Chapter 18
Atlas
The arena was cold. Colder than I remembered.
I stood at center ice, the envelope containing fifty thousand dollars lying at my feet like a dead bird. The spotlight Jax had rigged burned down on me, blindingly bright, creating a cone of silence in the cavernous, empty stadium.
My phone, propped up against my helmet on the ice, was still broadcasting to the team group chat, but I had stopped talking. I had said my piece. I had thrown the Hail Mary.
Now, I waited.
And waited.
The silence stretched. Ten minutes. Twenty.
My legs started to cramp. My heart, which had been racing with adrenaline, began to slow into a heavy, thudding dread.
She's not coming.
Why would she? I had told her I hated her. I had told her she was a job. You don't come back from that. Not even with a grand gesture and fifty grand in cash.
"She's probably halfway to Paris by now, Cap," Jax’s voice echoed from the bench where he was monitoring the feed. "Sloane posted a story about packing boxes."
I looked up into the darkness. "Paris?"
"Yeah. Some dance school. Her mom’s dream."
A wave of nausea hit me. Paris. An ocean away. If she got on that plane, I would never see her again. She would become a memory, a ghost haunting the edges of my life in a Tribeca loft I would never buy.
I looked down at the envelope.
I had gambled everything. My mother’s security. My career. My pride.
And I had lost.
"Turn off the light, Jax," I said, my voice cracking. "It's over."
"Atlas..."
"Turn it off."
The spotlight died.
Darkness rushed in, absolute and suffocating.
I sank to my knees on the ice. The cold seeped through my jeans, biting into my skin. I put my head in my hands.
I was the Anvil. I was the Enforcer. I was unkillable.
But sitting there in the dark, I felt like I was dying.
And then... a sound.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hard soles on concrete. Fast. Urgent.
Then, a louder sound. The heavy metal clang of the tunnel gate being thrown open.
"ATLAS!"
The scream tore through the arena. It was raw, furious, and the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
I scrambled to my feet, slipping slightly on the ice.
A figure burst out of the tunnel.
Aurelia.
She was wearing a long coat over pajamas, snow boots that were unlaced, and she was running. She ran down the rubber matting, hit the ice, and nearly wiped out. She caught herself on the boards, breathing hard, her breath pluming in the cold air.
"Turn the lights on!" she shrieked at the darkness.
Click-buzz.
The main arena lights flooded on. Not the spotlight. Everything. The whole rink was illuminated in harsh, fluorescent glory.
She stood by the boards, glaring at me. Her hair was wild. Her face was flushed. She looked like an avenging angel who had come to collect a soul.
I took a step toward her. "Aurelia..."
"Don't move!" she pointed a finger at me. "Do not move one muscle, Atlas Thorne!"
I froze.
She marched onto the ice. She didn't have skates. She walked with careful, angry steps, sliding slightly, arms out for balance.
She stopped five feet away from me.
She looked at the envelope on the ice. She looked at me.
"You idiot," she hissed. "You absolute, colossal idiot."
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I..."
"Shut up!" She took another step, sliding into my personal space. She grabbed the lapels of my flannel shirt and yanked me down.
I thought she was going to kiss me.
She head-butted me.
Crack.
Stars exploded in my vision. My nose crunched. Pain shot through my skull, hot and sharp.
I stumbled back, clutching my face. "Fuck!"
"That," she panted, "is for telling me you hated me."
She grabbed my shirt again.
"And this..."
She slapped me. Hard. Right on the cheek she had cut before.
"Is for taking the money."
Then she grabbed my face in both hands, pulled me down, and kissed me.
It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was violent. It was desperate. It tasted of blood from my nose and tears from her eyes. She kissed me like she was trying to consume me, to erase the last three weeks of misery with pure force.
I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off the ice, crushing her to me. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling the vanilla scent I thought I had lost forever.
"I've got you," I gasped against her skin. "I've got you."
"Don't you ever," she sobbed, hitting my shoulder, "ever try to save me again without asking me first."
"I won't. I promise."
"Put me down," she ordered, sniffing.
I set her down carefully.
She wiped her eyes furiously with her sleeve. She looked at my nose. It was bleeding.
"I broke your nose," she noted, sounding satisfied.
