Chapter 22: Atlas
Practice feels offthe second I skate onto the ice.
Not because the drills are different.
Not because Coach is in a worse mood than usual.
Not because the rookies keep tripping over their own feet.
Because of her.
Wren.
She’s standing near the boards, clipboard in hand, hair pulled back in a messy knot that’s already falling out.She didn’t even bother with makeup today — not that she needs it, but she usually does something.Mascara.A touch of color.Something that says she gave a shit about being here.
This morning, she looks like she survived the night instead of sleeping through it.
And I can tell the second her eyes meet mine that something is wrong.
Really wrong.
She snaps her gaze away too fast, tucking her chin to her chest like she’s trying to hide behind the clipboard.Finn skates by with a chirpy comment about “fresh ice” and “getting loose,” but even he glances at her like he’s worried.
Kael sees it too — of course, he does — but he pretends to be watching the rookies.He’s a mirror that never shows what he’s actually looking at.
I’m not pretending.
I’m just staring.
I circle by the bench, pretending to stretch my legs.What I’m really doing is watching the lines of her body — the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers clutch the clipboard too tightly, the slight tremor when she adjusts the tape rolls.
She’s not okay.
And she doesn’t want anyone to notice.
Too bad.
I watch everything.
“Atlas!”Coach barks.“Eyes up, not on your damn trainer.”
I tear my eyes away with effort.The rookies snicker.Finn sends me a look that saysBe cool.
I’m not cool.
