Chapter 4 #2
Damien leans his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, looking…
relaxed. More relaxed than I’ve seen him all week.
His shoulders aren’t as tight. His jaw isn’t locked.
It’s like the moment we stepped out of the rink, something in him loosened.
I don’t say anything because I don’t want to ruin it
We ride in silence for a few minutes, and then I hear it.
Voices.
Shouting.
Cameras clicking.
Damien’s posture shifts immediately.
It’s subtle, but I feel it.
His shoulders tighten, and his hand curls slightly against his thigh.
I spot that tiny twitch near his eye.
I look out the window to spot paparazzi and fans clamoring. A full crowd is gathered outside the restaurant, phones already raised, flashes going off even before the door opens.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t respond, just stares straight ahead.
I turn toward him, grabbing his knee gently.
“We’ve got this,” I say. “Alright? Just follow my lead.”
His jaw tightens. “Fine.”
The driver steps out and opens the door for us.
Noise floods in. I move first.
Because I have to.
Because if I hesitate, he’ll fall into himself and never come out.
I step out into the chaos, the lights hitting me immediately, voices rising.
“Atlas! Atlas, over here!”
“Is it true? Are you two?—”
I wave and smile, never letting go of Damien’s hand as I lead him inside.
The moment we step inside, the atmosphere shifts.
It’s not just the warm lighting or the low hum of conversation filling the restaurant.
It’s the awareness that we’re being watched.
A photographer from one of the bigger sports magazines is set up near the entrance, capturing arrivals as players filter in with their partners.
The flashes are softer than paparazzi cameras, more controlled, but they still make everything feel deliberate, like every movement matters.
I keep my hand wrapped around Damien’s as we walk in, forcing myself to stay relaxed even though my pulse has picked up slightly.
We don’t get far before Patrick notices us. He’s mid-conversation at the bar, but the second his eyes land on our joined hands, his focus changes completely.
“Hold on,” he says, cutting himself off as he turns toward us. “Why are you two arriving together?”
I open my mouth, trying to figure out how to ease into this, but Damien answers before I can say a word.
“We’ve been seeing each other,” he says, his tone calm and even, as if he’s stating something obvious. “Kept it quiet for a few months. Figured we’d make it official.”
I turn my head toward him, caught completely off guard. A few months? That’s not something we discussed. But Damien doesn’t look at me, doesn’t check to see if I’m following his lead. He simply continues standing there like this has always been the plan.
So I adjust.
“Yeah,” I add, forcing my voice to stay light and natural. “We didn’t want to make it a whole thing before we figured things out.”
Patrick blinks like his brain is lagging. “Wait,” he says. “What?”
Carter hears that and immediately leans over from his seat at the bar. “Wait, what?” he repeats on Patrick’s behalf, louder this time.
Alex joins in just as quickly, already grinning. “No way. Since when?”
The questions start piling up before I can answer them.
“Since when are you into guys?” Carter asks, pointing at me like this is somehow my fault.
Alex snorts. “Yeah, Atlas, you’ve been hiding that from us?”
I shrug, trying to keep everything casual. “Guess I was.”
Patrick looks between us again, still trying to process it. “Damien, you look like you hate everyone half the time. How did you hide this?”
“I don’t hate everyone,” Damien says flatly.
Alex laughs. “You have resting bitch face whenever you’re around him.”
“That’s just his face,” Carter adds.
“Hey,” I cut in, smiling as I try to redirect the energy. “Be nice.”
The three guys make an “oooooo” sound like elementary school kids.
“Oh, shit. Daddy Atlas is coming out to protect his beau.” Patrick grabs my shoulder with a big smile.
“Ew, don’t call me that.” I laugh.
“Unless your name is Damien…” Alex quips.
Carter shakes his head, still grinning. “I’m just saying, it’s about time. You’ve been flirting with Damien for months.”
I choke slightly on my own breath. “I have not?—”
“You absolutely have,” Alex cuts in. “We all saw it.”
Before I can defend myself, Sarah, Carter’s wife, leans over from where she’s been watching the entire exchange with clear amusement.
“Okay,” she says, pointing at all of them. “This is probably why they didn’t tell anyone.”
That shuts them up faster than anything else has.
Patrick raises his hands. “I’m just asking questions.”
“You’re interrogating them,” Sarah corrects.
