentiment, but she knew. Deep inside, he was only saying aloud the things she couldn’t.
He was right. She wasn’t okay—not really. But with him, somehow, it felt bearable.
*****
Their supposed dinner date ended with them simply cuddling in the family room. The television played one of Slater’s queued movies, but neither was watching.
Lola’s eyes stayed on the screen, though her mind drifted elsewhere. The same went for Atlas; he looked as though he was weighing his options in silence. Eventually, she blinked, her focus snapping back just as his voice broke the quiet.
"What are you thinking?"
She turned, managing a small smile. "I’m just glad the kids aren’t around tonight. Otherwise, I’d be worrying them."
He tilted his head. "Me too."
"They’re too sharp not to worry—"
"I’m not talking about them worrying," he cut in. "I’m glad they’re not here, because then you’d have to pretend."
Now that he was getting more and more about her, he had realized that this woman would carry on. Though, not with a smile, she would be carrying the world and not make a sound. Hence, he was glad his children was not around and she could have time to process.
Her mouth parted, but instead of replying, she pressed her lips together and smiled faintly. "Thank you."
She shifted, reaching for her wine, only to find her glass empty. Leaning forward to pour more, she spoke without looking at him.
"By the way... you really didn’t plan on telling me, did you?"
He studied her side profile. "No." When she looked back, he shrugged. "The truth would only hurt nor would it change anything."
And he was right. He had never planned to tell her that the child in the grave wasn’t hers. His reason was simple: her grief was sacred. The truth would only tear it apart.
"Thank you," she whispered, managing a smile as she poured wine into his glass too. "And... I’m sorry."
Her smile faltered. "I’ve been thinking about it since we left. I keep blaming myself for not protecting my child... and in the end, not only did I fail, but I buried someone else’s."
Her eyes shifted to the folder on the table, the two DNA test results—hers and Atlas’s—resting on top.
"I thought I was looking for my child’s father. But now? Finding him doesn’t even matter. I need to know who took my baby and where he’s really buried." She ran her tongue along her cheek and chugged a mouthful. "This thing... doesn’t end."
"He’s not."
"Hmm?" She turned back, only to find him leaning closer. "Who’s not, what?"
Atlas held her gaze firmly. "You don’t have to look. I know where he is."
Her eyes widened. "You do?! Where?"
But instead of answering, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His voice lowered as his voice came in a steady tone.
"With me," he said. His eyes locked with hers. "They’re with me all these years."