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CHAPTER THIRTY

ATLAS

When I told Sutton that I would worry about everything, I hadn’t realized just how literal that would be.

I’d spent the entire day glancing at my phone, hoping for an update, but I hadn’t received anything from her.

And I didn’t dare call to see how she was doing.

I didn’t want to wake her up if she was sleeping.

More than that, I didn’t want the ringing phone to worsen her pain.

I stared at the whiteboard while my assistant coach ran through possible plays for the game against Westview on Friday.

The X’s and O’s blurred together as my mind continually drifted back to the sight of Sutton curled up in my bed, her face pinched in pain.

I fucking hated that there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

“I was thinking we should run the Unicorn play. Westview won’t know what hit ’em,” Trey said, yanking me back to reality.

He stood next to the whiteboard, arms crossed over his chest, brows raised expectantly.

Shit. He’d been talking to me for fuck knew how long while my mind had been a million miles away.

Or, more accurately, four miles away.

“Right.” I cleared my throat.

“Sounds good.”

Trey’s lips twitched.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past fifteen minutes, have you?”

“’Course I have.”

“Yeah? Then how about you draw up the nonexistent Unicorn play you just agreed to.”

Fuck .

“I thought you said…” I trailed off, mentally flipping through the names of every other play in our book, but none even remotely sounded like Unicorn.

“Something else.”

He snorted and shook his head.

“Man, I’ve known you for a long damn time, and your head’s somewhere else today. Everything all right?”

“Fine.”

My phone lit up with a notification, and I snatched it up, only to find another kitten name suggestion from Laurel, not a text from Sutton.

Laurel:

Catalie Portman?

Atlas:

No

Trey snorted, eyeing my phone as I set it on the desk harder than necessary.

“Sure you are. That’s why you’ve checked your phone seventeen times in the past hour. You’re as bad as the kids.”

I shot him a glare.

“You counting now?”

“Don’t get pissed at me for noticing. Bound to happen when my usually laser-focused head coach can’t stay on topic for more than thirty seconds.” He dropped into the chair across from me, kicking his feet up on my desk.

“Spill, Steele.”

“Nothing to spill. And get your damn feet off my desk.”

He grinned, linking his hands behind his head and not moving his feet an inch.

“It’s the new nurse in town, isn’t it? The one who’s staying at your place?”

“She has a name.”

“I know…Alicia told me. Migraines can be a real bitch.”

I snapped my gaze to his, narrowing my eyes.

“How the hell do you know Sutton has one?”

“First of all, my girlfriend works with yours. Second, it’s Starlight Cove, man. Heard about it when I grabbed coffee at the café this morning.”

“Fucking small towns,” I grumbled.

“Aren’t they great?” He dropped his feet from my desk and stood.

“Better get your shit figured out quick, Coach. I’ve got the HBCU Pipeline Program after school, so you’re leading practice.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“Sure you can. Let me know how the Unicorn play goes.” His booming laughter lingered even after he strolled out of my office.

Laurel:

Help

Atlas:

What’s wrong?

Where are you?

Laurel:

Relax I’m hiding in the bathroom in the art hallway

Atlas:

Is someone bothering you?

Laurel:

Yeah Aunt Flo

I need a tampon and some new jeans

Cami’s sick today and I can’t get ahold of my mom

Atlas:

Fuck.

That’s my fault. I left her phone in the kitchen so she could sleep.

Tell me what you need, and I’ll handle it.

Laurel:

You’re not going to freak out about touching period products?

Atlas:

I’m a grown ass man, Laurel.

I can handle a tampon.

Just send me a list, and I’ll take care of it.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d left work in the middle of the day.

Hell, I didn’t think I ever had.

But I hadn’t hesitated when I’d received Laurel’s text.

Partially because I wanted to get what she’d asked for as quickly as possible.

And partially because it gave me an excuse to check on Sutton.

For all the good it had done.

My room had still been dark when I’d cracked open the door, only the soft cadence of her deep breaths interrupting the silence.

I hadn’t wanted to risk waking her, so I left.

But that hadn’t stopped me from worrying.

It was midafternoon, which meant Sutton had been sleeping for more than seven hours.

That was a hell of a lot longer than a nap.

Was that common with migraine sufferers?

I had no fucking idea, and I hated that I didn’t know.

Now, I stood outside the bathroom in the art hallway after handing off the supplies to Laurel, waiting to make sure she had everything she needed.

After a few minutes, she strolled out, her backpack filled to bursting thanks to the clothes she’d changed out of.

“You good, kid?” I asked.

“Avoided a scene from Carrie , so yeah.”

I held out my hand.

“Give me that bag. I’ll stash it in my office until after school.”

She tugged it out of her backpack and handed it over with a raised brow.

“You know I bled all over those jeans, right?”

“You know I coach football, right?” I tucked the bag beneath my arm.

“Not the first time I’ve dealt with blood.”

“All right. Well, thanks for being my period protector.” She turned to leave, but I cleared my throat before she could walk away.

“Your mom was still sleeping when I picked up your stuff. Is that normal?”

Laurel shrugged.

“Yeah. Happens sometimes, depending on how bad the migraine is. You don’t need to worry about it.”

I grunted in acknowledgment, but of course I was going to fucking worry about it.

Especially when there wasn’t anything I could do for Sutton.

Almost as if Laurel could sense I needed something to distract me, she said, “By the way, I pretended your phone number was mine this morning. So, if you get a text from some guy named Brad, that’s why.”

It took me a minute to catch up to the abrupt change in topic, but once I did, I crossed my arms over my chest, brow furrowed as I studied her.

“Why didn’t you just give him yours?”

“Because I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to give him any number at all, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s been bugging me for weeks.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with the men in this world?

Were their egos so fragile that they couldn’t just take the L when a woman said no?

It reminded me too damn much of the men Sutton had been dealing with.

The fact that Laurel was sixteen goddamn years old only pissed me off more.

“What’s his last name? Is it Prescott?”

“Don’t know,” she said.

“But I’m pretty sure he’s one of your players.”

Considering there were only two Brads in the high school and the other one had a longtime boyfriend, I was pretty sure he was too.

Also made sense, considering his mom was the one who hadn’t picked up on my fuck-off vibes for five years.

Brad obviously wasn’t being taught consent at home.

Which meant it was going to be my absolute pleasure to give those little fucks a teaching moment in the locker room.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks, Daddy Grump.” She patted me on the shoulder before heading past me down the hall.

“Knew I could count on you.”

Laurel’s default method of communication was sarcasm, but I couldn’t find an ounce of it in her tone.

The realization that she meant what she’d said hit me square in the chest. She genuinely trusted me to handle it, without doubt.

I’d spent my whole life being everyone’s problem-solver.

The guy they called when shit went sideways.

But her confidence that I’d take care of it without question felt different.

Heavier.

Not like a burden, but like an honor.