Chapter 6
Atlas
Ileave too fast. That’s the first thing I register as I push through the locker room doors, still pulling my shirt over my head, my bag slung halfway over my shoulder.
I barely gave myself time to dry off, and I know I skipped steps I normally wouldn’t, but staying in the showers any longer felt like a worse decision.
Because if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have stopped.
I reach my car and toss my bag into the passenger seat before sliding into the driver’s side, shutting the door harder than I need to.
The quiet hits me immediately, heavy and enclosed, and for a second, I just sit there with both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead like that might reset something in my head.
It doesn’t.
“Okay,” I mutter, letting out a slow breath. “That was…not smart.”
Not in the locker room. Not where anyone could have walked in at any second. And yet…
I lean back in the seat and drag a hand through my hair, shutting my eyes for a second. The water drops on his eyelashes while he leaned back into me. The feel of his slick, hot skin against mine. Jesus, the soft look on his face as he just let me touch him.
Damien didn’t stop me. The thought startles me. Not because I expected him to shut it down, but because I expected some resistance, some hesitation, something that would remind me where the line was.
But he stayed.
He leaned into it.
He let me get close in a way that didn’t feel like part of the act.
My jaw tightens slightly as the memory sharpens—the way his hands braced against the wall, the way his head tilted just enough to give me access, the way he responded instead of pulling away.
“Christ.” I exhale quietly, opening my eyes again.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. I shouldn’t be replaying what happened in the showers like it’s worth holding onto. But I am. I can’t seem to help it. I mean, he started it by sending those flirty texts this morning.
I let out a quiet laugh under my breath, shaking my head slightly.
That’s not typically the part I play.
I didn’t even understand it at first, which makes it worse. I had to read his text twice before it clicked, and when it did, it hit harder than it should have. It should’ve just been a joke. Instead, I started daydreaming about him.
That text sat in my head all morning, showing up at the worst possible moments, distracting me in ways I didn’t appreciate. Until I couldn’t pass up the moment alone in the showers.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel once, trying to redirect my thoughts.
“Focus,” I mutter.
There’s a game in two days. One we actually need to show up for if we want to keep any momentum going this season. That should be enough to keep my head straight.
I shift slightly in the seat, my jaw tightening again.
Damien is still there, sitting in the back of my mind like something I can’t quite push out of the way. It isn’t just physical. That would be easier. That would make sense. Yeah, he’s just some guy I’m screwing! No big deal!
But it’s him. It’s the way he looks at things, the way he moves through spaces like he already knows exactly where he stands, the way he lets you in just enough to make you think you understand him before he pulls back again.
And today he didn’t pull back, or at least not in the way he usually does. For a few seconds in that shower, it felt like all of that distance just dropped away into the drain, and I saw something underneath it that I wasn’t supposed to.
I exhale slowly, pressing my hands more firmly against the wheel.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot before I can sit there any longer, letting the motion give me something else to focus on. The drive to the hospital is familiar. Automatic.
It gives me time to breathe, to let the noise in my head settle into something quieter, something I can manage without getting stuck in it. By the time I pull into the parking garage, I’ve pushed Damien far enough into the background that I can function again.
He’s not gone, just contained. That’s good enough.
I grab my bag and head inside, the familiar scent of the hospital hitting me the second I walk through the doors. It’s clean, sharp, and steady in a way that always forces everything else into perspective. This is real.
Everything else can wait.
“Atlas!”
I barely make it past the front desk before I hear my name.
Two nurses wave me over, smiling like they know something I don’t.
“There he is,” one of them says. Laura, I think. “You’ve been trending all morning.”
I groan quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Please don’t start.”
“Oh, we’re starting,” the other one says, laughing. “You have a boyfriend now?”
I shake my head, already moving toward the elevators. “I’m not doing this out here.”
“Come on, dish!” Laura calls after me.
The elevator doors close before they can keep going.
I lean back against the wall for a second, exhaling slowly.
The elevator ride is quiet, which I appreciate more than usual. It gives me a few seconds to breathe, to push that conversation out of the way before I step into Grace’s room.
