Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Atlas exhales, staring out the window as he processes this. “Do you think that’s what’s eating at him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my shoulders slumping. “But something is. It’s like he’s carrying this weight around, and it’s getting heavier.”
“Damn,” Atlas says. “Do you think we should do something? Talk to him? Go to Coach?”
The question lingers between us, loaded with uncertainty. That seems to be the question everyone is asking. “King’s already tried talking to him, and it didn’t get anywhere. Penn just shut him down. And I get it—some things are hard to talk about, especially when you’re not ready. But…”
“But what?” Atlas prompts.
I sigh, frustration seeping into my voice. “But I also don’t want to sit back and do nothing if he’s struggling. What if this gets worse? What if he does something reckless and gets himself hurt, or worse, costs the team? It’s not just about hockey either. I’m worried about him as a person.”
Atlas nods slowly, his expression troubled. “Yeah, me too. He’s a hell of a player, but we don’t really know him, do we? Not in the way we know each other.”
“No,” I admit. “It’s clear he’s spiraling.”
Atlas picks up his burger but sets it back down without taking a bite. “Maybe we go to Coach? Or Callum?”
I hesitate, my mind racing through the possibilities. “If we go to Coach or Callum, it might feel like we’re going over his head. That could backfire.”
Atlas taps his fingers on the table, his frustration evident. “So, what? We just wait for him to self-destruct?”
“I don’t know!” I snap, more at the situation than at him. “I don’t have a damn clue, Atlas. And it’s eating me up, because I know something’s wrong, but I don’t know how to fix it.”
Atlas falls silent, the weight of my words sinking in.
After a long pause, Atlas speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “Whatever happens, we’ve got to have his back. No matter what.”
I nod, meeting his gaze. “Always.”
Because we’re a family as much as we are a sports team.
The conversation shifts to the game as we both try to shake off the heaviness of the moment. My mind keeps drifting to Farren—and to Atlas’s words.
Maybe it’s time to stop holding back and lay it all on the line.
I’m unsure what to do about Penn, but I do have a course of action with Farren. It might just be time to act on that.
CHAPTER 21
Farren
The hum of conversation fills the bar, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the rhythmic clink of glasses. This isn’t one of the loud, rowdy spots crawling with college students or tourists. It’s low-key, classy and tucked into a cozy neighborhood near Willa’s house.
I’m the last to arrive, slipping through the door and scanning the room. Mazzy spots me first, waving me over with an enthusiasm that earns her a few curious glances from nearby tables.
“Over here!” Mazzy calls out, scooting over to make room for me in the booth. Her fiery hair catches the dim overhead light, and her bright red lipstick gives her an air of effortless glamour. She’s in a sleek black top and fitted jeans that scream casual but chic.
Willa grins at me over the rim of her wineglass. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming,” she teases, her voice warm. She’s in a soft lavender sweater that complements her fair skin and rich brown hair shot through with golden highlights. The delicate silver necklace she’s wearing glints as light hits it, her gaze sharp and curious.
“Sorry,” I say, sliding into the booth and shrugging out of my jacket. “Lost track of time.”
Mazzy her eyes sparkle with mischief as she props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand. “Doing what? Or should I say, who?”
I groan, sinking into the plush booth. “We’re starting there already?”
“Yes,” Mazzy says, her grin widening like a cat about to pounce. “Now spill. What’s going on with you and North?”
“It’s good,” I say nonchalantly, picking up the menu in front of me. The laminated edges are slightly sticky, and I glance over the selection of cocktails and appetizers to avoid their piercing gazes. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Mazzy exchanges a look with Willa, who arches an eyebrow. “You’re being cagey. That means there’s more to the story.”
“It means I don’t want to talk about it,” I counter, hiding behind the menu as if it could actually shield me. These ladies have become fast friends since I moved here, and I really have nothing to hide. I guess I just like making them work for it.
“Uh-huh,” Mazzy says, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the table. “Farren, you’ve spent how many nights at his place now?”
“Four,” I say with my chin lifted. “But I was taking care of him because he was sick.”
“Uh-huh,” Willa drawls, her eyes glimmering with humor. “What about tonight? You staying there or with Rafferty?”