Chapter 18
Atlas
The locker room after the game feels wrong. Nobody’s yelling the way they usually do after a loss. Nobody’s throwing gear or blaming refs or replaying bad calls. Everybody’s confused. Damien Harrow doesn’t play like that. Ever.
Coach is trying to keep things calm while reviewing footage on the monitors, pointing out sloppy defensive coverage and missed opportunities, but I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat.
All I can see is Damien deliberately missing that last pass. I know he did it on purpose because I know him. The rest of the team seems willing to chalk tonight up to stress or exhaustion or relationship drama.
Patrick even claps Damien on the shoulder at one point and says, “Shake it off, man. Everybody has bad nights.”
Damien nods once.
Doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t look at anyone.
Especially not me.
I watch him quietly while he strips off his gear. He moves too fast, like he’s trying to escape before anyone can corner him.
Before I can corner him.
The second he grabs his duffel bag and heads for the hallway, I follow.
“Damien.”
He keeps walking.
“Damien.”
Still nothing.
Frustration spikes hard through my chest. I catch up and grab his arm. He jerks away immediately. That reaction freezes me for half a second before anger crashes over the concern.
“What the fuck was that?”
Damien shrugs. “I’m tired. That’s all.”
“Bullshit.”
He starts walking again.
I follow him down the empty corridor behind the locker rooms. “You missed that last pass on purpose.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did, Dame. It went right by you, like you were holding the door open for it.”
Damien exhales sharply and keeps moving.
My pulse pounds harder. “Damien, talk to me. What’s going on with you?”
“Drop it, Atlas.”
“No.”
He finally turns then, eyes flashing with exhaustion and anger and something deeper. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
He turns to leave again.
I snap. I grab his wrist and shove open the nearest empty supply closet before pulling him inside with me.
Damien stumbles backward in surprise as the door slams shut behind us. “What the fuck are you?—”
“You’re not walking away from me again.”
The small room smells like detergent and sweat and melted ice from the rink equipment stacked against the walls.
Damien looks furious now. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Maybe.” I step closer. “You wanna tell me why you threw the game tonight?”
“I didn’t throw anything.”
“Stop lying to me. I know how you play, even on an off night, and that wasn’t an off night.”
His jaw tightens. I can practically see him shutting down in real time.
“I’m fine.”
“Jesus Christ.” My voice rises despite myself. “Stop fucking saying that and talk to me,” I say more quietly. “Please.”
He looks away. And suddenly, every horrible thought I’ve had the last two days comes rushing back all at once.
“Are you seeing Sebastian again?”
Damien goes still, but doesn’t answer me.
Ugly jealousy slams into me so hard it almost feels physical.
It hurts to imagine Damien with someone who hurt him and still has power over him anyway.
“Atlas—”
“I just need to know if you’re seeing him again, Damien. I think you can tell me that.”
Damien’s head snaps toward me. Pain flashes across his face, and suddenly I don’t know if I want to hit Sebastian or kiss Damien. Maybe both.
“He doesn’t matter,” Damien says tightly.
I drag my hand down my face, trying to remain calm.
I’m so sick of Damien not telling me anything.
“That’s not an answer. We’re not supposed to be seeing anyone else right now because of the contract.
That’s how this whole thing with you and me started!
So I think you can answer this one question. Are. You. Fucking. Him.”
Damien looks exhausted, guilty, cornered…and beautiful in a way that physically hurts to look at right now.
Why does he look like that? Is it because he’s meeting Sebastian after this?
Is he kissing the man who used to hurt him?
Does Sebastian know about the look on Damien’s face before he comes?
The one of relaxation and pure bliss that’s usually only saved for me?
The jealousy rolls through me as I think of Sebastian’s mouth where only mine should be, Sebastian’s hands touching Damien when he should never even be in the same room as him.
Before I can stop myself, I kiss him.
Hard.
Damien makes a startled sound against my mouth before I shove him back against the wall of the closet. All the jealousy and fear and anger I’ve been swallowing for days crashes into the kiss.
I kiss him like I’m trying to erase Sebastian’s name from his skin. Like I’m trying to remind Damien who he belongs with now. His hands shove at my chest once before grabbing fistfuls of my hoodie, and then he’s kissing me back just as hard.
Desperate.
Angry.
Falling apart.
The sound he makes when I grab his waist nearly destroys me.
Because it sounds relieved.