"It was already crooked," I said, wiping the blood with my hand. "Adds character."
She looked at the envelope on the ice. She walked over and picked it up. She weighed it in her hand.
"Fifty thousand dollars," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
"My father’s hush money."
"Yeah."
She looked at me. "Why did you give it back? Your mom..."
"My mom doesn't want it," I said. "She told me to give it back. She told me to come get you."
Aurelia’s eyes filled with fresh tears. "She did?"
"She said I was an idiot for selling my soul for sheets. She's right."
Aurelia let out a shaky laugh. She clutched the envelope to her chest.
"So what now?" she asked. "You have no money. No contract. You're... unemployed."
"I'm a free agent," I corrected. "And I have a plan."
"A plan?"
"Yeah. Step one: Get the girl back."
"Check," she said, though she still looked wary.
"Step two: Confront the dragon."
She stiffened. "My father?"
"He's here," I said. "Jax told me. He's in the building. Meeting with the Board about the arena expansion."
"Atlas, no. If you go up there... he'll destroy you. He'll have security throw you out. He'll call the police."
"Let him," I said. "I'm done hiding, Aurelia. I'm done playing by his rules. I need him to know that he can't buy me. And he can't buy you."
I held out my hand. My bloody, scarred hand.
"Come with me," I said. "Let's go tell him we quit."
She looked at my hand. She looked at the luxury box high above us, dark and ominous.
She took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders. The fragile ghost girl from the video was gone. The Black Swan was back.
She put her hand in mine.
"Let's go," she said.
We walked through the arena, hand in hand. Jax met us at the tunnel.
"Cap! Your nose is crooked."
"I know."
"You going up there?" Jax jerked his head toward the administrative offices.
"Yeah."
"Need backup?" Jax hefted his hockey stick.
"No. Just keep the stream running," I said, nodding to my phone which Jax was holding. "If I disappear, I want witnesses."
"Copy that. Live streaming the revolution."
We took the elevator to the executive level. The doors opened onto thick carpet and silence.
We walked down the hall to the boardroom. The double doors were closed. I could hear voices inside.
I didn't knock.
I pushed the doors open.
The room went silent.
Twelve men in suits sat around a massive oval table. Arthur St. James was at the head. Vance was to his right.
They all turned to look at us.
Me: Bloody nose, flannel shirt, jeans wet from the ice.
Aurelia: Pajamas, coat, messy hair, looking fierce.
Arthur stood up slowly. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were cold.
"Mr. Thorne," he said calmly. "And Aurelia. To what do we owe this... intrusion?"
"We're returning something," I said.
I walked to the table. I took the envelope from Aurelia.
I tossed it onto the mahogany surface. It slid across the table and stopped in front of Arthur.
"Your money," I said. "I don't want it."
Arthur looked at the envelope. He didn't touch it.
"That is a foolish decision, Atlas," he said. "Your mother..."
"My mother is fine," I interrupted. "She's stronger than you think. And so am I."
"Is this a performance?" Arthur asked, looking around the room at the other board members, who were watching with rapt attention. "Are you trying to embarrass me?"
"I'm trying to free your daughter," I said.
I turned to Aurelia. I pulled her forward.
"Tell him," I said gently.
Aurelia stepped up. She looked her father in the eye. Her chin went up.
"I'm leaving, Dad," she said. Her voice was steady. "I'm not going to Paris. I'm not going to the conservatory."
Arthur frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Aurelia. The tuition is paid."
"Refund it," she said. "I'm done. I'm done with the ballet. I'm done with the Galas. I'm done being your ornament."
"You are a St. James," Arthur snapped, losing his cool for the first time. "You have responsibilities!"
"My only responsibility is to myself," she said. "And to him."
She took my hand again. She squeezed it tight.
"I love him, Dad. And he loves me. He gave up everything for me. You tried to buy him off, and he came back. That's worth more than your entire portfolio."
Arthur looked at our joined hands. His lip curled in disgust.
"He's a nobody, Aurelia. He's a mill worker from Ohio. He will drag you down to the gutter."
"Then I'll live in the gutter," she said. "At least it's real."
Arthur turned to me. "You think you've won, boy? You think because she's holding your hand today, you've won? Give it a year. Give it five. When she's tired of being poor. When she misses the private jets. She will hate you."
