Page 91 of On the Edge

“Yes,” I agree. “But I do have news—good news, I think—on that front. I’ll be covering All-Star weekend this year, which means that you, Carter, and I will all be in attendance. I’m assuming Zeke will be joining him, and Luke with you?”

“He wasn’t sure whether he was going to make the trip, but now he will! Holy shit, this is going to be incredible. Have you told Carter?”

“I have not. I was thinking it might be a fun surprise.”

Another forceful snort. Max’s face shines with delight. “Fun for us. Carter hates surprises.”

“Indeed.”

“So, I take that to mean Atlas will be coming as well?”

“Indeed,” I repeat. Max’s smile turns playful.

“Any other wedding announcements on the horizon?” he asks.

Max, who has always been the better communicator between my two oldest friends, is well aware of how I feel about marriage. Specifically, how I feel about marriage to Atlas. He knows that I purchased a ring over two years ago, and that I have yet to make use of it.

“I am playing the long game,” I respond, making him laugh again. Checking the watch I received as a birthday gift from my brother, I grimace up at my friend. “If you had not gone into overtimeanda shootout, we would have had more time. I thought you were an All-Star, Max—could you not have scored sooner?”

Grinning, he puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into another hug.

“I’ll see you in February,” he confirms. “Drive home safe tonight.”

Max re-enters the locker room after a final, cheerful wave, and I make my own exit from the arena. Atlas will long be home by now, probably stretched out on the couch, watching something other than a hockey game. It’s bitterly cold outside, with fat snowflakes falling lazily from the dark sky. Sitting in my car and giving it a few moments to heat up, I send a quick text to Atlas to let him know I’ll be there soon.

Atlas

Drive safe. Want something to eat?

Henri

I can make something when I get home.

Atlas

I’ll do it. Did your team win at the hockey?

Henri

No, Max won at the hockey tonight.

Leaving now. See you soon. I love you.

Locking my phone and slipping it back into the pocket of my suit jacket, I put the car in drive and carefully leave the parking lot. My phone doesn’t buzz with a return text, and I hadn’t expected it to. I try to tell Atlas as much as possible how much he means to me. That I love him, and I treasure every year we’ve spent together. He doesn’t tell me he loves me back, but I don’t need him to.

I hear the words in the way he supports my career, even though it means late nights and extensive periods apart. I feel the words in the quiet, accepting way he treats me. He never pushes, or asks for more than I can give. He is, in all ways, the perfect partner. I do not need to hearI love youto know it is true.

When I get home, the front light is on and the TV playing low. As I suspected, he’s on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket and a mug cradled in his hands. One of his own, handmade mugs, unless I am mistaken.

“Hello, Bärchen,” I greet him fondly, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss the top of his dark head. I shrug off my American accent the same way I shrug off my suit jacket. I’ve worked hard the last few years, making sure my broadcasts are all easily understood by dampening my accent. Atlas prefers for me to sound German, though, so I happily don’t have to pretend at home.

“Hey. Soup in the kitchen for you. It’s in the microwave—should still be warm.”

Grabbing my soup, I settle next to Atlas, who lifts the blanket obligingly. Tucking it around my legs, he leans heavily against me. Feeling sentimental after my conversation with Max, I wrap my arm around him and rest my cheekagainst his head. The TV is muted, casting light over the dark room. Atlas makes no move to turn the volume back up, merely snuggles into me, breathing softly as I sip from my mug of soup.

“I ran out of ChapStick today,” he says suddenly, as though he’s continuing a conversation we’d already been having.

“Okay. I can pick some up tomorrow?”

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