Chapter 24 #2
I hesitate, because these are such personal questions, but the words come anyway.
“Now… he’s been incredible through all of this.
Stepped up without being asked. He’s steady and present, and he does everything with this quiet intensity.
So many of the same qualities I loved and respected in Gray, I see in him.
” My voice wavers, and I bite down on the edge of it.
Brienne studies me for a beat, then says gently, “It sounds like you’ve developed feelings for him.”
The rush of heat to my cheeks is immediate, hot enough I want to fan myself. “No,” I blurt, too sharp. Then, more honest. “Well. Maybe… a little.”
The truth is, I’m falling for him as my walls continue to crumble. This is nowhere more evident than by the fact that he successfully talked me into staying in his bed all night after we had sex. It had been getting harder to leave it, and when he once again asked me to stay last night, I relented.
Brienne’s smile holds no judgment, just patience. “So what’s keeping you from exploring more than a co-parenting arrangement?”
I stare at the ice below, at the blur of players skating lazy arcs during warm-ups. “Trust,” I say finally, because although I’m in his bed all night now, I’m still keeping pieces of myself locked away.
Her brows lift, inviting me to go on. I study her expression, analyze her posture. I look closely for some sort of ulterior motive, and apparently, I’m wearing that suspicion on my face.
Brienne nods as if she understands everything. “You don’t have to tell me a thing, Maddie. I’m a safe space, but I also understand you don’t know me.”
I’m not sure what it is about this entire scenario—so very weird sitting in a luxury suite with a billionaire woman asking me to spill my heart, and oddly, I seem to trust her.
I swallow hard. “I grew up in foster care.” The confession feels like it echoes too loudly, even over the arena noise. “Trust is… complicated for me and I learned to never expect anything from anyone. It’s hard never having anyone to depend on. You shield yourself from possibility.”
For a moment, I brace myself for pity. But Brienne doesn’t flinch or look away. She nods, slow and thoughtful, like she’s cataloguing every word. “And Atlas?” she asks.
I let out a shaky breath. “He feels… different. Safe, but also risky. I imagine it feels a lot like lacing up skates and stepping onto the ice for the very first time. I don’t trust the feeling and I’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt when I fall.
” My laugh is hollow. “It’s easier to tell myself not to risk it than to brace for when it cracks. ”
Brienne leans forward, her tone low and certain. “First, love the ice-skating analogy. Second, trust doesn’t mean you know the ending, Maddie. It just means you’re willing to give someone the chance to prove you wrong about the worst you expect.”
Her words settle into me, heavy and frightening and hopeful all at once. Before I can respond, the lights dim. The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
Brienne touches my arm again. “We’ll talk more, but right now, let’s go cheer our boys on.”
She guides me from the high-top to the cushioned seats at the very front of the suite. Three tiers down and it feels like we’re hanging over the ice with the most amazing views.
The national anthem begins and we stand. I press a hand to my chest, surrounded by twenty thousand voices hushed to a reverent quiet.
My breath catches.
Below, Atlas stands at the blue line, helmet tucked under his arm, head bowed. He looks immovable, carved into the ice itself. Pride swells in me so sharp it’s almost painful. Then the final note hits, and the arena explodes in sound—cheers colliding in one furious storm.
Atlas skates to the bench, takes a seat as the first line gathers at center ice.
I don’t know what I am to him. Co-parent. Hookup. Something in between. Maybe nothing more than tonight.
But right now, with the crowd thundering and the anthem echoing in my chest, I am proud. Nervous, overwhelmed, half out of place—but proud.
For tonight, I accept it and if I’m lucky, I will learn to enjoy it.
?
The family lounge buzzes with leftover energy from the win—kids weaving through legs, half-eaten sandwiches on the catering table, highlight reels looping on the mounted flat-screens. I stand in a corner, hands tucked in my pockets, trying not to look like I don’t belong.
It’s painful, being the outsider, but I’m saved almost instantly by Winnie edging through the crowd. “There you are!” she exclaims.
I accept her hug, squeezing back with true affection.
“So, what did you think about the game from the owner’s suite?” she asks.
“It was amazing,” I assure her.