Like he needed this, too.
“I’m not. Sebastian is—” he whispers against my mouth.
I kiss him harder.
“Don’t,” I mutter roughly. “Don’t say his fucking name to me again.”
Damien shudders visibly. Suddenly, he grabs me by the collar and drags me back down into another kiss fierce enough to bruise. The closet feels too small now.
Too hot.
Every inch of Damien is tense beneath my hands while I press him harder against the wall, my jealousy turning uglier every time I think about Sebastian touching him. I hate it. I hate how much power that man still has over him.
Damien’s fingers tangle into my hair roughly while he kisses me back with enough force to steal my breath.
“You’re angry,” he whispers against my mouth.
“You think?” I pull his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.
Damien’s hands fumble with the tie of my track pants as I kiss his neck. I bite harshly into his skin, causing him to cry out.
“You’re fucking mine. Not his.” My tongue drags over the bruise. Damien’s knees almost give out, but my arms keep him pinned to the door.
Then he kisses me again before I can say anything else, frustration bleeding into desperation so fast neither of us can slow down enough to think.
“Take your pants off, now,” I growl against his mouth.
Damien follows my instructions so well, it makes me even angrier that he won’t just answer my fucking questions.
He looks too perfect. The bruises on his ribs are fading.
His abs are carved into his body so delicately I want to fall to my knees and worship him, but I can’t.
The anger roars in my head and turns into greedy lust. I want to punish him.
I want to make him feel good. I want him to never leave me. I want him to tell me everything.
I pull off my shirt and watch as his eyes drink me in. Damien pulls me closer, like he’s trying to crawl inside my skin while I grip his hips hard enough to bruise. He presses his crotch to mine, grinding our dicks together like a needy slut.
“Fuck.” I shove down my pants and turn Damien into the door.
I spit in my hand, stroking myself as Damien arches his back, already so needy for me. Yes, this is how he should be—wanting me, not pushing me away, replacing me.
I spear into him, not being gentle. Damien moans, but my hand covers his mouth as my hips tear into him.
“You feel so good.” My free hand drags down Damien’s spine. “All mine.”
Damien moans into my hand, pushing himself back onto my cock.
“You’re so needy. This is what happens when you stay away from me too long.” I pull him up by his face, his head bowing against my shoulder.
I remove my hand from his mouth so my fingers can pinch his nipple punishingly.
Damien starts touching his dick. “I didn’t want to stay away. I want you so bad, Atlas.”
Relief relaxes my shoulders. “Then why are you seeing him, hm? Am I not giving you enough?”
I pull all the way out of him and fully sheath my long cock in his ass.
“Oh!” Damien exclaims. “Atlas, fuck.”
“I’ll give you anything, honey.” I bend down, hooking Damien’s knee onto my arm, and stand. He’s completely spread out to the side, his nakedness on full display, his dick heavy with need. “My money. My blood. My fucking soul.”
Oh fuck, yes, this is the angle I needed. I’m so deep in him that, with my hand on his stomach, I can feel myself through his muscles.
“You don’t need him.” I catch Damien’s mouth with mine as he turns to look at me with half-lidded eyes. “Only me.”
I keep repeating it over ravenous kisses, my tongue carving out a place for myself in his mouth until I get fed up and pick him up so my cock can sink even deeper.
“Fuck!” I groan into his skin.
“Atlas, Atlas.” Damien holds onto a supply shelf with one hand, his other arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep himself stable.
I watch, mesmerized, as his dick bounces up and down from the force of my thrusts.
The sex feels nothing like the soft intimacy from the hotel.
This is rough.
Needy.
Possessive in a way that scares me a little.
Like we’re both trying to prove something neither of us fully understands.
I put him down on the ground, his hand immediately dropping to rub his aching cock.
“Harder,” Damien whines.
I do as he asks. I don’t think I could ignore any request with him wrapped around me like this.
“Yes, Atlas. Yes!” His cock jumps up before shooting cum down his hand.
The sight of Damien’s eyes rolling into the back of his head undoes me fully. “Oh, fuck.”
My voice cracks as I come hard inside of Damien. What was I mad about again?
The silence afterward feels awful.
Not awkward.
Not embarrassed.
Just heavy.
Damien sits on a storage bin, breathing hard while I finish dragging my shirt back on. The tiny supply closet feels suffocating now that the adrenaline is gone. My heartbeat is finally slowing down enough for guilt to settle in.
