I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135

Atlas POV

Another game. Another win.

The second I pushed through the locker room doors, the place erupted like we’d just won the whole damn league.

“Yooo! Lawson!” Caleb yelled, jogging over with that wide grin like he personally invented happiness. He slapped my hand, then pulled me into a shoulder bump. “Once again, our golden boy carries us to victory.”

I snorted, tossing my gloves into my stall. “Relax. We all did it.”

A chorus of dramatic awwwwws rose up behind me.

“Oh my God,” Greg groaned, clutching his chest. “He’s doing the humble thing again.”

“Somebody get him an award,” another guy called. “Most emotionally mature man on ice.”

I turned, pointing at them. “Don’t make me start naming y’all’s missed shots.”

That shut them up for exactly half a second.

Rhys leaned back against his locker, towel around his neck, smirk locked and loaded. “That’s why he’s the sexy god of ice, gentlemen. He wins games and threatens you with your own stats.”

“Sexy god of ice?” I repeated, deadpan.

Rhys shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t make the nickname the media does.”

I grabbed the nearest towel and launched it at his face.

He caught it like it was a slow lob in practice, laughing. “Weak.”

“Your mom said the same thing,” Greg fired back immediately.

The room exploded again, howls, whistles, somebody yelling FOUL, and Caleb almost falling off the bench.

I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at my mouth. My chest was still buzzing from the game. That high you got after a win, after a clean play, a perfect assist, the crowd going nuts like you were a superhero in skates.

I clapped my hands once. “Alright, seriously.”

They quieted, mostly.

“We played smart,” I said, sweeping my gaze over them. “We stayed disciplined. And we didn’t fold when the Hawks got chippy.”

Caleb puffed up. “I mean, I did fold one of them…”

“Yeah, you folded him like laundry.” Lukas said. “Coach almost had a stroke.”

Laughter again.

“But for real,” I continued, letting my voice settle, “every single one of you showed up. We don’t win that game without everyone doing their job.”

For a beat, the room went a little softer, like they actually heard me.

Then Greg wiped an imaginary tear. “Our captain is so inspirational.”

“Stop.” I warned, pointing at him.

Caleb started clapping, and the others followed, banging lockers and shouting like I’d just given a halftime speech in a movie.

I flipped them off with love and headed for the showers before the affection got worse.

The water hit my shoulders, cold at first, then warming as steam climbed the tiled walls. I braced both hands against the slick surface and let my head fall forward.

Wins felt incredible. They always had.

But the second my eyes closed, my mind did what it always did.

Did she show up?

The question slid in like it owned the place.

I could picture her without trying, Emery in the crowd, chin tipped up, lips parted like she was holding her breath before a race. That little bounce she did when she got excited, like she couldn’t help it. The way her smile hit her whole face, bright enough to wreck you.

Just thinking about her made something stupid and soft flutter in my chest.

It had been ten years since the last time we really saw each other

Ten years for her.

Not for me.

Because I never stopped seeing her.

I’d tried. God knew I’d tried.

But she’d pushed me away and expected me to just… disappear. Like love was a switch you could flick off if you said the right cruel thing.

If only she knew how wrecked I’d been back then. She would’ve known pushing me away didn’t work. It just… changed the shape of how I stayed.

Family dinners? I was there. Just not where she could see me.

Mom and Rory always assumed I left early…”Atlas had a flight, Allas had a meeting, Atlas had practice.”

Yeah. Sure.

Really, I’d sit in my car across the street, watching the front door until I saw her walk in. Watching her laugh. Watching her act like she was fine.

Sometimes she looked fine. Sometimes she looked like she’d swallowed a storm. And every time, it took everything in me not to walk up, grab her hand, and tell her she didn’t get to decide I was done..

Magazine shoots? Same thing.

Hat pulled low. Mask on. Standing far enough away to not ruin her day, close enough to know she was okay

It wasn’t stalking. It wasn’t some creepy obsession.

It was restraint.

It was me keeping my promise….I’ll leave you alone, while my whole body fought it like a damn war.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify