Chapter 11 Phoenix #2
I pull one of the girls closer, teeth grazing her neck, but it doesn’t work. It’s the wrong taste, the wrong scent, the wrong heat. I need him.
“Phoenix!”
Jax’s voice cuts through the music, sharp, warning. He’s at the edge of the floor, arms crossed, eyes dark.
I laugh, stumbling toward him, grabbing his shoulders like the room isn’t spinning. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
“You’re out of control,” he says, steadying me when I nearly trip. “And don’t look at me like that because I’m not dragging your ass out when you pick a fight with the wrong guy.”
I grin, feral, leaning close. “You worried about me, Jax? That’s sweet.”
“Worried about myself, more like,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his tone, something I don’t usually hear. His eyes flick, just once, toward my pocket where the baggie still sits.
Then toward the girls on the floor, still watching me with hungry eyes.
“Leander’s not here. I’m not his,” I say, the words slurring slightly but carrying too much weight.
Jax’s brows knit, but he doesn’t answer. He just exhales hard, grabs my arm, and drags me back to the booth. “I knew you guys were fucking,” he grumbles under his breath.
The shots keep coming. My laughter keeps spilling. But Jax keeps glancing at me, then at my phone, then at the clock. He’s measuring me, calculating the damage.
I didn’t notice at first that he slipped his own phone out. Didn’t notice the way his voice dips low, urgent, into the receiver. It’s only later, after the next line, after the next drink, after my head tips back against the booth and the world starts to blur, that I catch the tail end of it.
“…he’s bad, Lee. Real bad. Just—please come get us before this turns ugly.”
My head lolls, lips curling into a dangerous grin. Because even when he tries to stay away, even when he swears he needs space, even when he leaves me to rot in my own damn spiral—Leander always comes back.
The lights strobe, the bass rattles my ribs, and I’m high enough that everything feels like it’s humming under my skin. But none of it’s sticking. None of it’s him.
My head tips back against the booth. My throat’s raw from whiskey, my nose stings from the coke. I wonder if he’ll come. Or if he’ll leave me to rot because he’s not mine.
And I’m not his.
Then I see him. It’s like a hallucination at first, a trick of the lights. But no—there he is, cutting through the crowd like the whole damn world is making room for him.
All black. A compression shirt hugging his chest, fabric stretching across every hard line of muscle. Jeans fitted enough to show the narrowness of his waist, the long stride of his legs.
My mouth goes dry. My blood spikes so fast it’s dizzying.
Fuck.
My Leander.
My heart lurches against my ribs like it’s trying to claw free. He’s too perfect, too sharp against the haze of this place. And he’s here for me.
I’m on my feet before I even think, shouldering through the crowd, ignoring the hands that try to pull me back to dance. He sees me coming, jaw tight, expression unreadable, and that only fuels me more.
By the time I reach him, I’m already grabbing his wrist, tugging him off the floor.
He resists just enough to make my chest ache, but he follows.
I drag him down the narrow hall past the bar, past the line for the women’s bathrooms, past a couple making out in the hall.
The door of the men’s restroom slams behind us, the bass muffled but still pounding through the walls.
“Phoenix—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. I shove him back into the nearest stall, lock clicking behind us.
The space is small, claustrophobic, my body crowding his, caging him in. The overhead light buzzes faintly, flickering, catching on the angles of his face. He’s flushed, annoyed, but so fucking gorgeous I can barely breathe.
“Why are you dressed like that? Were you on a date?” I demand, voice rough, too loud. My hands slam against the wall on either side of his head. “Is that why you didn’t call? You already fucking forgot me?”
His brows pull together. “What? No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” My voice cracks, the words slurring into something raw. “You walk in here looking like—like that—and you expect me to believe you were just… what? Sitting at home?”
“I wasn’t at home.” His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. I can’t believe he’s having fun while I’m shattered into pieces. “I was at the gym. Phoenix, you’re drunker than I thought you’d be.”
The tease stings, but it also burns straight through me. Because he’s here. He came. He didn’t leave me hanging forever.
