Chapter85 – A Drink
His arm around her waist was firm—possessive, almost—and her breath hitched in her throat. His scent, warm and clean with a hint of sweat and something darker, surrounded her.
It made her lightheaded.
Atticus, meanwhile, was doing everything he could to stay still. The faint scent of her shampoo, the curve of her body fitting too perfectly against his—he could feel his throat tighten, his breath catch.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
Shit.
He took a subtle step back, just enough to keep her close but not let her notice the storm that had just stirred inside him.
Time crawled.
When the elevator finally dinged, Clarissa almost stumbled as she practically bolted through the opening. She didn’t even look back as she made her way toward the food court.
Atticus watched her retreating figure, jaw clenched slightly. His fingertips still tingled with the memory of her waist—soft, warm, alive under his palm.
He flexed his hand once, as if chasing the sensation. Then he sighed, low and frustrated.
Damn, that elevator ride had ended way too soon.
He caught up to her quickly, acting like nothing had happened.
But the mood had shifted. Clarissa was quieter than usual, distracted, pushing food around her plate more than eating. When dinner was over, she stood and gave him a tired smile. “Let’s go home.”
Atticus didn’t argue. Back at the house, Clementine was still in the living room, laughing over a card game with a neighbor.
Clarissa didn’t stop to chat. She glanced at Atticus once—he was already unpacking their shopping bags—and then turned and disappeared into her room without a word.
She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her heart still beating a little faster than she wanted to admit. Then she walked to her dresser, untied her ponytail, and changed into soft home clothes. Her phone sat untouched in her lap as she sat on the bed, dazed.
That... hadn’t felt like nothing. But maybe it was just her imagination.
She shook her head.
No. That elevator was cramped. He was just protecting her. That was it. Right?
Clarissa exhaled and whispered to herself, "He’s grown up so much."
She smiled faintly.
It was true. Just a few years ago, he barely reached her shoulder. Now she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Time had changed him—filled in his frame, sharpened his jaw, deepened his voice.
She had to stop seeing him as a little boy.
Meanwhile, in the next room, Atticus tossed the bags of clothes and sneakers onto the floor with little care. He stretched out on his bed, long limbs sprawled lazily, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.
He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes dark and unreadable—pools of something deeper, something stormy.
....
By Monday, it was obvious to everyone around him—Atticus was in a mood. A dark one.
He barely spoke, wore a scowl all day, and pushed the basketball team harder than ever. With Thaddeus away, Atticus was left in charge, and with no one to rein him in, he showed zero mercy.
The players dragged themselves through practice like soldiers in a warzone.
“Is it just me, or is Atticus straight-up terrifying today?” one guy whispered, slumped beside Benedict and gasping for air.
Benedict wiped sweat from his forehead, half-laughing, half-panicking. “The boss is out. No one’s here to leash him. Just suck it up and survive.”
By the end of practice, most of the team could barely stand. Groans filled the locker room like a funeral dirge.
Later that evening, Atticus had to report to Phoenix. She was still busy at the precinct, so she left him in the hands of her men—four elite agents trained personally by Rowan, the Wraith’s current commander. They were sharp, skilled.
Atticus didn’t speak a word when he entered the training facility. He just stepped into the ring and boxed. Alone. For an hour straight. Silent, focused, relentless.
The three exchanged glances.
After a while, one of them, Raphael, walked over and threw a casual arm around Atticus’ shoulders. “Hey, take five, man.”
“Come on, at least drink some water,” Maximilian added, tossing him a bottle.
Atticus caught it, nodded faintly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank us. You’re still a kid, we’re supposed to look out for you,” Everett said with a teasing grin.
The word kid hit a nerve. Something flickered in Atticus’ eyes, but he didn’t say a word.
He sipped the water, quiet again, then noticed the bandage on his hand had come loose. Without a word, he stood and walked off to re-wrap it.
The guys followed, flopping down beside him.
“Mr. Phoenix isn’t around tonight,” Raphael said. “Let’s take a break, yeah? Go out, hit a bar or something?”
“I’m good. I’ll keep training,” Atticus replied flatly.
But as he finished tying off the bandage and made for the ring again, Everett grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“Chill out. You’re gonna burn yourself out at this rate.”
Then he glanced at Atticus’ arms and whistled. “Gotta admit, though—you’ve filled out. Not the scrawny little brat you used to be.”
Still, Atticus stayed quiet.
Everett smirked and slung an arm across his shoulders. “That body’s lookin’ good, but you’re still a few steps behind me.”
Atticus turned his head slightly, eyebrow raised.
Everett grinned wider and lifted his shirt, flashing his toned abs. “See that? Solid, right? But here’s a tip—abs are nice, yeah, but they’re not what really matters.”
Atticus blinked slowly. “Then what does?”
Everett’s grin turned wicked. “The waist, man. That’s where the real power comes from. You’ll figure it out once you start sleeping with girls. Gotta have stamina.”
Before Atticus could reply, Maximilian smacked the back of Everett’s head.“Can you not corrupt the kid?”
Across the room, Raphael burst out laughing. “If Phoenix finds out, she’s gonna skin you alive.”
Everett held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. The boss isn’t here tonight. And c’mon, Atticus is fifteen. He’s not a baby anymore. You ever think about girls, huh? Anyone you like at school?”
Atticus’s lips tightened. “No.”
“Damn. That’s a shame. I was gonna teach you a couple moves. First time’s important, you know. Blow it too fast, and they’ll laugh at you.”
“Enough, Everett,” Maximilian snapped again.
Everett raised his hands again but laughed. “Fine, fine. We’ll save that lesson for another time. But seriously—no more training tonight. Get changed. We’re going out. Too soon for women, but not too soon for a drink.”
He grabbed Atticus by the shoulder and started dragging him toward the lockers.
This time, Atticus didn’t resist. He followed without protest, letting himself be pulled along.
Behind them, Raphael looked at Maximilian, concern creasing his brow. “Hey… you sure this is okay?”
Maximilian gave a half-shrug, half-sigh. “Everett just likes to mess around. Phoenix won’t be back tonight anyway. Let’s go. We’ll keep an eye on them. Just make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”
“Got it.”
......
Clarissa glanced at the clock. 11:30 p.m.
Atticus always came back from Phoenix’s place before ten. He’d never been this late.
Her brows furrowed. Worry curled in her chest. Just as she reached for her phone, ready to call, a knock came at the door.
She shot to her feet and hurried over. When she opened the door, she found Maximilian standing there—with Atticus slumped beside him, his head bowed, barely upright.