"Maybe," I said. "But I'm willing to take that bet."
I looked Arthur in the eye.
"You tried to break me, Arthur. You used my mom against me. You used my poverty against me. But you forgot one thing."
"And what is that?"
"I'm an Enforcer," I said. "I take the hits so my team can win. And she..." I looked at Aurelia. "She's my team. So hit me all you want. But you don't get to touch her again."
I turned to the board members.
"Gentlemen," I nodded.
I turned back to Aurelia. "Ready?"
"Ready," she smiled.
We turned to walk out.
"If you walk out that door," Arthur shouted, his voice echoing in the room, "you are cut off! Both of you! No trust fund! No allowance! You leave with the clothes on your back!"
Aurelia stopped. She turned back one last time.
She reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out a credit card. A black card.
She flicked it onto the table next to the envelope.
"Keep it," she said. "I prefer cash anyway."
We walked out.
The doors swung shut behind us.
We walked out of the building. We walked out into the snow.
It was snowing hard now—a blizzard. The wind was howling.
We stopped on the sidewalk.
Aurelia looked at me. She was shivering. She was wearing pajamas in a blizzard. She had no money. No apartment key (probably). No future.
She started to laugh.
It started as a giggle, then turned into a full-blown, hysterical belly laugh. She leaned against me, shaking with it.
"What's so funny?" I asked, wiping blood from my nose again.
"We're homeless," she gasped. "We're literally homeless. And poor. And your nose is broken."
"I have a truck," I reminded her. "And a very comfortable backseat."
"Oh god. I'm dating a guy who lives in his truck."
"Hey. It's a Ford. It's reliable."
I pulled her close, wrapping my coat around her to shield her from the wind.
"Are you okay?" I asked seriously. "You just gave up a lot."
She looked up at me. Her eyes were bright. Alive.
"I gave up a cage, Atlas. It was a gilded cage, but it was still a cage."
She reached up and touched my cheek.
"I have everything I need right here."
I kissed her. Snowflakes melted on our eyelashes. My nose throbbed. My bank account was zero.
I had never felt richer.
"Come on," I said. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"To the Hive. Jax will let us crash. Then... we figure it out."
"Okay," she said. "Let's figure it out."
We walked to the truck. I opened the door for her.
My phone buzzed.
I pulled it out.
Unknown Number.
I frowned. "If this is Vance again, I'm going to throw the phone in a snowbank."
I answered. "Hello?"
"Atlas Thorne?"
The voice was unfamiliar. Gruff. loud.
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"This is Mike Grier. GM of the Rangers."
I froze. My hand tightened on the phone. Aurelia watched me, eyes wide.
"Mr. Grier?"
"Yeah. Listen, kid. I just got a text from my scout. He sent me a link to a live stream. Something about you storming a boardroom and telling Arthur St. James to shove it?"
My heart stopped. "Uh. Yeah. That happened."
Grier laughed. A loud, booming laugh.
"That's the most hockey thing I've ever seen. St. James is a prick. I've been trying to tell him that for years."
"Okay..."
"Listen. The Board might have pulled the college offer. But the Rangers... we make our own decisions. We need a defenseman with grit. Someone who doesn't back down. Someone who protects his own."
I stopped breathing.
"We saw your tape, Thorne. You're a beast. And after seeing you stand up to St. James? I know you've got the stones for the NHL."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. Come down to the city tomorrow. Bring your agent. Or bring your girlfriend. She seems scary. I like her."
"She is scary," I agreed, looking at Aurelia.
"We'll have a contract ready. Standard entry-level. Signing bonus should cover whatever debt you got. You in?"
I looked at Aurelia. She was watching me, holding her breath.
"Atlas?" she whispered.
I smiled. A real, bloody, broken-nosed smile.
"Yeah," I said into the phone. "I'm in."
I hung up.
"Well?" Aurelia asked.
"Pack your bags, Princess," I said, grabbing her waist and spinning her around in the snow. "We're going to New York."
"Tribeca?" she shrieked.
"Tribeca," I promised. "And I'm picking the couch."
She laughed and kissed me, oblivious to the snow, the cold, and the onlookers.
We were a team. We were broken, messy, and chaotic.
But we were winning.