Chapter 7 Phoenix
PHOENIX
Ipull up to Leander’s building earlier than I promised, though I can’t bring myself to care. Waiting has never been my strength; waiting to see him all week has been a special kind of hell.
The second I see him step outside, moving slower than he used to but with that stubborn lift to his chin, my chest tightens.
He looks fragile and fierce all at once, and it does something to me I can’t explain.
His hair is styled back, and he’s wearing an outfit that I’m sure he changed out of three or four times before deciding this was the way to go. God, he’s cute.
He climbs carefully into the passenger seat, his brace catching the light, and gives me a look. “You’re early.”
I smirk, trying to play it off. “Figured I’d steal you before anyone else could.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s color in his cheeks that I don’t think comes from the cold air.
The drive to my place is short, though every second of it stretches out, strung taut with the silence between us.
My fingers tap the wheel, aching to grab his thigh.
I want to ask if he’s really okay, if he’s still hurting, if Silas gave him hell after the hospital.
But the words knot in my throat. Instead, I focus on the way his presence fills the car—steady, grounding, addictive.
Being around Leander feels like breathing fire: dangerous, consuming, and necessary all at once.
The days I couldn’t see him, when Silas hovered like a guard dog, were unbearable.
My skin itched with his absence, and my thoughts circled endlessly around the memory of his voice, his laugh, and even the way he snaps at me when I push too far.
I needed him then. I need him now.
When we pull into my driveway, I cut the engine and glance his way. He’s staring at my house like he didn’t expect it to exist.
“You’re really inviting half the team over here?” he asks, one brow lifted.
“Thought it was time,” I say, unbuckling. “First year being captain, gotta show the boys some hospitality.”
That earns me the faintest twitch of a smile. Victory.
Inside, the house is smaller than most expect for someone in my position. One story, nothing fancy—just clean lines, worn-in furniture, and the kind of quiet that keeps me sane. It’s mine, and I’ve never brought anyone who mattered here. Not until now.
Leander steps inside and pauses, taking it all in. His eyes roam over the photographs on the wall, the old leather couch, the half-finished book on the coffee table. Watching him here, in this space, makes my throat tighten. Like the place was waiting for him to walk into it.
“Didn’t peg you for the minimalist type,” he says finally, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Guess I like keeping things simple.”
He wanders toward the bookshelf, fingertips brushing over the spines. “You read?”
I smirk. “Yes, surprisingly, I know how to read.”
I watch him move, too aware of how natural he looks here. As if he belongs and should stay. The thought hits harder than I expect, and I force myself to look away before it shows on my face.
“You want the tour?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets.
He smirks. “Sure. Impress me.”
I take him through the small house—the kitchen with its battered counters, the narrow hallway, the spare bedroom that doubles as storage. Each step feels surreal, like I’m exposing something private. Not just the house. Me.
When we reach my room, I hesitate. The space is bare compared to the rest, the bed neatly made, a dresser, a lamp, not much else. But Leander steps in without waiting for permission, eyes flicking around before landing on me.
“So this is where the great Captain Phoenix sleeps,” he says, and there’s something in his tone I can’t quite pin down. Something playful and dangerous.
He sits on my bed, looking almost too perfect on my sheets.
My chest tightens. I open my mouth to brush it off, but the words die when I catch the way he’s looking at me. Not like a teammate. Not like a friend. Like he’s testing the weight of something unspoken, seeing how far he can push it.
“You always this nosy?” I ask, trying for steady.
He grins, and it hits me like a blow. “Only when it’s worth it.”
For a second, the air between us feels electric. My pulse stumbles, my skin prickling under the heat of his gaze. He has no idea what he does to me—how badly I’ve craved this, how long I’ve been barely holding myself back.
Leander is a drug. Pure and devastating. Every smile, every glance, every word from his mouth. One taste, and I’m ruined.
I clear my throat, dragging my eyes away before I do something reckless. “Come on. Party’s not gonna wait for us.”
But even as I lead him back down the hall, I can’t shake the thought burning through me: if he’s flirting, if this is real, I don’t know how long I can keep pretending restraint. But I need to know if he’s actually flirting.
By the time the first real wave of guests hits, my place is buzzing.