Because that…that wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I shouldn’t have touched him while I was angry. Even if Damien wanted it, too. Even if he kissed me back like he was starving.
I rake a hand roughly through my hair while Damien quietly fixes the buttons on his jeans without looking at me.
The bruise forming along his throat where I bit him catches my eye.
My stomach twists. Jesus Christ. The jealousy hit me so hard when I thought about Sebastian touching him again that I stopped thinking clearly.
And the worst part is that none of this fixed anything.
Damien still looks terrified.
Still closed off.
Still unreachable, even after he let me hold him like that.
I lean back against the shelves behind me and exhale slowly. “Why did you throw that game?”
Damien stills for half a second, then resumes pulling on his shirt. “How many times do I have to say I didn’t before you believe me?”
My voice comes out exhausted instead of angry. “I watched you miss passes you could make in your sleep.”
Damien grabs his duffel bag off the floor. “It was one bad game.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t do that.”
He finally looks at me then.
Guarded.
Blank.
The expression hurts worse than yelling would.
“Atlas—”
“What happened after we were texting the other day? Everything was fine, and then you just disappeared.”
His face goes white with fear before he looks away from me. “Nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, why are you shaking?”
Damien’s jaw tightens the way it always does when he’s about to shut down completely. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
I’m so tired.
Tired of feeling him slipping through my fingers every time we get close to something real.
Tired of knowing he’s terrified while he keeps refusing to let me help.
Tired of Sebastian’s shadow hanging over us.
I step closer carefully. “Baby.”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
The softness in his voice hurts more than anger would.
I stare at him. “Why?”
“Because I can’t think when you do.”
Something cracks painfully open in my chest.
Because for one horrible second, I almost think he’s finally going to tell me the truth.
Instead, Damien looks away again. The silence stretches. I watch him retreat back behind his walls, and frustration crashes over me again.
“Baby, we can’t live like this. I need to know what’s going on so I can fucking protect you. Or help you. Whatever you need!”
Damien says nothing.
“Please, Dame. I promise I won’t judge you. I just need to know how I can help.”
I sound pathetic, but I can’t help it.
Damien’s shoulders tense. “I’m trying to protect you.”
The words slip out before he can stop them.
I go still. “What?”
But Damien looks horrified that he said it at all.
“No.” I step closer again. “You don’t get to say something like that and then shut down. Damien.” I grab his face so he’ll look at me. “I love you. Let me help you.”
His expression closes off as he pulls away from my hands. “Atlas, I don’t have the energy to make you feel wanted right now, okay?”
“What? That’s not?—”
“And you loving me is embarrassing. This is just sex, and it’s always been just sex.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
My heart stutters. . “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. You’re hot and a great fuck, but I can’t handle all of your fucking feelings,” Damien snaps. “You’re not my real boyfriend, Atlas. You don’t get to corner me and make me tell you every little thing about myself.”
Is he fucking serious? I shake my head. “So you can call me in the middle of the night, crying, you can look me in my eyes and tell me you’re scared, but I’m not allowed to check on you?”
“That was nothing. I would have clung to anyone in those moments.” His voice is cold.
Anyone.
He would have clung to anyone.
He would have fucked anyone.
And I was stupid enough to think I was special.
I swallow hard, my jaw working so I don’t say something I’ll regret.
Then I force the words out. “I’ll talk to Joanna tomorrow.”
Damien blinks. “What?”
“We’ll end the contract early. I’m done.”
The color drains from his face, but he nods anyway.
My chest feels like it’s caving in. But I keep going because if I stop now, I’ll stay. And if I stay, I’ll forgive him without getting a single answer.
“We only had two weeks left anyway,” I say quietly. “I’ll tell the media we ended things mutually.”
Damien stares at the floor, not saying a word.
Part of me desperately wants him to fight me on this.
To grab me.
To finally tell me what the hell is happening.
Instead he just stands there, frozen.
Silent.
And God, that hurts worse than anything else that’s happened tonight.
I nod once, slowly. “I hope whatever the fuck is going on with you gets figured out.”
Then I leave.
Halfway down the hallway, I slow down. At the locker room doors, I stop entirely. Every second stretches painfully.
He doesn’t follow.
Doesn’t call my name.
Doesn’t stop me.
By the time I finally walk away for real, I feel like something inside of me has been ripped open.