I lean closer, so close my breath lands against his cheek. “Why didn’t you call, Lee?”
He swallows, eyes darting away for half a second before coming back to mine. “I needed space.”
“Space.” The word tastes like poison. I laugh, sharp and broken. “You think I can breathe without you? You think I can exist without you?”
His chest rises against mine, shallow, uneven. My hands drop from the wall, sliding over his shoulders, down his chest, gripping his waist like I’ll die if I let go.
“You don’t get it,” I whisper, forehead pressing against his. “I can’t stop. I can’t stop needing you. It’s like—fuck—it’s like you’re under my skin, in my blood. I can’t—”
The words choke me, too close to what I’ve never said to anyone. Too close to something that sounds like love.
His lips part, just a fraction, and I can’t help myself. I crash my mouth against his, desperate, messy. His taste cuts through the coke and whiskey, clean and familiar, better than air.
He lets me. For a moment, he lets me. His hands lift, fingers tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I swear I could drown right here in this stall and not care.
The kiss turns rough, teeth clashing, tongues tangling. My hands are everywhere—gripping his waist, sliding under his shirt, tracing the hard muscle I’ve been starving for. He gasps against my mouth when I grind against him, the friction sparking fire low in my gut.
“Fuck, Lee,” I groan, lips dragging down his jaw to his throat. I find the pulse there, frantic under my tongue, and bite just hard enough to make him gasp. “You drive me insane. Can’t think straight without you.”
I can’t stop touching him, can’t stop drinking him in. He’s all hard muscle under my palms, heat burning through the thin black shirt that clings to his chest. His mouth tastes like salvation, like something I’ve been chasing my whole life without knowing it.
And then he stops me.
Pushes me back just enough that air slices between us, cold and cruel.
“Phoenix.” His voice is steady, too steady. “Stop.”
The word cracks me open. I can’t—I won’t.
“No,” I rasp, forehead pressing against his, lips brushing his when I breathe. “Don’t tell me to stop. Not when you’re here. Not when you said I wasn’t yours.”
My voice shatters, breaking on the words I’m too much of a coward to say.
My chest feels like it’s caving in, like the walls of this stall are closing tighter.
The coke makes my skin buzz, but the alcohol makes my head heavy, and all of it together makes me reckless.
My hand fists in his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left, until I’m breathing him in like oxygen.
“Say you’re not leaving me,” I whisper, so low it’s almost a prayer. My voice shakes, raw and broken. “Say it.”
For a moment, he just stares at me. His hazel eyes are endless, cutting through the haze. He could shove me off, leave me crumpled on the bathroom floor. He should but he doesn’t.
Instead, his expression softens, melts. Like something inside him finally cracks too. His hand lifts, brushing my jaw, slow and tender in a way that makes my chest ache. His thumb traces the corner of my mouth, catching on the smear of my grin, the taste of desperation still lingering there.
“Phoenix,” he says, and this time it’s not sharp. It’s soft. It’s everything I’ve needed and never let myself have. “I’m not leaving you.”
The words gut me.
I collapse against him, pressing my forehead to his shoulder, clinging like he’s the only thing holding me up. His arms wrap around me automatically, steady and warm, pulling me tight against him.
No one’s ever held me like this. Not like I’m something worth keeping. Not like I’m allowed to be weak.
“You don’t get it,” I mutter against his neck, words slurring, spilling. “You don’t get what you do to me. I can’t—fuck. I can’t think without you. Everything’s just noise until you walk in the room.”
His hand slides up my back, slow, soothing. His breath ghosts against my temple, steady where mine stutters.
“You’re drunk,” he says gently, but he doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t pull free.
“Yeah,” I laugh, bitter and broken. “Drunk as fuck. High too. All because you didn’t call. What’s that say about me, huh?”
“That you’re a mess,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite in it. Just warmth.
“Your mess,” I shoot back, too fast, too raw. My chest heaves, my throat burns. “Tell me I’m yours.”
