Prologue
Atlas
I stand outside Gray’s condo, knuckles hovering an inch from the door, but I don’t knock.
Not yet.
My heart is heavy, my hand clenched in a tight fist that could as easily punch the door as politely rap on it to announce my arrival. If I just stay here in the hallway long enough, maybe I won’t have to face what’s waiting inside.
I’ve been here many times before. Every time I played in Chicago, I stayed with Gray rather than at the team hotel. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to spend time with my closest friend.
This building’s nice, high-rise glass and steel, with a view of the lake if you’ve got the right corner, which he does not. Gray worked his ass off for it, although an accountant’s salary doesn’t get you much in the way of space these days. I remember relaxing on the balcony, reminiscing about the old days back in Buffalo. Distance may have separated us after we became adults, but we always stayed tight. Daily texts, weekly calls and in the summer, we always went somewhere together. Boys’ trips that involved adventure and way too much beer.
But that was all before… this.
Stage four lung cancer.
It doesn’t seem real, not when I say it in my head. Gray never smoked a day in his life, and still he’s the one whose body betrayed him. It’s not fucking fair and that’s really the reason I want to punch the door.
This is the guy who was always steady, always the responsible one, and now he’s fading from this earth.
I don’t have long to spend with him. The Titans play tonight against the Chicago Bobcats, and I’ve got to head to the arena in a few hours. I took a commercial flight here from Pittsburgh and I’ll reconnect with the team after tonight’s game for the rest of this road trip.
But I had to come. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity, not when Gray has been given a handful of weeks, maybe a month if he’s lucky. And just on the other side of this door, I’ll visit with him beside his hospice bed and try to put on a brave face.
I take a deep breath, flex my hand, then let it drop to my side. My stomach twists. I’m not ready to see how bad it’s gotten.
I picture him as a kid—us in Buffalo, sticks clattering on the pavement, pretending we were hockey stars while the streetlights buzzed overhead. Gray’s steady calm to my hot head. He was the one person I could count on when my parents flaked, when my dad missed another game or my mom shrugged me off with a “You’re tough, Atlas. You can handle it.”
Gray never said that. He just showed up. Always.
Which is why I can’t keep standing here like a coward.
I finally knock.
The door opens and I’m not surprised to come face-to-face with Maddie. Of course she’d be here. She’s the one caring for Gray until the end.
I already feel my jaw tighten, which happens whenever I’m in her presence.
Maddie St. James is petite, maybe five three tops, with a sharp blond bob that cuts at her jawline. Underneath, streaks of black peek through, deliberate and edgy. Her eyes are the kind of blue that catch you off guard—brilliant and intense. She bears a small silver stud in her nose. She’s striking, yeah. But she’s also prickly as hell, standing there with her arms crossed, expression flat like she’s already tired of me.
And the worst part? I don’t even know why she irritates me so much, but she does. The way she looks at me grates, like I’ve already failed some unspoken test.
She doesn’t greet me. Just steps back, silent, making space for me to come in.
“Where’s Grayce?” I ask, brushing past her, the silence too loud.
“Napping,” she says, clipped.
“And Gray?”
She tips her chin toward the bedroom down the hall. “See for yourself. He’s been waiting for you.”
I hesitate for a beat, then move down the hall. Maddie trails behind me, her presence a weight I don’t want but can’t shake.
The bedroom hits me like a punch.
It’s not Gray’s room anymore, it’s a hospital. The curtains are half-drawn and the smell of antiseptic hangs in the air. And in the middle of it all is Gray.
He’s in bed, wasted away. His face is gaunt, skin pale, cheekbones sharp where there used to be strength. His eyes are sunken but alert, his frame swallowed by the blankets. He looks fragile. And Gray was never fragile.
Maddie bustles around the bed, uttering a tut-tut sound that I distinctly remember my preschool teacher making when I spilled chocolate milk. “Gray, you promised you’d drink more,” she chides, taking a glass with water from beside the bed and handing it to him. Her voice is brisk—typical Maddie—but not unkind.
Gray groans and waves off the water. “Enough, Maddie. I’m not thirsty.”
“You need to stay hydrated,” she lectures, but I hear the panic in her voice. The body needs water to survive, and this is all part of dying.
“Why?” he counters, his eyes holding a tiny sparkle of mischief. “So I can fill my bladder just to piss it out of the tube into a bag?”
“But—”
“No, Maddie,” he says quietly, but with such conviction I know she won’t argue with him. “Give it a rest.”
