Skating on thin hearts

Chapter 9- The Harringtons

Atlan walked to the sleek black car waiting outside the bar and knocked on the passenger window.

James rolled it down, eyes glinting with amusement.

“So, what’s going on? Are you going to come in or what?” Atlan asked, leaning down slightly.

“Nah. Bars like this aren’t my style.” James’s voice was cool, controlled. “Get in. Let’s go for a spin. There are some very important people who want to meet you.” He pressed a button, and the locks clicked open.

Atlan raised his brows, clearly confused.

“I think the proper thing you should’ve done was inform me beforehand about this meeting. I just came from practice. Not exactly dressed to impress.”

James c****d his head and gave a wry smile. “I don’t like repeating my orders, Wolfe. Get in.”

Atlan paused, jaw tightening. He wanted to snap back, but his pride stopped him. Instead, he pursed his lips, opened the door, and slid into the leather seat. The car smelled faintly of expensive cologne and power, James’s world, not his.

As the car glided onto the freeway, Atlan turned to him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“The team management wants to meet you. There’s a small party organized. We’ll use that as an opportunity to introduce you properly.” James didn’t take his eyes off the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel like he was in control of everything, Atlan included.

Atlan leaned back, pulling out his phone. Notifications buzzed nonstop. The news of his sudden move to the Blackhawks had already started spreading online. His name was trending again, finally for hockey, not scandals. Guess the press had something new to chew on.

Still, his chest felt tight. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to be paraded around like James Carter’s shiny new trophy.

The car slowed, pulling into an underground garage beneath one of Chicago’s tallest hotels. James killed the engine, slid his keys into his pocket, and stepped out with the effortless confidence of a man who owned everything he touched.

Atlan followed, keeping his expression neutral, even though unease gnawed at him.

“The party’s on the rooftop,” James said, leading the way to the elevator. His hand brushed Atlan’s arm briefly when he pressed the button, sending an unexpected current through him. Atlan ignored it, jaw tightening.

The elevator shot up. With each floor, Atlan’s pulse picked up. When the doors opened, they stepped out into a rooftop lit with golden string lights, a glowing skyline spreading behind glass walls. Music pulsed softly, laughter rising from small clusters of people dressed in sharp suits and glittering dresses.

This wasn’t just a party. This was a show.

James leaned closer. “Smile, Wolfe. You’re not just a player tonight, you’re an investment.”

Atlan forced a smirk, though his stomach twisted. He hated being handled like a commodity. Still, he walked in beside James, shoulders squared.

Heads turned almost instantly. Whispers floated through the air. He caught snippets: “That’s him.” “The Wolfe boy.” “Thought he was done for.”

James guided him toward a group of executives. Coach Miller was there, along with men in tailored suits and women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. Champagne glasses clinked as someone raised a toast.

“Atlan Wolfe,” James announced smoothly, as though unveiling a prized possession. “The newest Blackhawk.”

Hands extended, introductions blurred. Atlan shook them all, smiling where he had to, answering the same recycled questions: “How does it feel to be back on the ice?” “Do you think you’ll bring the Blackhawks another championship?”

He played along, but inside, his patience thinned.

Eventually, he slipped away from the crowd, leaning against the railing. The city lights stretched endlessly below, a reminder of how small he actually was in this massive machine James called business.

“You don’t like crowds, do you?”

Atlan stiffened. James was beside him again, two glasses of whiskey in hand. He held one out.

Atlan hesitated, then took it. “I like hockey. Not being paraded like some circus act.”

James chuckled lowly. “Get used to it. Your talent brought you here, but my money keeps you here.”

Atlan shot him a look. “You think you own me?”

James smirked, sipping his drink. “Not yet. But you wouldn’t be standing here without me.”

The tension hung heavy between them. Atlan’s chest rose and fell, anger mingling with something else, something he refused to name.

Before he could reply, a voice called out behind them. “Carter!”

They turned to see a man with a strikingly beautiful woman on his arm gliding toward them, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.

James sighed, the kind of deep sigh that said trouble had just walked into the room. “Here we go again,” he muttered under his breath.

