Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Backcheck – Rushing back to defend after losing possession.
Phoenix
Ignatius’s house didn’t feel like a house now I was seeing it for the second time and really taking it in. It felt like a mountain had grown a front door.
Vaulted ceilings. Stone walls. Warm lighting. Enough space for a dragon the size of a semi-truck to stretch out, if Ignatius ever shifted indoors. Or if Cole did.
But no one had said that. Cole sat curled on the couch anyway, small and tired and wrapped in a blanket like it was the only barrier between him and the last forty-eight hours.
He hadn’t said much since we brought him here. He was upright, breathing, alive—but it was like someone had unplugged the steady, quiet strength I’d seen in him since day one.
Ignatius set three mugs on the coffee table and dropped into the armchair across from us. The chair groaned under his weight like it regretted every life choice that brought it here.
“All right,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s go over the situation.”
Cole flinched at the word situation. I nudged my knee against his hip. He didn’t lean into it, but he didn’t move away either. Ignatius pointed a finger at him—not accusing, just directing. “First: the Dragon Council is fully on your side. Completely. No dispute there.”
Cole blinked. “They…are?”
“Yes.” Ignatius snorted. “You were bound illegally. The Council’s collective temperature rose thirty degrees when they heard.”
Cole didn’t react. Not outwardly. But one of his hands tightened around the blanket.
Ignatius went on. “But here’s where it gets complicated. Because your father isn’t a dragon—he’s not under their jurisdiction. They can’t punish him the way they can punish Hartshorne.”
Cole’s jaw dropped slightly. “So he just…gets away with everything?”
“No.” Ignatius’s voice softened with something like sympathy. “He doesn’t get away with it. He just doesn’t get punished by them.”
I leaned closer. “What he did was illegal on the human side too, right? I mean—kidnapping? All of that?”
Ignatius hesitated. A rare thing. “Not in a way that gets cleanly enforced. He hid behind medical protocol, concussed next-of-kin consent, private contractors, nondisclosure agreements. The Council’s team is combing through every detail, but the truth is…
he’s built enough legal armor to survive that part. ”
Cole sank back against the couch, eyes dimming.
Ignatius held up a finger. “But. And this is important. The Council doesn’t have to be the ones to take him down.”
He reached into a leather bag by his feet and dropped a fat, miserable-looking folder on the table.
“That’s why I called my lawyers originally.”
Cole stared at it. “That’s…thick.”
Ignatius grinned without humor. “Oh, that’s just the preliminary look at your financial situation.”
Cole blinked once. Slowly. “My…what?”
Ignatius leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Cole, I never looked at your private life before now. I assumed you were happy. You’re one of the league’s most consistent players.
You do your job. You don’t cause trouble.
I thought everything outside the rink was fine.
” His voice tightened. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
Cole swallowed. Hard. “Ignatius…you didn’t know.”
“I should have,” Ignatius said, a low rumble under the words. “But that’s hindsight. You will learn that dragons don't belong in packs but are very protective of their families. What matters now is that human lawyers can do what the Council can’t.”
Cole frowned slightly. The smallest crease of hope. “What can they do?”
“Put your finances back where they belong,” Ignatius said simply.
Cole blinked again. “How?”
Ignatius exhaled. “Cole, your father has had legal authority over your income streams since you were eighteen. Endorsements. Sponsorships. Taxes. Contract percentages,” Ignatius listed, ticking each disaster off on a finger. “All filed under holding companies he controls.”
“I knew he handled my pay,” Cole whispered. “But the sponsorships?” He reddened. "I thought they were for the team. That's what my agent said."
“Your old agent is skimming before he even hands it over,” Ignatius said. “But it’s flimsy. My lawyers are tearing through it like tissue paper. Wells can’t stop them because the moment he tries, he admits wrongdoing.”
Cole pressed a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t…know any of that.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Ignatius said gently. “Your father made sure of that, and because he kept you isolated, it didn't come up with your teammates.”
I reached for Cole’s free hand. He didn’t grab back, but his fingers unfurled enough for mine to slide into the space.
Ignatius continued. “We’re transferring agent rights immediately. You’re getting a new agent—one that you choose. Not your father. Not me. You.”
Cole looked overwhelmed. “I don’t know how to choose an agent.”
“Then you’ll interview,” Ignatius said. “You’ll decide what feels right. And my lawyers will vet them for criminal tendencies and bad haircuts.”
I choked on a laugh. “He’s serious.”
“I am,” Ignatius confirmed.