“It’s a big reveal!”
“And you’re making it worse.”
Carter laughs, backing off slightly. “Alright, alright. We’ll behave.”
“For now,” Alex mutters.
I shake my head, letting out a breath as I glance at Damien.
He still looks completely unbothered. There’s no hesitation in him, no second-guessing, no visible reaction to the attention. He stands there like this is easy, like none of this touches him at all.
It’s impressive.
It also makes me slightly nervous.
“Come on,” I say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s sit before they come up with anything worse.”
Dinner settles into something more manageable after that.
The initial shock fades, conversations spread out again, and people return to their own tables, though not without the occasional glance in our direction.
It’s subtle, but noticeable. Everyone is still trying to piece it together, trying to decide how long this has been happening right under their noses.
I do most of the talking. That part comes naturally to me, and Damien lets me handle it without interruption. He steps in when he needs to, adding just enough to make the lie believable, but otherwise stays quiet, letting the dynamic fall into place. It works better than it should.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I start noticing things I didn’t catch earlier.
Joanna’s team really went all in with him.
Damien is wearing a white suit with a black button-up underneath, the contrast making everything about him sharper, more deliberate.
It’s polished, but not in a way that feels forced.
It still looks like him, just refined in a way I haven’t seen before.
I find myself staring longer than I mean to. Then I notice his ears—small studs, subtle enough that I probably would have missed them if I wasn’t already paying too much attention to him.
I blink, surprised. I didn’t know he had his ears pierced. That feels like something I should have noticed.
Which makes no sense.
I barely know him.
Still, the detail sticks.
I look away before my staring becomes obvious, reaching for my drink instead.
When I set the glass back down, my hand brushes his knee under the table. I hesitate for a moment.
Then I leave it there.
I lean slightly toward him, keeping my voice low so no one else hears. “Is this okay?”
He turns his head just enough to look at me, his expression unreadable for a second.
Then he says, quietly, “I’m your boyfriend. You can touch me wherever you want.”
The words land harder than they should.
I feel it immediately—the shift in my chest, the way my brain struggles to catch up to what he just said.
Before I can respond, Patrick leans over to me. “Oh God, the flirting!” He makes a gagging sound. “Please don’t have sex in the locker room,” he says, completely serious. “I do not need to see that.”
Damien rolls his eyes.
I reach over and punch Patrick in the arm. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“I’m setting boundaries,” Patrick insists.
“Set them somewhere else.”
Carter laughs into his drink while Alex looks like he’s trying not to make things worse.
Sarah shakes her head. “You’re all exhausting.”
The moment passes, but my hand stays where it is. Damien doesn’t move it. That’s the part I keep noticing about all of this—he doesn’t pull away; he doesn’t tense. He simply lets it happen.
The night stretches on from there, the conversation loosening as more drinks are poured. The tension fades into something easier, something that almost feels normal if I don’t think about it too much. By the time we stand to leave, the room feels softer, less sharp around the edges.
Damien walks beside me as we head out, steady…until he isn’t.
He stumbles slightly, just enough to bump into me.
I catch him automatically, my hand coming to his side without thinking.
“You okay?” I ask, lowering my voice.
He exhales, something like a quiet laugh slipping out. “I’m fine.”
I don’t move my hand right away. He doesn’t move away, either.
For a moment, we stay like that, standing closer than necessary, the noise of the restaurant fading around us.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a thought settles in that I don’t have a good answer for.
This is already starting to feel less like a performance than it should. And I’m not sure what that means yet.
We don’t make it out cleanly. I should’ve known we wouldn’t.
The second the doors open and the night air hits us, the noise is already there—louder than before, more aggressive now that the story’s out. Cameras flash nonstop, voices overlapping, people pushing forward just enough to be held back by security.
“Atlas! Damien!”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Is it real?”
I tighten my grip on Damien’s hip automatically, guiding him forward.
He’s quieter now. Not just his usual quiet—tighter, controlled in a way I recognize from earlier, like everything in him is being held in place by force.
“We’re almost there,” I murmur under my breath.
He doesn’t answer, but his fingers curl slightly around mine.
That’s enough.
We move faster.
“This is fake!”
The shout cuts through everything.
Sharp. Loud. Deliberate.
I stop.
A guy near the barricade leans forward, grinning like he just said something clever.