Chapter 9 #2
Atlas pushes away from the wall, his gaze locked directly on mine. “No one gets to talk about you like that,” he says flatly. “I don’t care if this relationship is fake or not.”
My chest tightens so abruptly it almost pisses me off. Because he means it. Every word.
And somehow that’s scarier than the fight itself.
I force myself to cross my arms, trying to rebuild some of the distance between us. “You can’t do that again.”
“What, defend you?”
“Get yourself into trouble over me.”
Atlas lets out a quiet breath and drags a hand through his hair. “You think I regret it?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
I look away before I do something stupid…like kiss him.
Atlas doesn’t show up to practice the next day.
Coach keeps things tight and focused, running drills harder than usual, like he’s trying to burn the tension out of the team before it spreads.
Jordan keeps his head down, his lip still split, his movements sharp with leftover anger.
Nobody brings up the fight directly, but it hangs in the air anyway.
I keep my attention on the ice. It’s easier that way.
Easier than thinking about the way Atlas looked when he snapped. Easier than thinking about what he said afterward in the hallway, the quiet certainty in his voice when he told me he didn’t regret defending me.
I push harder through the drills, skating faster, hitting harder, forcing my body into something that doesn’t leave room for distraction. It works until it doesn’t.
Because every time I pass the bench, I notice the empty space where Atlas usually sits.
I finish practice without saying much to anyone and head back to the locker room, moving through the routine automatically. Shower. Change. Leave.
When I step outside, my phone is already in my hand.
Me: gym?
I stare at the message for a second.
Me: don’t get lazy while you’re benched
It’s easier to make it sound like that.
Like I’m doing him a favor.
Like I’m not the one who wants to see him.
The reply comes faster than I expected.
Atlas: wow. rude.
Atlas: give me 20
I lock my phone before I can overthink it.
The gym is quiet today. Probably the midday lull. There are just enough people to fill the space without crowding it.
I start stretching, rolling out my shoulders and focusing on my breathing while I wait. I tell myself I’m here to work out. I tell myself this has nothing to do with Atlas.
Neither of those things are true.
Atlas walks in like he didn’t just get benched for a game, like he didn’t get into a full-on fight yesterday that left him bruised in ways that should probably hurt more than they seem to.
His lip is still slightly swollen, and the faint purple shadow along his jawline catches the light just enough to make it obvious.
And somehow…
It makes him look better.
Like something out of a war movie.
Like a soldier who walked out of a fight he didn’t lose.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s unfair.
And it turns me on more than I’d like to admit.
Atlas spots me immediately. His face breaks into a wide, easy smile, like nothing has changed, like yesterday didn’t happen, like we didn’t leave things hanging in a way that should feel heavier than this.
“Hey,” he says as he walks over.
Something in my chest shifts. I hate it.
“You’re late,” I say.
“Grumpy, grumpy.” He laughs softly and drops his bag beside the bench. “You missed me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I missed you, too.”
I shake my head and grab a weight, trying to ignore the way his presence settles into the space around me immediately. We fall into a rhythm quickly.
It’s not as seamless as it is on the ice, but it’s close. We move through sets together, spotting each other without needing to ask, passing equipment back and forth like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Atlas keeps talking, and I let him.
I focus on the physical side of it, letting the repetition ground me while he fills the space with commentary about everything and nothing at the same time.
My phone buzzes against the bench.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
And again.
“You gonna get that?” Atlas asks.
“No.”
“It sounds important.”
“It’s not.”
The phone buzzes again, seeming louder this time.
Atlas glances at it briefly. “It’s your dad,” he says.
I go still.
I grab the phone before I can think about it and step away from the weights. “I’ll be back.”
Atlas watches me for a second, something in his expression shifting slightly.
I step outside into the alley behind the gym and answer the call. “What.”
“Damien.” My father’s voice is different this time. Not smooth or sly, but frantic. “I need help.”
I close my eyes briefly. “No.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“I understand perfectly,” I cut in. “I gave you five grand at the beginning of the year and told you that was it.”
“I know, I know, but this is different.”
“No, it’s fucking not.” My voice stays flat, controlled, even though something cold is starting to settle in my stomach.
“I owe someone money,” he says quickly.
“Not my problem.”