“I told Atlas I’d hang out with you while the guys are showering. It won’t be long before they come to collect us. The girls have gone over to Mario’s to put some tables together.”
We chitchat for about twenty minutes and Winnie introduces me to a few of the family members, but admits to me in a hushed whisper, “I’m the newest to the Titans group, so I don’t know all of them yet. But everyone’s so nice.”
Agreed. For all of Atlas’s talk about this being a family, I haven’t seen anything to indicate otherwise.
And then Atlas is there, Lucky right behind him. Atlas’s hair is still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends. He’s not wearing the suit he left the house in, rather jeans and a black V-neck sweater that molds to his torso.
Lucky grabs Winnie up in a huge hug and spins her around, but I stare at Atlas awkwardly.
“Great game,” I blurt out. “Congratulations.”
Atlas grins and I know it’s because he can tell I’m nervous. He steps closer, easy, steady, and I make the mistake of going in for a half hug. It’s awkward, until his arm hooks around me firmly, pulling me into his warmth. For one long second, I lean in. Then I force myself back, nerves snapping.
“Relax,” he whispers in my ear. “No one would dare think we like each other.”
I give him a backhanded slap on his chest. “Smart-ass.”
“Seriously, though,” he says earnestly. “How did you like the game?”
“I had a lot of fun and Brienne was wonderful.” My words trip over each other, too formal, like I’m giving a Yelp review.
“Come on,” he says, like nothing was awkward at all. “Let’s head over to Mario’s.”
The walk from the lounge to the arena’s exit feels like moving from one world to another. Lucky and Winnie stroll with us, their hands clasped firmly. I wonder what that feels like. I wonder what I’d do if Atlas took my hand in his.
We reach the bar and restaurant known as Mario’s, apparently the preferred hangout after a win. It’s a place for the players to mingle with fans and according to Atlas, just a really laid-back atmosphere.
We enter and he puts his hand on my lower back, a steady guide as we weave through the crowd.
We don’t make it ten paces before he and Lucky are stopped by requests for autographs and selfies.
He crouches to sign a kid’s jersey, grins for a picture with two women waving posters, fist-bumps a guy in head-to-toe Titans gear.
I watch with wide eyes, my heart thudding.
In a million years, I never imagined myself here.
“I’d like to say you get used to it,” Winnie says with a smirk. “But it’s still very weird to me.”
“So weird,” I agree. Because until recently, I’ve never associated Atlas with fame. He’s just been a regular guy to me. Seeing people fawn all over him is a shock to the senses.
We eventually make it to the VIP section the restaurant has set up, cordoned off with velvet ropes.
I note several high-tops shoved together into one long stretch with pitchers of beer sweating on the wood.
The entire team isn’t here, but enough of them are that they make quite the spectacle.
Players and their women, voices overlapping, hands flying as they retell plays from the game.
Laughter carries louder than the TVs on the wall and we join the gang—all men and women I’ve met already.
In getting to know more about Atlas’s life the last few weeks, it’s those teammates who he’s closest to and hangs out with the most off the ice.
I’ve learned that while the entire organization as a whole is very bonded, there are subsets of friends within the larger group.
Surprisingly, I get pulled into many hugs with warm smiles and easy waves, invited into the space at the end of a table like I’ve always belonged. Atlas steers me into the open seat beside him, close enough that our knees brush under the table, before reaching for a pitcher of beer.
Lucky leans across and grabs a chicken wing from the many baskets of food laid out. He points it at Penn. “You gonna explain that wide-open net you whiffed on, or should we all pretend it didn’t happen?”
Penn groans, dragging a hand over his face. “The puck hopped.”
“The puck didn’t hop,” Lucky fires back. “You panicked.”
“I did not panic.” Penn stabs a fry at him. “I was screened.”
“By air?” Foster chimes in, grinning. “Because there wasn’t a soul within ten feet of you.”
The table erupts in laughter. I have no clue what they’re talking about, but I can tell it’s exaggerated teasing.
“Don’t talk to me about phantom plays,” Foster adds, waving a hand. “That tripping call in the second against Raff? Cleanest poke check I’ve ever seen. Refs are blind.”
