Chapter 30 Atlas
I’m out the door before I finish reading her text.
Not walking.
Not jogging.
Running.
The kind of run that turns the city into a blur and my lungs into knives. The kind that makes pedestrians jump out of the way and swear under their breath. I don’t care.
All I see is one word.
Hydrate.
Finn told me what it meant earlier. One of her safety signals. A quiet alarm for get me out. The second I saw it in the thread, something in my chest detonated.
Wren needs us.
Needs me.
I cut through the parking lot, vault the rail instead of taking the stairs, and sprint across the sidewalk toward her building. Kael’s a block away. Finn is farther. I don’t have time to wait for either of them.
She is alone.
Outside.
At night.
Shaking.
I know she is. I feel it like a bruise in my ribs.
Her building comes into view, brick and old windows and the weak glow of an exterior light that hasn’t worked right since the day she moved in. I scan every shadow, every doorway, every car parked too close to the curb. My fists ball. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.
If he’s here—
If Adrian so much as breathes in her direction—
I’m done holding back.
Then I see her.
Small figure.
Arms wrapped around herself.
Standing under the crappy streetlight like she’s waiting for the world to make sense.
And something in me breaks.
“Wren.”
Her head snaps up.
Her breath leaves her in a visible cloud when she sees me. Relief hits her face first. Then something else—something that twists my heart in a way I’m not prepared for.
She moves toward me, but her knees wobble. I’m there in three steps, catching her elbows before she can fall.
“Hey,” I breathe, softer than I mean to, trying not to look like I’m dying inside. “I’m here.”
Her fingers curl in the front of my hoodie. Not pulling. Just holding. Like she doesn’t trust her hands to stay still.
“Atlas,” she whispers. And the way my name sounds from her mouth?
I’m toast. Done. Ruined.
“What happened?” I ask, scanning the street behind her, around her, through her. Looking for movement. Looking for anyone who doesn’t belong.
“No one’s here,” she says quickly, knowing exactly what I’m checking for. “I just... I couldn’t stay alone. Not tonight.”
A knot I didn’t know I had loosens in my chest.
“Good,” I say. “You shouldn’t.”
She exhales shakily, and I want to pull her into my arms, hold her so tight the shaking stops. But I remember the hallway. Her hesitation. The weight she carries around touch and danger and control.
“Can I—?” I start, lifting a hand slowly to give her the chance to say no.
She swallows. “Please.”
Permission hits me harder than a hit in the corner.
I wrap my arms around her, slow and careful, giving her every second to pull away. She doesn’t. Her forehead presses into my chest, breath trembling against me. I feel the moment she lets some of the fear bleed out, her body sagging into mine like she’s been standing too long on uneven ground.
“Jesus, Wren,” I murmur. “You’re freezing.”
She laughs a little, broken at the edges. “I rushed out.”
“You didn’t need to rush. I’d have come inside.”
“I know.” Her voice is quiet. “That’s why I rushed.”
Something warm flickers through me. I tighten my hold, just a fraction. Her hands slide to my waist, fingers gripping the fabric like she needs the texture to keep herself steady.
I bury my nose in her hair for one second—just one—and inhale. Shampoo. Cold air. Something soft and familiar I’m starting to crave.
The sound of footsteps hits my ears before I see anything. I turn my head, body tensing, ready to shield her.
But it’s Kael. Calm. Controlled. Eyes sharp.
He takes one look at us—her wrapped into me, my arms around her—and he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t comment. He just nods once, as if the world is exactly how he expected it to be.
“Good,” he says. “You got her.”
Yeah. I did.
Finn shows up half a minute later, breathless, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in every direction like he sprinted here too. His eyes land on Wren, on the way she’s holding onto me, and something soft and warm passes through his expression.
He steps close and touches her shoulder gently. “You okay?”
She lifts her head from my chest. “Better.”
Better.
That damn word is going to kill me before anything else does.
Finn brushes her arm in silent solidarity. He doesn’t try to take her from me. He doesn’t need to. He’s just there, warm and open, the way he always is with her.
Kael folds his arms. “Let’s get inside.”
Wren hesitates. “Where?”
I don’t even have to think. “With us.”
Kael nods like that was his plan too. “We stick together tonight.”
Finn gives a small smile. “We already called it.”
Wren blinks at the three of us. “I don’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not,” Kael says.
“You’re not,” Finn echoes.
“You couldn’t be,” I tell her.
She looks overwhelmed. A little startled. Like she’s trying to figure out how she ended up with three hockey players forming a perimeter around her like she’s the only thing in the world worth guarding.
Maybe she is.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Kael leads the way to his SUV. Finn walks on her right. I stay on her left, half a step behind so I can see everything. Every shadow. Every doorway. Every car.
Wren notices, because she glances at me with this tired, grateful expression that hits me like a punch to the sternum.
“You don’t have to hover,” she murmurs.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I do.”
She lets out a soft breath. “Okay.”
Finn opens the back door. She steps in. I slide in beside her without thinking. Finn gets in on the other side. Kael takes the driver’s seat.
It feels natural.
It feels wrong that it feels natural.
It feels right anyway.
Wren leans back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Exhaustion is all over her.
“How long has it been like this?” Kael asks, voice low from the front.
She hesitates. “A while.”
My throat tightens. “He’s been bothering you since you moved?”
“Longer,” she says.
Finn sighs softly. “She told me last night.”
Kael doesn’t react outwardly, but the shift in the air is unmistakable. Quiet. Sharp. Focused.
I lean forward slightly. “Wren.”
She opens her eyes.
“If he’s anywhere near here—if he tries anything—if he texts from a new number or shows up at work or you even think you see him—”
I stop because I don’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding like a threat.
Finn finishes it for me. “You tell us.”
Kael adds, “Immediately.”
Wren nods, small and unsure. “I will.”
Finn reaches across her legs and squeezes my knee lightly—a silent signal to breathe. I didn’t realize how hard my grip was on the seat.
Kael pulls away from the curb and drives us back to his place. Wren watches the city lights through the window. She relaxes incrementally, piece by piece, as the distance between her and her apartment grows.
When we pull into Kael’s garage, she doesn’t move right away.
“Wren?” I ask.
She turns to me. “Thank you.”
I don’t know what to do with the word. No one says it to me like that. Soft. Honest. Vulnerable.
I swallow. “Always.”
Finn smiles. “Every time.”
Kael glances back at her. “Go inside. We’ll take shifts.”
It’s practical. Steady. Safe.
And she nods like it’s the first time she’s been offered a real night of sleep in months.
When we step inside Kael’s apartment—quiet, dim, warm from the heating—it feels like stepping into a different world.
A world where she isn’t hunted.
A world where she isn’t alone.
A world where three men watch her shoulders drop and silently vow to keep them that way.
She looks around, wraps her arms around herself, and whispers, “I don’t know how to do this.”
I answer without thinking.
“We’ll teach you.”
She meets my eyes.
And for the first time, she doesn’t look scared.
Just held.
Just seen.
Just... safe.