Music pounds low, the bass rolling under conversations and laughter, carrying through every corner of the small place.
I’ve got lights dimmed just enough to make everyone feel loose, but bright enough that no one can hide in a shadow.
The first familiar faces from the team drift in, rough around the edges and high on adrenaline from practice. I hand out beers like candy, taking mental notes of who’s playful, who’s serious, and who’s here purely to play.
And then she walks in. Alison.
She’s wearing that same mischievous grin she’s always had when hunting me, and I feel that familiar spark.
She’s always had a thing for me, always been obvious, and she’s not subtle about it tonight.
I never really entertained the idea; she’s not really my type.
Too eager and forward. But tonight she might be of use.
She glides across the room like she owns the space, a flash of dark hair brushing her shoulders, eyes fixed on mine as soon as she spots me.
“Phoenix,” she purrs, voice low and teasing. “Thanks for inviting me. Wow, are you actually sober for once?” Her fingers trail down my arm.
I smirk, leaning casually against the counter. “Hopefully not for long, Ali.” My chest hums with the chase, the attention, the thrill of playing along.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Leander. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. Green eyes locked on me, and just the tiniest twitch of his lips when he notices Alison.
And just like that, my heart is racing. Jealousy on Leander is quite handsome. Delicious, sharp, and utterly consuming.
I grin into my beer. Fuck, I need to keep this going.
“You look good tonight,” I say to Alison.
She giggles. “Keep up the compliments, Locke.” She and her friends go into the kitchen looking for alcohol.
I casually make my way towards Leander and lean down, grazing my lips on the shell of his ear. “You alright?”
He huffs, looking away for a fraction of a second before snapping his gaze back, trying to appear unconcerned. “I’m fine,” he mutters, tone clipped but with just the tiniest edge.
I catch that edge and lean into it. “Are you sure?” I say, my voice low and deliberate. “I want to make sure I’m a gracious host.”
Leander shifts, jaw tightening, subtle heat creeping into his posture. I can feel it radiating toward me. It’s heady and thrilling. Every flicker of irritation, every tense exhale, it’s a drug, and I’ve been craving this fix all day.
The party’s growing, and more people show up, the room filling quickly with laughter and shouts.
A few more girls from my college days lean in, flirtation dripping from every word, every brush of a hand.
I let it play out naturally, teasing, laughing, spinning conversations just enough to keep the tension tight between Leander and me.
He’s icy and restrained, every glance calculated, but I can see him unraveling just slightly as he shoots back a few shots.
Drinks flow freely. I’m mixing cocktails, tossing beers to the next person in line, and I can feel the energy building in the room. I pull out a deck of cards, shoving it at a group gathered in the corner. “Poker,” I announce. “Winner gets the whole pot and maybe a shot.”
“Real money?” asks my teammate, Chase.
“What else would we use?” I smile.
People cheer, and the chaos of gambling begins. Dice roll, coins clink, laughter punctuates the music. Leander doesn’t join, but he’s close, eyes flicking to every move I make, tracking every flirt, every laugh. I catch him swallowing, jaw tightening. The tension is a live wire, and I love it.
The room is thick with the smell of alcohol, faint smoke from some joints, and the heat of bodies packed too close together.
I keep the pace high—drinking, gambling, flirting—but my attention never leaves Leander.
I feel it every time he shifts, every subtle tightening of his jaw, every exhale too sharp to be casual.
I feel him wanting to step in, to grab my attention, to pull me back—but he doesn’t. Not yet.
I let my hand brush lightly against Leander’s shoulder as I pass, just enough to remind him I’m here. He stiffens, and I smirk, catching every flicker of reaction.
Alison leans into me again, playful, daring, and I let her. I feel Leander’s eyes on us, sharp and hot, jealousy radiating like a living thing. I turn just slightly, wink at him, and see his muscles tighten under the thin layer of his shirt.
Alison’s flirtation escalates just enough to keep the fire lit, and Leander’s attention is trapped in a vice of desire and frustration. I glance at him, smug. Every twitch of his jaw, flare of his nostrils, and subtle tightening of his stance is a drug I can’t get enough of.
Then Jax makes his move.