Chapter 16
Atlas
The call ends so abruptly that for a second I think it dropped. I stare down at my phone in silence before slowly pulling it away from my ear.
Call ended.
My apartment suddenly feels too quiet. Thirty minutes ago Damien was sending me filthy pictures and asking if I missed him. Now he’s telling me to stay away from him.
None of it makes sense. I call him back immediately. It goes straight to voicemail.
My stomach tightens. “Come on,” I mutter.
I try again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
I start pacing across the apartment while panic curls tighter around my ribs.
Something’s wrong.
The fear in his voice keeps replaying in my head. The frantic edge to his breathing. The way he sounded like he was trying to push me away for my sake instead of because he actually wanted distance. I scrub a hand through my hair hard enough to sting my scalp.
What the hell happened between the sexting and now? I glance down at the last picture Damien sent me: bruised ribs, bare skin against dark sheets, that soft expression he only wears when he forgets to protect himself.
But on the phone, he sounded terrified.
I call again.
Finally, after the fifth call, I leave a message.
“Damien,” I say immediately. “Baby, whatever’s happening, just call me back.” My voice sounds rough. I force myself to breathe before continuing. “You don’t have to explain everything right now. I just need to know you’re okay.” I swallow hard. “Please call me back.”
I hang up.
Then immediately text him again:
please answer me.
No response. I barely sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the panic in Damien’s voice. By six in the morning, I give up trying to sleep and get dressed for practice.
Damien still hasn’t answered me.
The locker room feels wrong. Damien is always early. He likes the quiet before everyone else arrives, usually sitting at his locker with coffee while pretending not to listen to Carter’s nonstop bullshit stories.
Today his stall is empty.
I stop walking.
Patrick glances up while taping his stick. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.” The answer comes out too tense.
Patrick notices immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
I keep checking my phone every thirty seconds while I get dressed.
No texts.
No calls.
Nothing.
More teammates filter into the locker room.
Coach walks in a few minutes later and scans the room. “Where’s Harrow?”
Nobody answers because nobody knows.
Coach’s expression tightens slightly. “Harrow missing practice is new.”
My stomach twists harder. Jordan mutters something about Damien probably sleeping off a hangover from the charity event, but even he sounds uncertain, because everybody knows Damien never misses practice.
Not ever.
Practice starts badly, for me specifically.
I miss an easy pass from Alex during warmups because I’m staring at my phone on the bench between drills.
“Connors,” Coach snaps. “Wake up.”
“Sorry.” I force myself back into the play.
My focus lasts maybe thirty seconds. Carter sends me another pass during a rush drill and I completely whiff the catch because my brain is somewhere else entirely.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Carter asks.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Another lie.
Then, during a scrimmage, Jordan slams me hard into the boards because I hesitate half a second too long trying to check my phone, which just lit up on the bench. Pain explodes across my shoulder.
“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mutters.
Coach blows the whistle immediately. “Connors!”
I peel myself slowly off the boards, jaw tight.
“You trying to die today?”
“Sorry.”
The entire team is staring at me now. I never play like this. Normally, the ice is my sacred place, but now…
Coach skates closer, lowering his voice slightly. “What’s going on?”
Damien should be here. He should be making fun of me for getting flattened into the boards while Carter laughs like an asshole. Instead, his phone is dead and nobody knows where he is.
“I need to leave early today. If that’s okay with you, Coach?” I say quietly.
Coach studies me for a second, and then he nods once.
I call Damien three more times as I walk toward my car after I leave practice. It goes straight to voicemail every time.
On the fourth call, I leave another message. “Damien, seriously, you’re fucking scaring me now.” I lean against my car and shut my eyes briefly. “If you want space, fine. I’ll give you space. I just need to know you’re safe.”
My voice cracks slightly at the end. I hate that. I hang up quickly.
By the time I pull into the hospital parking garage, my nerves feel stretched thin enough to snap. I barely remember the drive over. I keep imagining Damien alone in his apartment, spiraling.
Or hurt.
Or worse.
The thought makes my stomach lurch violently.
No.
Stop.
He’s fine.
He has to be fine.
I move quickly through the hospital lobby, barely hearing the nurses greeting me as I pass. Usually they stop me to ask about hockey or tease me about Damien, but today I can’t focus on them.
My phone stays clutched tightly in my hand the entire walk upstairs.
Grace isn’t in her room when I get there. Mom immediately looks up from the chair beside the window. Her expression shifts the second she sees me.
“She’s in treatment right now,” she says softly.
I nod distractedly while checking my phone again.
Nothing.
Mom watches me carefully while I sit down across from her. “You look exhausted.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
“That’s not all.”
I exhale quietly and lean forward, my elbows resting against my knees.
My phone feels too heavy in my hand.
My mom studies me for another long second before speaking again. “Is this about Damien?”
I look up too fast. That’s answer enough, apparently.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
And that’s the worst part. I genuinely don’t know. Last night Damien sounded terrified, and now he’s disappeared completely.
Mom’s expression softens. “Did you two fight?”
“No. Kind of. I honestly don’t know.” I drag a hand through my hair again. “He called me last night sounding panicked. Then he told me to stay away from him and hung up.”
Mom goes still. “Panicked how?”
I hesitate, because I still haven’t fully told anyone about his nightmares.
Or Sebastian.
Or the panic attacks.
Damien’s secrets feel heavy in my hands, even now.
“I think somebody hurt him,” I say quietly.
“Recently?”
“No.” I swallow hard. “A long time ago.”
She stays quiet for a moment. Then she carefully asks, “Did Damien tell you this?”
“Not directly.”
“But you suspect it.”
“Yes.”
She nods slowly, her eyes distant, like she’s trying to work out a puzzle in her head.
Then, after a pause, she asks softly, “Do you think whoever hurt him is still in his life?”