“It’s not like before, Damien?—”
“No.”
Silence.
“I owe money to Sebastian.”
Everything stops.
My grip tightens around the phone. “What did you just say?”
There’s a pause.
“I didn’t mean?—”
“You said Sebastian.” My voice sounds different now, something ugly pushing through the control I’ve been holding onto.
My father exhales shakily. “I didn’t have a choice,” he says. “It got out of hand and?—”
The words blur.
Because suddenly I’m not standing behind a gym anymore.
I’m seventeen again.
Standing on cracked pavement under flickering streetlights while someone older, stronger, and infinitely more dangerous looks at me like I’m something he owns.
Sebastian.
Confident in a way that felt like gravity pulling everything toward him.
The first time he smiled at me, I thought it meant something.
The first time he touched me, I convinced myself it was different.
That it wasn’t just about the money my father owed him.
That it wasn’t just another transaction.
I was wrong.
It had always been about control.
About power.
About making sure I understood exactly where I stood.
The fights.
The bruises.
The way he said he loved me just to keep me exactly where he wanted me.
I swallow hard, forcing myself back to the present.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
“Damien, please?—”
“Don’t drag me back into that.”
“I’m going to get hurt,” my father says, his voice breaking slightly. “You don’t understand what he’s like now.”
“I know exactly what he’s like.” The words come out sharper than I expected.
People like Sebastian don’t change. They just get better at hiding what they are.
“Please,” my father says. “I don’t have anyone else?—”
“Then you should’ve thought about that before you went back to him.”
“Damien—”
I hang up.
My hands are shaking. I stare at the phone for a second, like it might start ringing again.
It doesn’t, but the damage is already done. Sebastian’s name is back in my head, and I can feel old wounds reopening.
I shove my phone into my pocket and press both hands against my face, trying to breathe through the sudden spike of panic in my chest.
I thought that part of my life was over.
I thought I got out. Now it feels like I never left.
I stand there longer than I should. Long enough that the world starts to settle again.
Long enough that I can force everything back behind the walls I’ve built over the years.
By the time I force myself back inside the gym, I have most of my body under control again.
My chest still feels too tight, panic and anger tangled together so badly I can barely separate them. Sebastian’s name keeps echoing through my head like something rotten dragged up from the bottom of a lake.
I push through the gym doors harder than necessary, already focused on getting my bag and leaving before Atlas asks more questions I don’t know how to answer.
Then I see him. Atlas is standing near the water station, talking to a woman I’ve never seen before.
Pretty.
Blonde.
The kind of effortlessly gorgeous woman people turn to look at automatically.
And Atlas is smiling at her.
He’s close enough that she touches his arm while she laughs at something he says.
Something ugly twists in my chest. The timing of it knocks the air out of me.
Because my father’s voice is still in my head. Sebastian’s name is still clawing at me under my skin. I already feel unstable and raw in a way I haven’t felt in years, and suddenly, Atlas smiling at someone else feels unbearable.
Which is insane.
We’re not actually dating.
He can talk to whoever he wants to.
He can sleep with whoever he wants to once this contract is over.
I’m the one who insisted we keep things casual.
None of that stops the sharp wave of jealousy that hits me. I grab my bag hard enough that it knocks a weight off the bench.
I don’t care.
I just need to leave.
“Damien?”
I don’t look at him.
“Hey,” he calls again, confusion creeping into his voice. “Where are you going?”
I head for the exit without answering. The gym doors slam against the wall as I shove through them into the hallway.
Footsteps follow immediately.
“Damien.”
I keep walking.
Then Atlas grabs my wrist. “Hey, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I yank my arm free. “Go back to your girlfriend. I’m fine.”
Atlas freezes for half a second. Then something shifts in his expression.
Realization. And, unbelievably, amusement.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re jealous,” he repeats, sounding delighted now.
“Atlas.” My voice carries enough warning that most people would back off immediately.
Atlas just smiles wider.
Which only makes me angrier.
He grabs the front of my hoodie and pulls me down the hallway fast enough that I barely process where we’re going until he pushes open the private handicap bathroom door and drags me inside.
The lock clicks behind us.
“I just want to go home.”
“She’s my cousin,” he says casually.
“What?”
“She’s literally related to me.”
I stare at him.