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Mom tensed. “I think that’s enough, Joseph. I’m sure if Wystan could be, he would.”
I nodded. “They wanted room to work, and I wasn’t family. They asked me to leave to give them space.” I shrugged.
“I’ll find out what’s happening.” Joseph’s hardness returned and his eyebrows dipped in concentration as he spun on his heel and marched to the desk. I went to follow, but Mom grabbed my elbow and pulled me back.
She shook her head. “Let him do what he has to, honey. He’s been frazzled since we got your phone call. He’s very concerned about Atlas. I....” She pursed her lips and glanced around at the team. “Joseph told me Atlas’s mother had an anaphylactic reaction to a yellow jacket when Atlas was a baby, and it nearly killed her. She was in the hospital for weeks. As you can imagine, he’s very stressed.”
And now he was dating a woman who was also allergic to bees. Yet I couldn’t talk because I was doing something with Atlas, and he was the same. I crossed my arms over my abs and stared at the door, willing a doctor to walk through and tell me Atlas was okay. Even after the EpiPen injection, his breathing had been labored and he’d been out of it, enough for me to worry. But if I hadn’t been so concerned, I would’ve punched the daylights out of the team’s former captain. He hadn’t evencaredthat Atlas was having a reaction. He’d acted as though it was an inconvenience and that had pissed me off beyond words.
Mom gave me a kiss on the cheek and walked over to one of the empty seats, which happened to be beside Boss. He grinned at her, and she patted him on the shoulder before sitting down. When she gestured at me to come over and do the same, I shook my head. I couldn’t. There was too much anxiety buzzing through me and my body wanted to move, so I did. I went back to pacing, and Mom’s loud sigh wasn’t enough to make me stop.
The sound of raised voices behind the door near the desk made me pause, and it opened. Atlas stood there, dressed in his regular clothing, with determination set on his pale face. Behind him was a doctor, who looked frustrated to say the least. He gave Atlas an irritated glance. Joseph rushed over to him from the front desk.
“Mr. Frosteson, you had a terrible allergic reaction. We need to make sure—”
“I’m fine,” Atlas snapped at the doctor, sending him a glare. Atlas wobbled, and I rushed forward to grab his arm, and to my surprise, he only nodded at me. “I want to go home.”
“Atlas.” Joseph’s tone went hard, but this sounded new, a trace of concern in his voice. “Listen to the doctor.”
“No.” Atlas switched to glare at his father, and I stared in surprise. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m fine. I’ll sign whatever I have to, but I want to go home. I’ve got practice again tomorrow and a game this Saturday.”
The doctor immediately shook his head. “It would be wise for you not to play hockey this week. Let your body recover. You’re fighting a systemic reaction, and it’s rare, but anaphylaxis can reoccur. You could end up right back here.”
“Are you crazy, Doc?” Atlas yanked his arm away from me so he could spin toward the doctor. “I am not missing a game because of one small sting.”
“Small sting?” Joseph’s jaw hardened and he stepped closer to Atlas. “Kid, you had an allergic reaction and could’ve died if Wystan wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t, though, did I? I’m not going to sit out a game.” Atlas crossed his arms and raised his chin in defiance. “Youwere the one who said the game wasn’t for the weak, and guess what, Dad? I’m not weak. I’m playing. End of story.”
Coach Hill cleared his throat from the corner of the room, and we all turned to him. He stood, and Atlas winced because clearly he hadn’t seen him there. “If the doctor says you should sit this one out, Frosteson, then we will follow orders. He is the professional, and the last thing we need is for you to collapse on the ice.”
“Coach, the team needs me.” Atlas scanned the room, and I did, too, taking in the grim faces of our friends.
“One game won’t matter,” Coach said, resolute in his firm response. I knew that tone well—we all did. Once he’d made up his mind, nothing changed it. “You’re out for the next game.”
Atlas shook his head, mouth twisting in anger. He grunted and spun around, storming out of the waiting room. I chased him without a second thought, following him past the security checkpoint. Even though I’d reached him almost immediately, I let him stomp away because the farther we got from everyone, the better it would be for him. Only when he reached the exit did I grab his shoulder, effectively stopping him from leaving.
He turned toward me, and I froze at the sight of sadness in his gaze. “I can’t miss a game. I fucking can’t. This team means everything to me.”
“It’s one game,” I whispered, stepping in closer to him. “And it’s your health.”
“I don’t care.” He threw his hands up and growled. “All I fucking have in my life is hockey. I won’t miss it.”
I frowned at him, processing his words. I’d met guys obsessed like Atlas, but none had the same urgency in his voice, as if the mere thought of missingonegame would change his entire future. His face crumpled and he bared his teeth as though trying not to cry, and I didn’t know what to say to him. I loved hockey but not as much as Atlas.
I touched his shoulder, and he tensed. “Talk to me. Why are you scared about missing out ononegame when you’re injured? It isn’t the end of your career.”
Atlas stared at me, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he would, but then he cursed under his breath. “Do you have the car? Let’s get out of here.”
“I think you need to sign out—”
“Birdy, I want to get out of here.Now.” He backed away from me and spun around again, stalking out the ER doors. I glanced over my shoulder, but no one else was coming, so I followed him out of the hospital. We walked to the parking garage in silence, and I kept my gaze on him, unable to look away because not only was he fucking sexy—I was worried as hell about him. He dragged a piece of gum out of his pocket and chewed on it like it was the source of all his frustration.
We got to the gray Bentley Continental, which Joseph had given me permission to drive from his collection, and I unlocked the doors. Atlas hopped in the passenger side immediately and settled in. Once I got into the driver’s seat, he sighed.
“Let’s go to the lake.” It was more of a suggestion than an order, but he sounded tired and not his usual self, and I didn’t enjoy this defeated version of him.
I started the Bentley and backed it out of the spot before I took my time to exit the garage. After I merged into traffic, I focused between him and the road ahead. My stomach churned in concern, and I gripped the steering wheel hard.