She sets the glass down with a sigh, but I can feel her gearing up to push again. The air in the room crackles, buzzing with her stubbornness, and before I can stop myself, I cut in. “He’s not going to fall apart just because you’re not calling all the shots, you know. Gray’s tougher than you give him credit for.”
Her head snaps toward me, blue eyes flashing like ice. “Or maybe he just doesn’t need you swooping in once a month to tell him how tough he is.”
The hit lands because she’s not entirely wrong, but I’ll be damned before I admit it.
“Atlas… Maddie,” Gray says with that tone that says he’s tired of us bickering, because God know he’s heard us go at it plenty. “Just stop.”
Maddie glances in my direction and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. She turns on her heel and stalks out, muttering a string of curses under her breath, presumably all aimed at me.
The silence she leaves behind feels louder than the hum of the machines.
I drop into the chair by the bed, grumbling, “She drives me insane. How you are friends with that woman is beyond me.”
Gray’s lips twitch and his papery chuckle tells me the cancer hasn’t sucked out his humor. “You two are more alike than you think.”
“Don’t insult me,” I growl.
His chuckle rattles in his chest and leads to a coughing fit. It sounds bad, deep in his lungs, and I scramble up from the chair to grab the water. I stick it in his face, the straw nearly going up his nose before I manage to shove it in his mouth. “Here, drink this.”
“For fuck’s sake, Atlas,” he snarls, shoving the glass away with a strength that tells me he’s not exactly on death’s door yet. “I’m not thirsty.”
“I know that, you asshole,” I grumble back. “I thought it might help your cough.”
“It possibly could have, had you not tried to spear my brain through my nose with that straw,” he snaps.
We stare at each other, glares firmly in place.
He’s the first to break though, the corner of his mouth quirking up and then we both laugh.
I set the glass down, take my seat again and point toward the door. “I make a much better nurse than that harridan. Honestly, Gray. Why is she even your friend?”
Gray studies me for a moment, licking at his dry lips. “I’ll repeat… you two are more alike than different.”
I scoff, lean back in the chair and lace my fingers over my stomach. “You’re high on pain meds.”
“The medication is quite good, but I’m serious. You’re cut from nearly the same cloth. That’s why you’re both my best friends.”
I have to force myself not to grimace at that proclamation. I’m the best friend. The original. The one and only. I’ve known him since we were five years old and grew up a block apart from each other. She’s only been his friend since their freshman year in college and has no right to think of Gray in that way.
I try to rein in those toxic thoughts because I know they smack of pure jealousy over their relationship, even so, I can’t help but ask, “How the hell do you think we’re the same?”
Gray struggles to push up a bit on the pillows and I resist the urge to help him. My best friend is a proud man, and while I’m sure he lets Maddie get away with that, he won’t appreciate it from me. “You’re both stubborn as hell, neither of you will take help, and you both think you know best. You and Maddie—same flavor, different packaging.”
I scowl. There’s no fucking way we have anything in common.
“She’s been here every day,” he adds softly. “Taking care of me. Taking care of Grayce. Be nicer to her, Atlas. She deserves it.”
I look away, shame biting, and find myself giving him what he needs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be nicer.”
He gestures weakly. “Sit closer. I don’t want to shout.”
I move closer and he pats the side of the bed. I gingerly sit on the edge and note that the change in him is worse. His hands tremble where they rest on the blanket. His breathing is shallow.
“Remember when we egged Old Man Johnson’s porch?” Gray asks, amusement tugging weakly at the corners of his mouth.
The memory makes me huff out a laugh, though it catches in my chest. “I remember you bolting like the devil himself was after you and leaving me standing there with a carton of eggs in my hand.”
“You were too slow,” he rasps, his eyes glinting.
“I was slow because you shoved me, asshole. I face-planted right into his poison ivy-infested bushes while you took off down the street.”
He gives a hoarse chuckle that turns into a cough, but there’s still humor in his gaze. “Worth it, though. The look on Johnson’s face…”
I can see it even now—the porch light flicking on, the old man roaring as yolk dripped down his screen door, me scrambling out of the hedges with twigs in my hair and Gray doubled over laughing halfway down the block.
“Yeah, worth it for you,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You didn’t get a weeping rash all over your arms and hands.”
His lips twitch again, softer this time, and for a moment it’s like we’re twelve again, just two dumb Buffalo boys raising hell on Halloween night, not sitting here in a room that smells like rubbing alcohol, waiting for the clock to run out.
