Chapter 11 Phoenix
PHOENIX
Leander sits beside me in the passenger seat, face turned toward the window, the glow of the streetlights strobing over his sharp profile. His hands are locked together in his lap, knuckles white. He hasn’t looked at me once since we got off the bus.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, veins standing out along my forearms. Every red light feels like it’s mocking me, stretching this distance out, forcing me to stew in it.
I can feel the judgment still clinging to me from the team, the whispers, the way Coach’s glare burned like fire when he handed down the suspension.
None of it matters. Not Eric’s busted lip, not the week of lost pay. I’d do it again without thinking.
Because the second that word left Eric’s mouth—the second he spat that filth at Leander—I saw red.
And I’ll never apologize for that. But Leander doesn’t see it the way I do.
By the time we pull into my driveway, the air between us is so tight it could choke me. I kill the engine. The hum dies, leaving only the sound of our breathing. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for the door. He just sits there, stiff as stone.
“Lee,” I say finally, voice low. “You gonna sit there all night or what?”
He turns, slowly, and the look in his eyes punches harder than any fist. Disappointment. Fear. Anger. All rolled into one look that I can’t read.
“Why did you do that?” he says, flat and sharp. No hesitation. No warmth.
I scoff, leaning back in my seat, trying to swallow the burn crawling up my throat.
“What do you mean? Eric fucking crossed a line. I’m not letting anyone speak to you that way.”
Leander’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That wasn’t your fight.”
“The hell it wasn’t.” I snap the words before I can rein them in. My hands slam the wheel once, the leather groaning under my grip. “He disrespected you, Leander. And no one will ever get away with that as long as I’m breathing.”
He flinches, just barely, but I catch it. The way his shoulders curl, like my anger itself has become the enemy.
“You think that helps me?” His voice rises, shaking now, not from volume but from something rawer, deeper.
“You think getting suspended, dragging the whole team into your mess, makes anything better? All it does is paint a target on my back. They already resent me, Phoenix. Now they’ll hate me.
They’ll say I’m the reason their captain is benched. ”
“They can say whatever the fuck they want.” I lean closer, heat in my chest, heat everywhere. “None of them matter. You matter. As your boyfriend, partner, whatever—”
His jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
The words slice. Quick. Clean. A scalpel, not a fist.
I sit there, staring, trying to breathe through the impact. He’s never spoken to me like that before—never pushed back so directly. I’m used to his quiet resistance, his hesitations. Not this.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” he adds, softer but sharper somehow. “I don’t need you throwing punches every time someone says something ugly. Do you get that? I’ve dealt with worse. A lot worse. And if I survived that, I can survive Eric.”
Worse.
My gut twists because I know. I know there are shadows he hasn’t let me into yet, scars beneath the skin that don’t show. Every time he pulls back when I press too far, every time he flinches when anger rises—he’s carrying more than he says.
But he won’t give it to me.
“You don’t get it,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, drowning thought. “I can’t just watch you get hurt. I can’t. It’s not in me.”
“I didn’t ask you to watch,” he says. Then, quieter, “And I didn’t ask you to fight.”
Silence stretches, heavy as stone. I can feel him retreating, inch by inch, walling himself off.
When he finally opens the door, the slam of it reverberates straight through my ribs. I watch him circle the car, wait for him to head toward my door, to let me follow him inside. But he doesn’t. I step out to meet him in the driveway.
He stops and his next words gut me.
“I’m staying at my apartment tonight.”
It feels like ice water dumped over my head. “What?”
His expression softens, but not enough to undo the damage. “I just need space. One night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I open my mouth, a thousand protests ready to tear free. Space. Why the hell would he need space from me? He should need me closer, not further. Doesn’t he see I’m the only one who’ll fight for him? Doesn’t he see I’d give him the world just to keep him safe?
But the look in his eyes stops me cold. A plea, not a wall. Fragile, begging me not to push harder.
So I nod.
He turns, shoulders slumping, and walks down the sidewalk toward his car parked at the curb. His steps are quick, determined, but I see the hesitation in the way he doesn’t look back. And then he’s gone. Tail lights bleed into the dark until they vanish.
I stand there, staring at the empty street. My chest heaves. Every muscle screams with the need to chase after him, to drag him back inside where I can lock the door and keep the world away. To remind him he belongs here, with me.
I don’t. Because if I do, if I push too hard right now, I’ll lose him.
The house is too big when I finally step inside. Too quiet. His absence echoes in every corner, the couch where he’d curl up with his knee iced, the kitchen counter where he’d perch with a sandwich, the bed sheets still twisted with his scent.
I stand there, staring at the empty space, and the rage that carried me through Eric feels hollow now—pointless. I won the fight, but I lost what mattered.
I press my palms against the counter, bowing my head.
My breath comes rough, uneven. Images flash in my mind; Eric’s sneer, Leander’s father’s ghost in his words, the bruises I’ve kissed along Leander’s throat.
The way Leander looked at me tonight. Like I wasn’t his savior.
Like I was just another storm he couldn’t weather.
My hands shake. My chest burns. And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like a captain, or a fighter, or anything but a man who’s in too deep.
Leander thinks I’m reckless. Maybe he’s right. But if being reckless means burning down the world before it can touch him—then I’ll burn it gladly.
Even if it means watching him walk away.
I’ve been pacing since practice ended, though practice isn’t the right word.
The suspension keeps me off the ice, but I still went, still sat through drills like some ghost captain.
The looks the guys gave me were enough. Half pity, half rage.
I didn’t bite. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t even open my mouth.
But the storm sat under my skin all the same.
And through it all, no call. No text. No message. Nothing from him.
Leander’s silence is a noose tightening around my throat.
I stare at my phone on the counter, waiting for it to light up, waiting for that stupid buzz, waiting for his name to save me from the spiral I can feel pulling me under. It doesn’t.
You’re not my boyfriend.
I open the cabinet, grab a bottle of whiskey, and twist the cap like it’s the only thing left to fight. The burn down my throat is sharp, clean, but not enough. Never enough.
By the time the clock on the microwave hits ten, my head feels hot and my chest feels empty. I can’t stay here. I can’t keep staring at these walls that smell like him, feel like him, remind me of every inch of him that isn’t here right now.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over his name. I want to call him. Beg. Demand. Drag him back here where he belongs. Instead, I call Jax.
He answers on the second ring, voice rough with exhaustion. “What do you want?”
“Club,” I say, short, clipped. “Get dressed. I’m picking you up.”
There’s a pause, then a groan. “You’re suspended, not dying.”
“Jax,” I grit out, pouring the rest of the whiskey into a glass. “I’m not asking.”
He mutters something about me being a lunatic, but he agrees. Because Jax always agrees when I’m like this. Always cleans me up after my messes. He knows better than to let me off the leash alone.
An hour later, neon lights split the night. The bass hits like a punch the second we walk into the club, vibrating through my ribs, rattling my teeth. It feels good. The kind of good that can drown a man.
We slide into a booth in the back, shots already waiting courtesy of some bartender I used to sleep with. The liquid disappears fast, burn stacking on burn until my chest feels like fire.
But it’s not enough. I can still feel his skin under my fingers, his voice in my ears.
“Jesus, Phoenix,” Jax mutters after my fifth shot. “You trying to blackout in record time?”
“Trying to live.” My grin is sharp, wide. I can feel the edges of it cracking. “You in or out?”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop me when I fish a baggie out of my pocket. White powder, sharp promise. I didn’t plan on it tonight, but planning’s never been my strong suit.
Jax sighs like a man already regretting every choice he’s made in life, then takes the line I offer him anyway. Best friend duties. He’ll never admit he likes the chaos almost as much as I do.
The coke hits fast. Sharp. Electric. My whole body hums and everything is bright. The world tilts, and I tilt with it, grinning too hard, laughing too loud.
The music swallows me whole when I hit the dance floor.
Bodies press in, soft and warm, perfume thick in the air.
A brunette slides against me, hands on my chest, lips grazing my ear.
Another girl joins, laughing, tugging at my shirt.
I let them. I spin with them, grind with them, let their hands leave streaks of warmth across my skin.
Why not? It’s not like I’m someone’s boyfriend.
But every time I close my eyes, it’s not their faces I see. It’s his. Leander, flushed and wide-eyed, whispering my name like it’s both a curse and a prayer. Leander, lips parted, bruises blooming where I kissed too hard. Leander, walking away from me like I didn’t just bleed for him.