“Mr. Carter,” the man boomed, his voice carrying the polished authority of someone who’d been rich longer than most people had been alive. “I see you’ve managed to snag the only real talent the Flyers had, huh?”

James forced a laugh, polite but hollow, and extended a hand. “It wasn’t that hard to do, Mr. Harrington.” He dipped down, brushing a kiss across the back of the young woman’s hand. “Ms. Harrington.”

Atlan arched a brow, amused. So the almighty James Carter could look humble. He’d have paid money to record this.

“Atlan,” James said, turning to him with a polished smile, “this is Mr. Richard Harrington, owner of the Harrington Group, one of Carter Enterprises’ most valuable partners. And, of course, his daughter, Ms. Lila Harrington.”

Atlan accepted the handshake offered. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harrington. Ms. Harrington.”

“Please, just Lila,” she replied smoothly, her eyes flicking to his face and lingering there a moment too long. Her lips curved into a smile that was just shy of flirtation. “The press didn’t do you any favors, Mr. Wolfe. You look even better in person.”

Atlan was about to respond, but James’ brows shot up, and he cleared his throat, loudly. The sound broke their locked handshake, though Lila seemed reluctant to let go.

“My daughter’s been trying to reach you, James,” Harrington said, turning his sharp gaze on Carter. His tone carried the weight of accusation wrapped in paternal disappointment. “She tells me you haven’t been responding to her messages.”

James scratched the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard, a rare sight. He fumbled for words that wouldn’t bury him deeper.

“In fact,” he said finally, “I’ve been trying to reach her. I had to change my phone for security reasons, lost all my contacts. But now that you’re here, Lila, we can finally talk properly.” He took her hand again, smiling with a charm that looked forced at the edges.

Atlan couldn’t hold it in, he chuckled, shaking his head. Watching James Carter squirm was pure entertainment.

“Well,” James said a bit too briskly, raising a finger as though to cut the tension, “if you’ll excuse us for a moment, we’ll be right back.” He motioned to Atlan, steering him away toward the drinks table.

“Am I allowed to ask?” Atlan said, picking up a glass of champagne with a smirk.

James tossed back his own glass like it was water before answering. “Mr. Harrington has been trying to set me up with his daughter since my father died and I took over the company. Probably wants to increase his stake, make a bigger claim in Carter Enterprises. Classic business strategy.”

Atlan swirled the champagne in his glass and eyed him. “Doesn’t sound too bad. She’s beautiful. And she looks pretty into you.”

James grimaced. “She’s not my type. At all. Now…” He tipped his head toward where Lila stood alone, scrolling her phone with a wine glass in hand. “…be a good little soldier and keep her company for me.”

Atlan snorted. “That’s going to make you owe me one, boss.” He set his glass down and walked toward Lila, shoulders squared like he was about to take one for the team.

He stopped just beside her and bent slightly closer, his voice low. “So, how are you finding the party?”

Lila turned, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Boring,” she admitted without hesitation. “These aren’t really my kind of nights. Too stiff, too many men in suits trying to talk business. I’d much rather be somewhere with music, somewhere alive. But Father insists on dragging me here.”

Atlan leaned against the railing behind him, looking relaxed. “Yeah, I get it. Places with more music, more noise, that’s my vibe too. I’m just here as the new shiny toy to be paraded around. The latest investment.”

She laughed lightly, her eyes flicking over him. “Some investment.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced at it before sighing. “I have to go now. But I like you, Atlan. And I’d really like to see you again.”

She held out her phone to him, the screen open to her contacts.

Atlan hesitated, “Am I allowed to decline?” He said and she shook her head, pushing the phone into his hand.

He knew this was a landmine. If James found out, he’d have his head on a platter. Still, he took the phone and typed his number in, handing it back to her.

Lila leaned up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, her perfume lingering like a secret.

“See you later, Atlan,” she whispered before slipping away into the crowd.

Atlan exhaled, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, touching his cheek where she’d kissed him. “This is definitely not going to end well.”