Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The garage door whirs, that familiar chain rattle that means the house is about to rearrange itself around Atlas. Grayce hears it and detonates with excitement. Her whole body vibrates, legs kicking, arms pinwheeling. I set her on the floor and she executes the fastest crawl imaginable, somewhere between swimming and breakdancing, toward the mudroom.
The interior door opens and Atlas steps in, the kind of tired that sits on strong shoulders without dragging them down. Damp hair curls at the ends and a Titans tee clings to his chest. He toes off his sneakers with one foot while reaching for Grayce with both hands, like he’s done it a thousand times in a thousand kitchens.
“Hey, bug,” he croons, scooping her up and tucking her into his arm like a magnet finding its home. She laughs and smashes her face into his cheek.
He pretends to wince. “Ow. Brutal assault.”
“Self-defense,” I say.
Atlas’s gaze finds me, and when it hits—that flicker of his smile, the warm focus—it makes my chest ache like a pulled muscle.
“How was practice?” I ask, as if I haven’t been waiting to ask for an hour.
He crosses into the living room, Grayce riding his hip like a pro. “Good. Actually, hard but that’s good. West ran us through PK systems until our legs begged for mercy. The Cardinals love the high tip—park a guy in the slot, get you puck-watching, redirect. We can’t get mesmerized.”
I blink. “Um… what?”
He grins and scans the battlefield. Blocks, rabbit, a rogue sippy cup. He grabs three blocks and the TV remote like a kid playing war and drops to one knee by the coffee table.
“Okay, Coach Karolak’s masterclass.” He sets the remote upright at the edge of the table. “This is the net.” He plops a yellow block in front of it. “This is Kreshnov, their star center. He hangs here.” He moves a blue block in a slow arc. “Here’s the shot coming from the point. If I’m you”—he taps his chest, grins—“I’m the weak-side D. I’m watching the puck.” He flicks his eyes to Grayce. “But I still have to keep an eye on this asshole so he doesn’t get inside my stick and make my goalie hate me forever.”
Grayce slaps her hand down on Kreshnov, knocks him flat, then pats the remote as if blessing it.
I cover my smile with my hand. “So the moral is, don’t let the yellow block kiss the remote?”
“Exactly.” He looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Also, don’t overcommit wide. They’ll drag you out and cut back to the middle. West is on me to hold my gap and trust my feet.”
“Gap,” I repeat, because it feels good in the mouth. “Trust your feet. Got it.”
He watches me like he can’t decide whether to tease or kiss me. “You’re kind of a natural student.”
“Don’t give me a quiz,” I warn. “I might combust.”
He leans in, conspiratorial. “What’s the weak-side D’s job?”
I roll my eyes and answer anyway. “Don’t get hypnotized by the puck.”
The grin that takes over his face should be illegal. “God, that’s hot.”
“Stop,” I say, a flush creeping up my throat. Grayce chooses that moment to pelt him with a block. He gasps dramatically. “Assault number two.”
“War zone,” I deadpan.
He sets the blocks down and straightens. Grayce’s legs bicycle against his ribs, pure thrilled energy. He lets her climb up his chest and she shrieks again with delight.
“I found a job posting,” I blurt, because if I don’t say it now, I’ll talk myself out of it.
His head snaps toward me, eyes brightening. “Yeah?”
“With Allegheny County Child Welfare.” I exhale. “It’s almost exactly what I did before. I could… I’m thinking about applying.”
“That’s amazing,” he says, without hesitation.
“Or terrifying.” A helpless laugh slips out. “I’m a mom now.”
He sobers a fraction, the joke softening into attention. “But you’re not carrying it alone,” he says. “It’s different now.”
The words hit a nerve. “Different,” I echo carefully.
“Different,” he repeats. “We can figure it out. We’ll hire help if we need it. And once we get to the off-season, I will be Captain Cutie’s personal chauffeur. We can tag team. Whatever it takes so you don’t feel like you’re drowning.”
I stare at him, because he says it so simply you could miss the enormity of it.
We.
Tag team.
Whatever it takes.
“That’ll be months from now,” I manage. “If I even get an interview.”
“You will.” He reaches over and taps my leg. “And I’ll be obnoxiously proud.”
I look away before my face betrays me, and Grayce chooses that second to plant a damp hand on my mouth like a tiny censor. I kiss her palm and she chortles, delighted.
Atlas’s expression shifts. The lightness stays, but there’s a new line between his brows. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says, and my stomach drops.
“What?” I ask, almost like a harsh demand.