“Blind and biased,” Rafferty says, and then pushes his chair back to reenact the scuffle. He throws an exaggerated shoulder check into thin air, feet shuffling like he’s back on the boards. “Guy comes at me like this—boom!—so I give him a little nudge—”
Tempe smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “You make it sound like you were defending the crown jewels. You just wanted to scrap.”
“I won the scrap,” Rafferty insists, puffing out his chest.
“Barely.” She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts.
King raises his glass like a toast. “Hey, doesn’t matter—what matters is we shut them down. Beautiful game.”
Winnie picks up a pitcher and sets it in front of Lucky with a flourish. “Your turn, hero. Pour me one without spilling it all over yourself.”
Lucky’s brows shoot up. “I’m a professional athlete. I have balance and hand-eye coordination out the—”
Beer sloshes over the rim of the glass as he tips the pitcher too far.
The whole table breaks into laughter, Winnie cackling the loudest. “Hand-eye coordination, huh? If only I had gotten that on camera.”
Lucky sets the dripping glass down with mock indignity, wiping his hand on his jeans. “That was strategy. Foam adds flavor.”
And so the banter goes. I find myself laughing too, harder than I have in months. Somewhere between bites of fries and sips of beer, my shoulders loosen and I start to have fun. It helps that Atlas is by my side because even though everyone is friendly, I realize he’s the one who grounds me.
“So, first game in the suite?” Mila asks, chin propped on her hand. “Did Brienne feed you enough? She’s a one-woman catering service.”
“She practically force-fed me crab cakes,” I admit, earning a round of knowing groans and laughs.
Winnie leans in, conspiratorial. “We’ll get you out for girls’ night soon. Drinks, dancing, bad karaoke.”
My cheeks heat. “That sounds… terrifying.”
“Perfect,” Winnie says, smirking. “You’ll fit right in.”
Even Tempe, home from college for the weekend, pipes up. “So, was your college experience anything like mine? Because if you tell me you studied during laundry day, I’ll be crushed.”
That pulls a surprised laugh out of me. “Laundry was… chaotic. But survivable.”
The teasing rolls on, lighthearted and relentless, and somewhere in the middle of it I realize this is something I would very much like to have in my life on a day-to-day basis.
Then I start noticing the little things.
Lucky sliding a fry across the plate to Winnie, who swats at him but eats it anyway.
King tugging Willa closer by the belt loop of her jeans.
Farren leaning into North’s side as she whispers in his ear, making him choke on his beer.
Mazzie resting her head on Foster’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Rafferty and Tempe bickering, rolling their eyes but smiling all the while.
Ordinary gestures. Silly, sweet, everyday couple things. The kind of intimacy that isn’t about sex but about belonging.
I’ve never let myself yearn for it because I’ve never met anyone who made the risk worth the supposed reward. And I say supposed, because I never saw positive examples of love and commitment while working my way through the foster system. It’s a foreign concept to me.
Even Gray never had a serious relationship. We both dated other people throughout college, but he was never interested in anything serious. Even with Grayce’s birth mother, there was an agreement to raise her as co-parents, but they didn’t keep a romantic relationship going.
Despite all my inherent skepticism, I find myself wondering what that would feel like with Atlas. There’s no doubt in my mind, he would give it a go if I agreed.
As if he hears the thought, Atlas looks over and our eyes catch. His brow furrows a little. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice low under the noise.
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just taking it all in.”
He studies me a moment longer, then nods, like he doesn’t quite believe me but won’t press.
That’s when Winnie claps. “Photo time. Everyone, squeeze in—we need proof this crew cleans up after a win.”
There’s a shuffle as everyone squeezes together at one end of the VIP section, fans craning their necks from the main bar to catch a glimpse. I hover at the edge, not sure where to go, when Atlas hooks my hand and pulls me in, casual but certain.
I end up right beside him, and his hand settles lightly at my waist for the picture. To anyone else, it’s nothing—just practical, making room for everyone to fit in the photo. But to me, it’s electric. My heart slams at the sensation of belonging… to him?
The camera flashes. Everyone laughs and drifts back toward their food and drinks.
But I can still feel his hand on me, the ghost of it seared into my skin, the warmth lingering—a dangerous promise that my rules are slowly dissipating under the constant barrage of Atlas Karolak.