“Helloooooo,” I say as I push the door open.
Grace is sitting upright in bed, her arm extended while a doctor checks her vitals, blood pressure cuff wrapped around her arm and stethoscope already in place. My mom is standing nearby, watching closely, and for a second I consider backing out and coming back later.
But Grace spots me immediately.
Her entire face lights up. “Oh good,” she says. “You’re here.”
I step inside, letting the door swing shut behind me as I drop my bag near the chair and collapse into it like I haven’t slept in three days.
“I would have also accepted ‘hi, Atlas!’ or ‘how are you doing, lovely brother of mine?’ But I guess ‘you’re here’ will do.”
Dr. Marrs glances at me briefly, offering a polite smile before returning her focus to Grace. “How are we feeling today?” she asks.
“Medically—mid. Mentally—fantastic,” Grace says, not even pretending to care about the question. “Atlas has a boyfriend.”
My mom exhales softly, already bracing herself. “Grace,” she says.
“What?” Grace looks between us, completely unapologetic. “It’s important information.”
The doctor keeps her expression neutral, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitch like she’s trying not to react.
“I just got here,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “Can we not do this immediately?”
“I had to find out from Instagram about your new boyfriend! We’re definitely doing this now,” Grace says.
The blood pressure cuff tightens around her arm with a soft mechanical sound, but she barely reacts, too focused on me to care.
“When are we meeting him?” she asks.
I groan, my head falling back against the chair. “That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works,” she counters. “You show up with a mysterious boyfriend, and I get to interrogate you about him.”
My mom clears her throat. “Maybe let him take a breath, honey.”
“He’s taken at least thirty breaths already.”
Dr. Marrs finally glances up at me again, this time with more obvious interest. “I would also like to know,” she says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather. “When are we meeting him?”
I stare at her. “You’re supposed to be neutral,” I say.
“I am neutral,” she replies. “But I’m also curious.”
My mom presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.
“This is unbelievable,” I mutter.
Grace leans forward slightly, ignoring the cuff still wrapped around her arm. “Is he tall?”
“Yes.”
“Taller than you?”
“No.”
“Hot?”
I hesitate for half a second. “That’s not the question you should be asking.”
“So he’s hot,” she says immediately.
Dr. Marrs hums in agreement. “Good to know.”
“I’m not answering any follow-up questions,” I say.
Grace ignores that completely. “How long has this been happening?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not long.”
“Define ‘not long.’”
“Gracie.”
“Atlas.”
My mom shakes her head, stepping in before this turns into a full interrogation. “Grace, I’m sure he’ll tell us more when he’s ready. There’s no need for the third degree.”
The blood pressure cuff deflates with a soft hiss and the doctor removes it, making a quick note on her chart before turning back to Grace.
“Vitals look good,” she says. “Interrogation levels are also strong.”
Grace grins. “I have to stay sharp.”
Dr. Marrs nods seriously. “Clearly.” Then she looks back at me. “So,” she says. “When are we meeting him?”
I stare at both of them for a long second. This is not happening.
I exhale slowly, leaning back farther into the chair. “I’ll bring him by soon,” I say, holding up a hand before Grace can interrupt. “If everyone behaves.”
Grace gasps like I just insulted her. “I always behave.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Dr. Marrs crosses her arms, pretending to consider it. “We can behave.”
“You definitely can’t, doc,” I say.
She smiles. “We can try.”
My mom finally laughs, shaking her head. “This is why you didn’t tell us, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
Grace points at me. “You love it.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t.”
“You do,” she insists. “You’re smiling.”
I wipe the expression off my face immediately. “No, I’m not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
The doctor glances between us, amused. “He definitely was.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
Grace leans back against her pillows, clearly satisfied with herself. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “That makes one of us.”
The next two days pass in a way that feels almost deliberately uneventful.
Nothing happens.
No late-night conversations, no follow-ups about the shower, no acknowledgment of the fact that something shifted between us. We move around each other like we always have, falling back into something that looks like routine on the surface.
It’s easy to pretend that the silence is because of the upcoming game.
That would make sense.
Big game. Short tempers. Focused players.