Chapter 17 #2
Miller chuckled darkly. "It's always a girl. Or money. Or both."
He leaned in.
"Let me tell you something, son. I spent forty years in this mill. I made good money. Paid the bills. But I let the love of my life walk away because I thought I wasn't good enough for her. thought she deserved a lawyer, not a mill worker with missing fingers."
He took a sip of soup.
"She married the lawyer. He cheated on her. She died miserable. And I'm still here, making steel plates for cars I can't afford."
He looked me in the eye.
"You think you did the noble thing. Walking away. Saving her from the 'hard life'. But let me ask you... does she look saved?"
I looked down at the cracked phone screen. At Aurelia’s haunted face.
Does she look saved?
No. She looked destroyed.
I had listened to Arthur. I had listened to the fear. I had believed that money was the only way to protect her.
But fifty thousand dollars hadn't protected her. It had just bought the knife I used to stab her in the heart.
I stood up.
"Where you going?" Miller asked. "Shift ain't over."
"Yes it is," I said. "I quit."
"You can't quit. You need the money."
"I have money," I said. "Blood money. And I know exactly what I'm going to do with it."
I walked out of the break room. I walked out of the mill.
I got in my truck.
I drove to Sunnyvale Rehab.
My mother was in the common room, watching Jeopardy. She looked better. Her skin had color. Her eyes were clear.
She looked up when I walked in. She smiled.
"Atlas! You're early."
I sat down next to her. I took her hands. They were warm.
"Mom," I said. "I have to tell you something."
"What is it? You look... intense."
"The money. For this place. I didn't earn it playing hockey. I didn't get a bonus."
Her smile faded. "Where did you get it?"
"I took a payoff. From a man who wanted me to stay away from his daughter."
She stared at me. "Atlas..."
"I sold her out, Mom. I sold us out. I thought I was saving you. I thought I was being the man of the house."
"Oh, baby," she whispered. She squeezed my hands. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did. I couldn't let you lose this."
"Atlas, look at me."
I looked at her.
"I am sober because I want to be sober," she said firmly. "Not because of a fancy facility. I could get sober in a church basement if I had to. But I can't stay sober if I know my son sold his soul to pay for my sheets."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I messed up, Mom. I messed up bad."
"So fix it," she said.
"I can't. I hurt her. I told her I hated her. I took the money."
"Is the money gone?"
"Most of it is here. In your account."
"Get it back," she ordered. "Refund it. Check me out. We'll find another way. But you go get that girl."
"I have nothing to offer her, Mom. No contract. No degree. I'm a mill worker."
She reached up and cupped my face, just like Aurelia had on the mountain.
"You are Atlas Thorne," she said. "You carry the world. But you don't have to carry it alone. She told you that, didn't she?"
I nodded, a tear slipping down my cheek.
"Then go tell her she was right."
I stood up. I kissed her forehead.
"I'll come back for you. I promise."
"Go," she said, pushing me toward the door. "Run."
I drove.
I drove through the night. Ohio. Pennsylvania. New York. Vermont.
Twelve hours. Just me, the road, and the realization that I had been a coward.
I wasn't protecting her. I was protecting myself. I was protecting myself from the fear that I wasn't enough. That Arthur was right. That I would always be the trailer trash.
But staring at the white lines on the highway, I realized something.
Arthur St. James was a miserable, lonely man in a big house. He had money, but he didn't have what Aurelia and I had in that cabin. He didn't have the fire.
I pulled into Burlingham at dawn.
The campus was quiet.
I drove to the Hive. I didn't have a key anymore, but I knew the code to the back door.
I walked in.
I went to Jax's room. I kicked the door open.
Jax bolted upright in bed, grabbing a hockey stick. "Who's there? I have a weapon!"
"Put it down, Vane."
Jax squinted in the dim light. "Cap?"
He lowered the stick. "Holy shit. You're back. You look like hell."
"I need a favor," I said.
"Anything. Name it."
"I need to get into the arena. Tonight. And I need you to get the team there."
"Why? The season is over."
"Not for me," I said. "I have one more play to make."
"What play?"
"The Hail Mary."
Aurelia
I was packing.
Not for a trip. For life.
I was leaving Sterling. I had withdrawn from classes yesterday. I was transferring to a conservatory in Paris. My mother was thrilled. So chic. So prestigious.
I just wanted to be somewhere where the snow didn't remind me of him.
I folded a sweater. I put it in the box.
There was a knock on my door.
I ignored it. I wasn't seeing visitors.
The knock came again. Louder.
"Aurelia! Open up! It's an emergency!"
Sloane.
I sighed and walked to the door. I opened it.
Sloane was standing there, breathless. She was holding my phone, which I had left on the kitchen counter.
"What is it?" I asked wearily. "Did the dorm burn down?"
"Check your phone," she panted. "The group chat. The hockey team."
"I'm not in the hockey chat anymore, Sloane."
"Jax added everyone. Look."
She shoved the phone into my hand.
I looked at the screen.
A video message from Jax.
I clicked play.
The video showed the center ice of the Sterling Arena. It was dark, except for one spotlight.
Standing in the spotlight, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, holding a microphone, was Atlas.
He looked tired. He looked unshaven. He looked beautiful.
He looked directly into the camera.
"Aurelia," he said. His voice echoed in the empty arena. "I know you're watching. Or I hope you are."
He took a breath.
"I lied. About everything. I didn't take the money because I wanted it. I took it because your father threatened my mom. And I told you I hated you because he said it was the only way to save you."
My hand flew to my mouth.
"But I realized something on the drive back from Ohio," Atlas continued. "He was wrong. Saving you doesn't mean leaving you. Saving you means fighting for you."
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope. A thick, white envelope.
"This is the money," he said. "Every cent. I'm leaving it here, on center ice. Arthur can come pick it up."
He dropped the envelope on the ice.
"I don't have a contract," Atlas said. "I don't have a degree. I don't have a plan. But I have a truck, a dog I haven't adopted yet, and a promise I made on a mountain."
He looked at the camera with intense, burning desperation.
"I'm at the rink. I'm not leaving until you come tell me to. Or until security drags me out. But I'm done running."
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen.
My heart, which had been a stone in my chest for weeks, suddenly cracked open. It started to beat. Wildly. Painfully.
"He came back," I whispered.
"He came back," Sloane grinned. "And he brought receipts. Literally."
I looked at my boxes. I looked at my Paris application.
I looked at Sloane.
"Do you have your car?" I asked.
"Engine is running," she said, dangling the keys.
"Drive fast," I ordered, grabbing my coat. "I have a boyfriend to yell at before I kiss him."
I ran out the door.
For the first time in three weeks, I wasn't running away.
I was running home.