An unexpected dose of empathy hits me, which is completely antithetical to the continuous state of frustration I’m always in around her.It wins out over the jealousy that she’s been here, Gray’s constant, while I’ve been the outsider.
“How are things going?”I ask finally, my voice rough.
She stiffens, her hands tightening on the fabric she’s folding.“Fine.”The word is sharp, defensive.
I almost push but stop myself.She doesn’t want to talk.Doesn’t want to let me in.And maybe that’s why she grates on me so much.She’s just like me.Guarded.Closed off.Afraid that if she cracks open even a little, the whole damn thing will break.
“Fine doesn’t tell me anything,” I say after a beat, still leaning against the doorframe.“How ishereally?”
Her hands still and she presses her lips together, then says flatly, “You saw him.You don’t need me to paint you a picture.”
My jaw clenches.“I’m asking because I want to know what the doctors are saying.”
Her gaze slices to mine, ice-blue and furious.“What the doctors are saying is that I should make him comfortable.That’s it.That’s all we’re down to now.Happy?”
The air between us snaps tight, and before I can stop myself, I push further.“I just need to know you’re doing everything you can for him.”
Her face goes white, then flushes scarlet.She drops the shirt on the pile with a sharp flick of her wrists.“Don’t you dare question me.Don’t you dare stand here and imply I’m not giving him everything.I am here every single day, Atlas.Every hour.Every breath he takes, I’m in the room making sure he has what he needs.Where the hell are you?”
Guilt makes my knees wobble.“I’m playing hockey,” I snap.“It’s called a career.One that doesn’t let me jet off to Chicago whenever I feel like it.”
Her eyes blaze.“And you think I don’t have a career too?You’re not all that special, Atlas.Meanwhile, I’m doing the best I can to make sure Gray has dignity in his last few weeks.”
I stare at her, seething, because she’s right.She knows him in ways I can’t anymore—day to day, hour to hour.But I’ve known him my whole life, and that should mean something.
“I’ve known him since we were kids,” I bite out.“Don’t act like you’ve cornered the market on loving him.”
Her chin lifts, her voice trembling with fury.“Knowing someone and being here for them are not the same thing.You may have history, Atlas, but I’m the one who’s been holding his hand while he fades.You couldn’t possibly understand.”
The words slice deep, sharper because they’re true, and guilt sweeps through me hotter than ever.
I drag a hand down my face.“Gray fell asleep, so I’m going for a walk.I’ll be back when he wakes up.”
I don’t wait for her answer.I grab my jacket off the chair and step into the hallway.My chest feels like it’s going to split open, grief and anger tangled so tight I can’t tell them apart.
Behind me, the door shuts with a soft click, but I can still feel her fury like static in the air.
CHAPTER 1
Atlas
The New YorkPhantoms are swarming our zone, desperate to break the tie late in the second.Their winger barrels down the boards, puck on his stick like he’s about to be the hero of the night.
Not on my watch.
I lower my shoulder and slam into him, sending him sprawling against the glass.The puck pops free, and I dig it out with my stick blade, adrenaline humming as the crowd explodes in disbelief.The angry boos from the Phantom fans calling for a penalty bounce off me.
“Middle!”my right-winger, North Paquette, shouts from the side, already taking off.
I grin, teeth bared behind my mouthguard, and fire the puck up the boards.It glides right to him, clean as a wrapped gift.He catches it, cuts hard toward the slot, then whips it across to our center, Foster McInnis.He snaps it back to me as I trail the play, wide open and not a soul around.
One-timer.Low and hard.
The puck hammers into the net before the goalie can blink.
The goal horn blares and the red light burns bright.The hometown arena falls silent and I pump my fist in victory at the shocked quiet.My line mates converge on me in a rush, all blades and helmets and gloves slapping against me.
North is first, smashing his helmet into mine so hard I see stars.“That’s the Karolak cannon, baby!”he hollers, grinning like a madman.“Goalie’s gonna be seeing pucks in his nightmares tonight.”