Cole’s shoulders dropped a little. Not relaxed, exactly, but like someone lifting a weight just to see if it was lighter than he thought.
“And the biggest thing,” Ignatius added, leaning back, “is that your father’s threats are empty.”
Cole flinched. “He…said he’d do things. To Phoenix. To my career.”
“Right,” Ignatius said. “Let’s address that.”
He held up one finger.
“One: if he tries to harm Phoenix, he will have three dragons, a full legal team, and the Dragon Council descending on him so fast he’ll think he summoned them.”
I froze. “Why?”
Ignatius leveled me with a look. “Mate privileges. Two: if he threatens your career?” A smile spread across his mouth. Slow. Predatory. “Then he destroys himself.”
Cole frowned. “What do you mean?”
But I didn't hear most of it. I was still struggling with the word mate. I'd heard it before but been a little busy at the time.
Ignatius steepled his fingers. “Cole. If you stop playing hockey…every business venture your father has collapses like a dying lung.”
Cole stared. “…a what?”
I winced. “Ignatius.”
Ignatius shrugged. “What? Accurate metaphor. Terrible image, but accurate.”
Cole didn’t laugh. Not exactly. But he did exhale—a shaky, incredulous sound that was close enough.
Ignatius softened again. “Cole, your father gets his power from you, not the other way around. The moment you walk away, his empire burns.”
“Tragic,” I said, sipping my coffee.
“Very tragic,” Ignatius echoed agreeably.
Cole looked down at our joined hands. Then at the folder. Then up at Ignatius. “I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted, his voice small but honest.
Ignatius stood, came around the table, and placed a warm, steady hand on Cole’s shoulder.
“We'll take it one step at a time,” he said. "You have help now."
Cole’s voice wobbled. “And if he tries again?”
Ignatius squeezed gently. “Then you’ll have protection. Legal. Magical. Personal.” He nodded at me. “And your mate.”
Cole went red.
I went redder.
Ignatius went back to his chair, unbothered, muttering, “And if Wells tries anything else, I swear to every dragon in the mountains, I’ll gift-wrap his business portfolio and mail it to the IRS.”
Cole actually laughed.
And for the first time since I'd seen him in that awful white room, Cole looked like someone who wasn’t cornered anymore. He looked like someone beginning to believe he had a future—one that belonged to him.
By the time the laughter faded, Cole looked like it had taken the last of his batteries with it.
The blanket had slipped off one shoulder. His hair was a mess, curls crushed where he’d leaned against the couch. There were shadows under his eyes deep enough to get lost in. He wasn’t just tired; he was emptied out.
Ignatius must’ve seen it too, because his voice went softer. “That’s enough legal talk for tonight,” he said, standing with a little groan. “My lawyers will send over summaries tomorrow. You’ll hate them. They’re very thorough.”
Cole blinked, like he wasn’t entirely tracking words anymore. “Okay,” he murmured.
Ignatius’s gaze flicked to me. “Guest suite is made up from before. Take him to bed before he falls over. And make sure he drinks water.”
“Yes, Dad,” I said automatically.
Ignatius snorted. He squeezed Cole’s shoulder once, careful and brief. “You’re safe here.”
Cole’s throat worked. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Ignatius just grunted and left the room, heavy footsteps fading down the hall. A door shut somewhere, the sound solid and distant.
The house went quiet.
Not empty—Ignatius’s presence hummed in the walls like low thunder—but quiet enough that I could hear the tiny, uneven hitch in Cole’s breathing. Like every inhale had to fight its way past something lodged in his chest.
I slid off the arm of the couch and crouched in front of him. “Hey,” I said gently. “You fading?”
His eyes, that icy clear gray, dragged up to meet mine. There was a dazed confusion there, like he was still half in that clinic room, half in this one.
“I’m okay,” he said automatically.
“Right.” I pushed myself up and held out a hand. “Come on, Armstrong. Bed.”
He stared at my hand like it was some kind of test. Then, slowly, he uncurled his fingers from the blanket and put his palm in mine.
He was still running hot. Not the searing, dangerous temperature from the clinic, but a steady furnace-heat that sank into my skin and radiated up my arm. The dragon under his skin stirred at the contact—I could feel it, like standing too close to a bonfire and sensing the flames shift.
But the heat wasn’t jagged now. It was…seeking.
“I can walk,” he muttered as I tugged him to his feet.
“I know you can,” I said. I stayed close anyway, ready if his knees decided to betray him. “Humor me.”