The question sends ice down my spine.
Because suddenly, I think maybe the answer is yes.
By the time I leave the hospital, I’ve worked myself into a genuine state of panic. Every bad possibility keeps circling through my head over and over again while I drive downtown toward Damien’s apartment. He still hasn’t answered a single text, call, nothing.
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache. Something is wrong. I know it.
The closer I get to Damien’s building, the worse the feeling becomes. By the time I park, my pulse is hammering hard enough to make me feel sick. I take the elevator upstairs, my thoughts consuming my heart whole, and knock sharply on Damien’s door. No answer.
I knock again, harder this time. “Damien.”
Silence. My stomach drops.
“Damien, it’s me. Atlas.”
There’s a loud noise from inside the apartment. Something hits the floor, then fast footsteps. The door flies open so suddenly that I barely have time to react before Damien grabs my hoodie and yanks me inside.
The door slams shut behind me.
Lock.
Deadbolt.
Chain.
Damien checks all three twice before finally turning around.
And Jesus Christ, he looks terrible.
He’s pale and exhausted. His curls are a mess, like he’s been dragging his hands through them for hours, and there are deep shadows under his eyes that make it obvious he hasn’t slept at all. He’s also shaking slightly, not visibly enough that someone else might catch it. But I do.
“What the fuck is going on?” I snap. The anger comes out harsher than I meant it to because relief is crashing into panic so hard inside my chest that I can barely think straight. “You disappeared.”
Damien flinches slightly at my tone. Then he immediately looks toward the apartment windows, like he expects someone to be watching from outside.
My stomach tightens. “Damien.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re obviously not fine.”
He starts pacing.
Small, sharp movements.
Restless.
Hyper-alert.
Every few seconds his attention jerks toward the hallway outside the apartment like he’s listening for footsteps. A loud laugh echoes faintly from somewhere down the hall, and Damien flinches. The reaction is instant and terrified enough that something cold slides down my spine.
I stare at him, and suddenly all the scattered pieces in my head begin clicking together in horrible slow motion.
Jesus Christ.
“Baby,” I say carefully.
“Don’t call me that right now.” The sharpness in his voice catches me off guard.
Damien drags both hands through his curls roughly before pacing toward the kitchen. He looks like a cornered animal.
Every instinct inside me starts screaming. “Talk to me.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“No, you’re fucking not!”
Damien laughs harshly under his breath. “Atlas?—”
“You vanished,” I cut in. “You missed practice. You ignored every call. I thought something happened to you.”
Something flickers across Damien’s face.
Guilt.
Pain.
Then his expression shuts down again.
“I just need space.”
The words hit me hard. “What?”
“I need space.”
My breath is ripped from my lungs. No, that isn’t what this is. Damien isn’t pulling away because he stopped caring about me. I know him too well to believe that. This is fear.
Raw fear.
“Did somebody from your past contact you?” I ask quietly.
Damien stills.
“Damien.”
“No.” His eyes dart away from me again.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not!” His voice rises sharply enough that I take a step back in surprise. Damien sees it and looks sick with himself. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly.
I move toward him slowly. “Hey.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out almost pleading. “Please.”
The pain in his voice stops me in my tracks. The silence stretches tightly between us while Damien keeps pacing small, anxious circles through the apartment.
Then his phone lights up on the kitchen counter. The name flashes across the screen before Damien can grab it.
Sebastian.
My stomach drops. Everything inside me goes cold.
Sebastian. The guy from the nightmares. The guy Damien cried about. The guy who’s been haunting him for months.
Something ugly twists in my chest. “Sebastian? Like that Sebastian?”
Damien snatches the phone up. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I repeat incredulously. “You’ve been acting terrified for almost twenty-four hours and now some guy named Sebastian is texting you?”
“It’s not your business.”
The words hit like a slap. I stare at him.
Damien avoids my eyes completely.
“Are you seeing him again?” I ask quietly.
That finally makes Damien look at me.
And the awful part is…he doesn’t answer. He just stands there looking exhausted and terrified and trapped. My heart starts breaking.
“Atlas—”
“Are you?”
Damien swallows hard. Then he quietly says, “You should go.”
The room goes completely silent.
That isn’t a no.
My chest feels hollow. “You’re serious?”
Damien looks away, and somehow that hurts even worse than if he looked at me. The panic in him still feels real. The fear still feels real. But now jealousy and heartbreak are crashing into me hard enough that I can barely think straight.
I think about the sexting last night.
The way he said he missed me.
The way he looked at me in that hotel room after I told him I loved him.
And now there’s another man.
A man who apparently still has enough power over Damien to make him fall apart overnight.
“Atlas,” Damien says quietly, still not looking at me. “Please just leave this alone.”
“Leave what alone?”
“This.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Damien finally looks at me, and his eyes are bloodshot and exhausted. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Can’t do what?” I ask. “Me?” The hurt slips into my voice before I can stop it.
Damien’s expression cracks for half a second.
Then his face hardens.
“I need you to leave.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
After everything.
After the hospital.
After him crying in my arms.
After he let me love him.
“You don’t mean that,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens. “Please just go.”
The apartment suddenly feels freezing.
I look at him for another long second, desperately waiting for him to stop this.
To tell me the truth.
To ask me to stay.
But he doesn’t.
I nod once.
Slowly.
Painfully.
“Okay.”
Damien flinches at how flat my voice sounds. I move toward the door. Halfway there, I stop because, despite everything, I still can’t stop worrying about him.
I turn back to him one last time. “Did he hurt you?”
Damien goes still.
For one horrible second, I think he might finally tell me everything.
Instead, he just says quietly, “Leave me alone, Atlas.”
I leave heartbroken.
But worse than that, I leave knowing that Damien is terrified of something he still refuses to let me see.