Page 50 of On the Edge

“Hey,” he replies, clearing his throat and giving me an obvious once-over. “Nice suit.”

I smile. “Thank you. I am happy you are here, thank you for coming.”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs this off, just like he tries to shrug off everything he does that might be considered a kindness. I decide that tonight I am too tired to let him get away with it.

“It is a big deal to me. I do not have family here, nor many friends that are not already on the team. Nobody comes to watch me play, Atlas. So, thank you. I wish I could explain better, but you are not so skilled at speaking German.”

He smiles at me—quick and barely there, but I catch it all the same. When he runs a hand through his black hair, scattering the lights reflecting on it, I catch that too. I wonder if anyone has ever told him he is beautiful before.

“I saw that goal you scored,” he tells me. “Oh, and how’s your knee?”

“My knee?” I look down at my knees, which, to my knowledge, Atlas has never seen before. I always have my pants on when he is around. “Fine, thank you. How are your knees?”

He huffs an impatient breath and fights against the smile I know wants to come out. I don’t even mind if he’s smiling at my expense. I just like to see it on his face.

“My knees didn’t have surgery over the summer,” he says snippily.

“Oh, I see.” I glance over at Luke, guessing that he is the culprit for Atlas learning this little tidbit. “It is fine. I feel a little sore, but that is to be expected after a game. I will ice it when I get back home.”

“Let’s go, then.” Atlas waves a hand, and without waiting for me, turns to walk toward the exit. I follow, tugged along in his wake like he commands a gravitational pull.

“See you, Vas!” Luke calls, voice echoing in the concrete hallway.

Atlas is scowling as he holds the door for me and we start walking toward the dorms. I could drive, but I usually enjoy the short walk to the rink to clear my head and warm up my muscles. I’m even more glad I didn’t drive now that Atlas ishere with me. The walk back will take three times as long as driving would have.

“What’s the deal with that Luke guy?” he asks.

“Deal?”

“He seemed to know a lot of information about us fooling around. He also seemed to think we were dating.”

“I did not tell anyone that I like to kiss you, if that is what you are meaning,” I say patiently. “But Luke is…how can I say it? Emotionally intelligent? He is good at understanding people. He is also in love and I think perhaps this changes the way he sees other couples.”

Atlas snorts and shakes his head. “In love. In college? Come on—he has to know that relationship won’t last.”

I sigh, adjusting my bag to sit higher on my shoulder. “Atlas, you must be very tired from being so distrustful.”

Grabbing my arm, he pulls me to a stop. I face him, standing so close that I can see the light from the lamps that line the sidewalk reflecting in his dark eyes. He leaves his hand on my arm and I curse the presence of my suit jacket. I wish I could feel his skin against my own.

“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist,” he corrects.

“In this, you are wrong. Max and Luke are strong, and happy. They will get married. They will have babies one day, and perhaps I will get to be a godparent if I am lucky. Many things may change, but they will have each other, always. I know this.Thatis real.”

Atlas doesn’t answer. Mouth pinched, he shakes his head and drops his hand from my arm. He looks disappointed, like I’ve let him down in some fundamental way. When he takes a step away from me, I know I’ve lost him for the night.

“I’d better head home,” he says.

“Okay. Thank you for coming.” He’s already walking away,shoulders rigid beneath his black jacket. Before he gets too far away, he spins around to face me and walks backward.

“Don’t forget to ice your knee,” he calls.

I do not hearfrom Atlas the first three days of break. Then, on the fourth day, not only do I hear from him, but I get an invitation to his house. I’ve never been to his house before—we always meet up in my dorm—and it feels momentous that he is inviting me over. I take special care with my appearance, making sure my hair is lying properly and getting rid of the two-day beard I had been cultivating. I even fight the urge to wear something nice, and instead put on a pair of sweatpants and a hockey shirt.

Atlas, I know, will be very proud of me for bypassing the polo shirts.

Before heading to Atlas’, I stop at a local grocery store and wander the aisles a bit. I am not sure what, if anything, I should be bringing, but it feels wrong to show up empty-handed. Suddenly inspired, I gather the ingredients for old-fashioned stollen. Atlas lives in a house, which means he has access to a full kitchen and I can make him something homemade instead of bringing store bought.

When I pull up to his house, I take note of the empty driveway. He hadn’t told me whether any of his roommates were staying here for the holidays. Eyeing my bags of groceries, I do a mental tally of how many people I could potentially feed with the recipe I have in mind. Deciding that if it comes down to it, I can just go without eating, I get out of the car, gather my bags, and walk up to the front door.

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