Page 19 of Rulebreaker (Gamebreakers #4)

NINETEEN

Atlas

“I don’t think that looks right,” Frankie says, her head tilted to the side, pigtails that Lily secured before she had to head out for another day of meetings bobbing to the side.

It’s so damned cute, and the pang of missing Lily so intense, that it takes me a minute to realize what’s happening in the pan in front of us.

As in, it takes me a moment to see that it’s smoking.

“Shit,” I mutter, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay when Frankie–as she inevitably will–repeats the curse at the most inopportune time.

Pushing Briar’s future reaming from my mind, I sweep the pan from the stove and dump the blackened grilled cheese sandwich in the trash.

“You told me grilled cheeses were your specialty,” Frankie says, accusation heavy in the words.

So heavy, that I freeze in my procurement of the loaf of bread–and the production of grilled cheese round two– and turn back to face her. She’s standing on the special stool Briar has for her, so she can help in the kitchen safely, but her shoulders are slumped, chin hanging toward her chest.

I hesitate, considering my options.

Go back to grilled cheesing and coax what’s bothering her from the depths of stubbornness she inherited from Briar and then perfected of her own accord…

Or go with my instincts…

Instincts that haven’t failed me yet.

They brought me my family, a successful business, and–I smile slightly–a pop star with her own stubborn streak…one so deeply seated that she makes Frankie and Briar seem like pushovers.

So, yeah. I go with my instincts.

I drop the bread to the counter then move back to the stove, turning the knob and shutting off the gas.

Frankie looks up at me, eyes filled with confusion, mouth opening…

Before she can say anything, I scoop her off the stool, toss her over my shoulder, and move right out of the kitchen and onto the back deck.

It’s afternoon, the sun high in the sky, which is a bright blue and completely cloudless. A beautiful sunny SoCal day. But the gorgeous weather has absolutely no effect on my niece, or her unsettled mood.

“Let me go, Uncle Atlas,” she grunts, kicking her legs out and struggling against my hold.

But I may as well be trying to restrain a doll.

I close my arms around her, shift her so I’m carefully cradling her against my chest, and sink down onto the nearest chair.

“Uncle Atlas,” she protests as I plunk her on my knee .

“Can it, tater tot,” I order, albeit gently. “And tell me what’s upset you.”

Her nose wrinkles and she looks away, tiny, reed-like body stiff, chin lifting, shoulders straight.

Stubborn.

Luckily, I’m good with stubborn women.

I give her a minute to sit in that mulish pique then tug one of those pigtails. “What does your mommy always say about me, peanut?”

A sigh, that chin lifting further.

But she can’t resist answering me. “There’s no one better at fixing things than Uncle Atlas.”

My lips curve. “Yup. And I’ll tell you something”—I tap the tip of her nose, drop my voice to a whisper—“she’s right. So tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

There’s a long moment of quiet, nothing but the sounds of the leaves rustling in the light breeze, the birds softly chirping.

Luckily–however long–it’s only a moment.

But when Frankie gives in and breaks the quiet, the words claw at my middle and threaten to turn my insides to ribbons.

“What if the new baby doesn’t like me?” she asks morosely, her eyes filling with tears.

They slip free, slide down her cheeks, drip off her chin.

Then a sob hitches her lungs, and I haul her against my chest, smoothing my hand over her hair. “Oh, Frankie,” I say, my heart breaking for her. “Sweetheart, the new baby will love you.”

“Mom says babies don’t do anything for, like, ever !” she wails. “And if I can’t play with her or sing with her or draw with her then what are we going to do! She’s going to think I’m boring and th-then…she’ll hate me and we’ll never get to play Connect Four!”

She breaks off, sobbing, and though her childlike concerns do send a bolt of humor through me–Connect Four, of all things–the truth of what she’s feeling and what she’s really worried about has me tabling anything close to amusement.

I hold her close, give her gentle words, and let her get the worst of those worries out.

And when she stops sobbing, I gently wipe her tears from her cheeks, from her lashes, but when I speak, my tone is firm.

Because it’s critical that she learn this lesson today.

That she doesn’t forget it.

Not tomorrow. Not ever.

“Look at me, tater tot.”

She doesn’t oblige me for several heartbeats.

Then her eyes hesitantly drift to mine, and I hate the shame in the deep blue depths.

Hate that I felt a similar shame–like my feelings weren’t allowed, like I would never be good enough, like I shouldn’t trust the hurt or pain to someone who loves me because they might look at me differently, might judge me, might think I wasn’t worthy of their care.

I eventually learned differently–or so I tell myself.

But it took a long time…or maybe, I still don’t completely trust it.

Either way, I don’t want that reality for Frankie.

“What you’re feeling is normal,” I tell her, gently but still firmly. “New things are scary, especially when those new things come with new people.”

She starts to look away, but I cup her jaw, keep her steady.

“It’s normal, tater tot. Normal ,” I repeat when the shame starts to creep back in.

“And a new baby won’t change anything with Auntie Aspen and Uncle Banks or your Uncle Dash and Auntie Willow, or Uncle Royal and Auntie Jade.

And it won’t change it with me. We love you, and that will never– ever –change. No matter what.”

Her breath is shaky. “Even if?— ”

“Even if,” I interrupt.

“Y-you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

I cup the other side of her face, kiss the top of her head.

“Because it doesn’t matter. Love is the most powerful thing on the planet.

It knows no limits and the best thing about it is that the more people you love, the more it grows.

It’s not like a pie to be sliced, sweetheart, each piece getting smaller and smaller with more people joining in.

It’s…” I smile and release her cheeks. “It’s a Connect Four tournament where more people means more fun. ”

She pauses, considering that.

As she does that considering, I wait.

Because she’s young. But she’s smart.

“They won’t love me less?” she eventually asks.

More squeezing in my chest, but I manage to keep my tone steady. “No, tater tot, they won’t love you less.”

A nod, teeth pressing into her bottom lip, believing me and yet still a bit uncertain.

“And you want to know the best thing?” I ask.

She nods again, less uncertain now.

“That you’ll have a whole new person to love—and she’s going to love you right back.”

I scoop her up into my arms, relieved when she giggles, when she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, her quiet “Thank you, Uncle Atlas” settling deep into my soul.

And then, because she’s gotten her comfort, I see about fixing the next part.

Making her a perfectly golden brown grilled cheese.