But the moment doesn’t last.
“What are the doctors saying?” I ask, my voice low.
Gray exhales slowly. “Weeks.” He pauses, meets my eyes. “But between you and me? I don’t think I’ve got long.”
My throat burns. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.” His hand shakes as he reaches for mine. I don’t hesitate to grasp it, hating how bony it feels. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Look after her.”
My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who?”
Gray shakes his head, a frown in place as if he’s trying to explain it but isn’t doing a great job at it. “She’ll be alone in this world and she needs someone.”
He must be talking about his daughter, Grayce. Barely a year old. Her mother died in childbirth and now her father is almost gone.
I start to ask what he means, but his eyes are already fluttering shut. “Hey,” he says weakly. “I’m really tired and am going to take a little nap. Can you stay awhile?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, but I have no idea how long a nap is to him. Hopefully he’ll wake up before I have to leave. I have no clue if I’ll be able to get back to see him again and I feel an immense sense of doom hanging over me.
Exhaustion pulls him right under and within seconds, he’s asleep, leaving me with the words ringing in my head. Look after her.
Maddie? Grayce? Both? I don’t know.
I sit there a while, staring at him, the weight of the inevitable pressing down on me. I gently pull my hand free of his and make my way back to the living room.
Maddie’s there, folding laundry. She doesn’t look up as I enter, just keeps at it, methodical and precise. The dark circles under her eyes are stark against her pale skin. Her mouth is drawn down, her shoulders tight. Grief hangs on her like a second skin.
Gray’s words echo in my head. Be nicer to her.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her. Yeah, she looks as exhausted as Gray and I can’t imagine what it feels like to not only be Gray’s caretaker, but to watch him wither away, day in and day out.
An unexpected dose of empathy hits me, which is completely antithetical to the continuous state of frustration I’m always in around her. It wins out over the jealousy that she’s been here, Gray’s constant, while I’ve been the outsider.
“How are things going?” I ask finally, my voice rough.
She stiffens, her hands tightening on the fabric she’s folding. “Fine.” The word is sharp, defensive.
I almost push but stop myself. She doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t want to let me in. And maybe that’s why she grates on me so much. She’s just like me. Guarded. Closed off. Afraid that if she cracks open even a little, the whole damn thing will break.
“Fine doesn’t tell me anything,” I say after a beat, still leaning against the doorframe. “How is he really?”
Her hands still and she presses her lips together, then says flatly, “You saw him. You don’t need me to paint you a picture.”
My jaw clenches. “I’m asking because I want to know what the doctors are saying.”
Her gaze slices to mine, ice-blue and furious. “What the doctors are saying is that I should make him comfortable. That’s it. That’s all we’re down to now. Happy?”
The air between us snaps tight, and before I can stop myself, I push further. “I just need to know you’re doing everything you can for him.”
Her face goes white, then flushes scarlet. She drops the shirt on the pile with a sharp flick of her wrists. “Don’t you dare question me. Don’t you dare stand here and imply I’m not giving him everything. I am here every single day, Atlas. Every hour. Every breath he takes, I’m in the room making sure he has what he needs. Where the hell are you?”
Guilt makes my knees wobble. “I’m playing hockey,” I snap. “It’s called a career. One that doesn’t let me jet off to Chicago whenever I feel like it.”
Her eyes blaze. “And you think I don’t have a career too? You’re not all that special, Atlas. Meanwhile, I’m doing the best I can to make sure Gray has dignity in his last few weeks.”
I stare at her, seething, because she’s right. She knows him in ways I can’t anymore—day to day, hour to hour. But I’ve known him my whole life, and that should mean something.
“I’ve known him since we were kids,” I bite out. “Don’t act like you’ve cornered the market on loving him.”
Her chin lifts, her voice trembling with fury. “Knowing someone and being here for them are not the same thing. You may have history, Atlas, but I’m the one who’s been holding his hand while he fades. You couldn’t possibly understand.”
The words slice deep, sharper because they’re true, and guilt sweeps through me hotter than ever.
I drag a hand down my face. “Gray fell asleep, so I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back when he wakes up.”
I don’t wait for her answer. I grab my jacket off the chair and step into the hallway. My chest feels like it’s going to split open, grief and anger tangled so tight I can’t tell them apart.
Behind me, the door shuts with a soft click, but I can still feel her fury like static in the air.
