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“It did for a while,” I admit. “But you move on. You learn from it. And you don’t let someone else’s bad choices dictate how you live your life.”

Atlas rests his arms on the table. “Sounds like Farren needs that lesson. You think she’s worth breaking through those walls?”

“Yeah,” I say without hesitation, meeting his gaze. “I think she is.”

Atlas smirks, shaking his head. “You’re a better man than me, North. I’d have bailed by now.”

I laugh, my tension easing a little. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t met the right challenge yet.”

Atlas chuckles, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to that.”

We clink glasses, but as we settle into the flow of conversation, the weight of Farren’s struggles and my own resolve to be patient with her linger in the back of my mind.

Maybe Atlas is right.

Maybe I need to push her to take the leap. She’s either in or she’s out.

We talk about the games I missed while I was sick. Atlas gives me the rundown—who scored, who screwed up, and how the second line held up without me. I watched it all play out on TV, but it’s very different on the ice.

“By the way.” I set my fork down and lean forward again. “What was the reaction when Penn picked that fight?”

The easy atmosphere between us dissipates instantly, replaced by a heavy undercurrent of worry. Atlas blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Man, it was intense. Of course, Bain and King jumped in to prevent him from getting hurt, and Penn was pissed about it. Yelled at them to back off, which they weren’t going to do.”

“He’s too valuable to the team and that’s their jobs… to protect our scorers. What did he expect them to do?”

It’s a rhetorical question, because there was no other choice in that situation.

“At any rate,” Atlas continues in a low voice, “Coach busted his chops about it in the locker room, but Penn just ignored him. It felt like a powder keg ready to explode. I’m beginning to think the guy might be a little nuts.”

I take a slow sip of my shake, organizing my thoughts. I hadn’t planned on sharing this information since it really doesn’t mean anything but my worry about Penn is increasing. “Farren found some stuff about his past—nothing concrete, but it raises questions.”

Atlas’s brow furrows as he picks at a fry. “What kind of questions? Like, personal stuff?”

“Yeah,” I say, hesitating. “She came across an article about a hazing scandal on his junior team. A kid died, and some players were charged, but Penn’s name wasn’t mentioned at all.”

Atlas sits back, eyes wide. “I remember that. That was Penn’s team?”

“Yup.”

Atlas whistles in surprise. “That’s some heavy shit.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice low. “If he was involved—even tangentially—that kind of thing can stick with you. And if he wasn’t, just being on that team could’ve been a nightmare. I don’t want to speculate without more facts though.”

Atlas exhales, staring out the window as he processes this. “Do you think that’s what’s eating at him?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my shoulders slumping. “But something is. It’s like he’s carrying this weight around, and it’s getting heavier.”

“Damn,” Atlas says. “Do you think we should do something? Talk to him? Go to Coach?”

The question lingers between us, loaded with uncertainty. That seems to be the question everyone is asking. “King’s already tried talking to him, and it didn’t get anywhere. Penn just shut him down. And I get it—some things are hard to talk about, especially when you’re not ready. But…”

“But what?” Atlas prompts.

I sigh, frustration seeping into my voice. “But I also don’t want to sit back and do nothing if he’s struggling. What if this gets worse? What if he does something reckless and gets himself hurt, or worse, costs the team? It’s not just about hockey either. I’m worried about him as a person.”

Atlas nods slowly, his expression troubled. “Yeah, me too. He’s a hell of a player, but we don’t really know him, do we? Not in the way we know each other.”

“No,” I admit. “It’s clear he’s spiraling.”

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