Chapter 8- Drinks
1185 Words
Taking out the embossed card from his pocket, Atlan sat heavily on one of the benches in the locker room. The faint smell of sweat, leather, and disinfectant clung to the air. He turned the small rectangle of polished cardstock over between his fingers. Inscribed on it, in bold black letters, was:
James Carter
Carter Enterprises
Atlan frowned. Why the hell did James want him to message him? As if the stunt at the dinner hadn’t been enough to rattle him already. He tossed the card onto the bench beside him, opened his locker, and reached for his phone. Maybe if he sent something casual, he’d get it over with.
He’d just pulled up James’s number when Marcus’s voice rang out.
“That was chill, bro. For your first day on the ice, you did surprisingly well.”
Atlan looked up, caught off guard. Marcus dropped onto the bench beside him, shoulder pads dangling from one hand, sweat still damp on his neck.
“You think so?” Atlan muttered, trying not to sound desperate for reassurance. “Because I’m relatively sure the others don’t think so.”
Marcus chuckled as he yanked off his pads and tossed them into his bag. “And by ‘others,’ you mean Mark.”
Atlan smirked faintly. “Yeah. Especially Mark. Him and… the rest of them.”
Without waiting for a reply, Atlan thumbed out a quick message to James:
Yoo boss. Wolfe here.
He hit send and shoved the phone back in his pocket, then bent down to strap on his shoes.
“Give them time,” Marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder with easy warmth. “They’ll warm up to you.” He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder, then paused mid-step. “Hey, the team’s going out for a few drinks. You wanna tag along?”
Atlan blinked. He hadn’t expected that.
“You sure they’d want me there?” he asked cautiously. “I don’t wanna… intrude or anything.”
Marcus grinned. “Nah, man. You’re welcome. We’re heading to Joe’s. Think of it as a welcome drink. Your drink’s on me.”
Atlan hesitated. He could already picture the awkwardness of sitting at a table with men who’d spent the whole practice side-eyeing him. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night forcing small talk, trying to make grown men like him.
“I didn’t drive. And I don’t even know my way around Chicago yet. Last thing I need is getting lost at night.”
Marcus waved him off with a laugh. “Not a problem. I drove, and I’ll drop you home after. Only condition, hide the tequila from me, so I don’t O.D. on it.” He winked. “I’ll wait outside. Meet me when you’re done changing.”
Atlan barely had time to argue before Marcus walked out with his bag.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, he hated picking up random calls but maybe it was James. He swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end wasn’t James’s. It was one he wasn't too keen on hearing from.
“What do you want, Danny?” Atlan hissed, immediately lowering his voice and stepping toward the exit. “I told you never to contact me again.”
“You blocked me, Atlan. I’ve been calling, leaving messages, even stopped by the house.” Danny’s voice cracked with desperation.
“That’s what blocking means, genius. You don’t reach me.” Atlan pressed his thumb hard against the bridge of his nose, trying to hold his temper. “Look, I’m hanging up now. Take care.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Danny’s words tumbled out fast. “You signed with the Blackhawks so quickly. Guess you don’t waste time moving on, huh?”
Atlan’s jaw clenched. “There was nothing to move on from, Danny. Don’t call me again.”
He ended the call just as the rest of the team spilled out of the locker room, laughter and chatter bouncing off the concrete walls. Shoving his phone into his pocket, Atlan walked toward the parking lot where Marcus leaned casually against the hood of his car.
“You done?” Marcus asked, straightening.
Atlan nodded, grateful for the distraction. Marcus unlocked the car, and the two climbed in.
———————————————
Joe’s Bar buzzed with life when they pulled up. The neon sign glowed against the Chicago night, the sound of muffled music and laughter seeping through the brick walls. It wasn’t the dive Atlan had expected, it had the polished, understated vibe of a place where athletes, businessmen, and the occasional celebrity might go to disappear in plain sight.
Inside, the rest of the team had already claimed a long table. Glasses clinked, voices rose, and the air smelled faintly of bourbon and fried food.
As Marcus and Atlan approached, the guys offered brief nods and handshakes. Atlan took a seat, his posture stiff but trying not to show it. A waitress swooped over almost immediately.
“Two shots of bourbon,” Marcus ordered smoothly. “And a shot of tequila for my friend here.”
“Uh…no ice,” Atlan added quickly, forcing a half-smile. “Trying to, you know, stay away from cold stuff. Arteries and all that.”
The waitress raised a brow but nodded and left.
Bryan, the team captain, cleared his throat and stood, raising his glass. The table hushed.
“To last season’s victory, to this season’s glory, and to the newest addition to our family, Atlan Wolfe.”
Glasses clinked all around. The cheer echoed, but Atlan caught the subtle glances, the kind that said prove yourself before you belong here. He lifted his glass anyway and downed the tequila in one go, the burn trailing fire down his throat.
His phone buzzed again. A message.
Where are you?
James. Of course. Atlan stared at the words, incredulous. Did the man seriously think his job came with a curfew? He typed back quickly:
Why? Do I have a curfew in my contract? Went out with the team. Bar called Joe’s.
Marcus’s voice cut into his focus. “Atlan. Hey.”
“Huh?” Atlan snapped his head up.
Ben smirked. “We were asking, you in for hoops on Saturday? We usually run a little game before training. You in?”
Ben leaned forward, waiting for his answer.
But before Atlan could reply, Mark muttered, “That was Derek’s spot.” The table went silent for a beat.
Marcus broke it with a shrug. “Yeah, but Derek’s gone. Isn’t he?”
Atlan shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he’d stepped onto sacred ground he had no right to touch. “I’ll… think about it. Saturdays are usually my reset time.”
The tension loosened slightly, conversation resuming in low hums.
Atlan’s phone buzzed again. He glanced down.
I’m parked outside. Get your things and meet me. ASAP.
James.
Atlan’s pulse quickened. The audacity of this man.
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