His silence stretches, taut. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s going to tear out, because if he says no—if he says he doesn’t want me—
But then he exhales, long and quiet, and his hand cradles the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair. “You’re mine.”
I lift my head, eyes locking on his. His expression is softer than I’ve ever seen it, stripped bare. It makes me reckless all over again.
I kiss him. Slower this time. Less frantic, less teeth and desperation. Just lips, pressing, lingering. His mouth gives under mine, soft and warm, and for the first time all night, the world stops spinning.
It’s gentle. And it terrifies me more than the coke, more than the fight, more than anything. Because if I let myself believe this softness is real—I won’t survive losing it.
When I finally pull back, my chest feels hollow, aching. “Don’t walk away from me again,” I whisper. “I’ll burn the whole fucking world down if you do.”
His thumb brushes my cheek again, slow, grounding. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”
The words sting, but they’re laced with something else too. Something that feels dangerously close to care. I let him pull me out of the stall, my body still buzzing, my thoughts a tangle. He steadies me like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a thousand times.
Leander’s car smells like him. Clean, sharp—sweat and soap and something darker underneath that I can never fucking name but always crave. I’m half-sprawled in the passenger seat, head tipped back against the leather, while Jax groans like death in the back.
My buzz hasn’t worn off yet, but the world feels steadier now that Lee’s behind the wheel.
Every time his hands tighten on the steering wheel, veins flexing, tendons sharp in the dim glow of passing streetlights, I want to bite them. Want to suck the breath out of his lungs until he can’t even think of anyone but me.
“God,” Jax groans from the backseat, breaking my spiral. “You two think you’re slick, huh?”
Leander glances at me, just the twitch of his eyes from the road, but I see it. That flicker of panic.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I mutter, twisting around halfway, squinting at Jax.
He laughs, weak and sloppy, his head thunking against the window.
“Don’t play dumb. You hate driving, Phoenix.
Hate it. You’ve made me drive us everywhere since we were, what, seventeen?
And suddenly you’re chauffeuring this guy everywhere?
Practically glued to his hip?” He groans again, clutching his stomach like the sound itself hurt him.
“You hate driving?” Leander says with a shocked tone.
My head lolls to the side to look at him. “Not when you’re in the car. I like to take care of you.”
“Ooooh, so he’s obsessed with you, rookie. That makes more sense,” Jax quips.
Leander’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and my lips curl, teeth catching on the inside of my cheek. Obsession. Yeah. He’s not wrong. But no one gets to say it out loud.
“Shut up, Jax,” I growl, sinking lower into the seat, eyes dragging back to Leander. My Leander. His jaw’s tight, lips pressed into a line, but his ears are pink.
Jax chuckles, his words slurring slightly. “You don’t fool me. Whole team thinks you’ve just taken him under your wing, but I knew.” Jax puts his chin on Lee’s seat. “Leander’s too pretty for you to leave him alone.”
I shove Jax’s forehead back, almost growling.
“Phoenix,” Leander snaps.
I pull back, crossing my arms.
“Yeah, totally whipped,” Jax mumbles.
Leander exhales slow through his nose. Doesn’t bite, doesn’t snap. That control of his drives me insane. I want to ruin it, tear it down until he’s panting and raw. But not with Jax watching.
The rest of the drive is quiet except for Jax giving every speck of proof of how he knew we were together.
By the time we stumble into my house, I’m dragging. The buzz feels sour, like it’s eating holes in my chest, leaving nothing but hunger behind. Leander herds us down the hall, steady as ever, and I let him because—fuck—I’d follow him anywhere.
“Bed,” he orders, pointing at my room like he owns the place.
Jax pulls off his shirt and jeans revealing the ugliest pair of pink donut boxers. Then, collapses face-first onto my mattress, groaning like he’s been shot.
I laugh low and peel off my shirt, letting it drop. “You’re not even gonna argue, huh? Thought you hated sleeping at mine.”
“Too drunk to care,” Jax mutters into the pillow.
Leander sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He looks exhausted, but he still hovers like he’s the one responsible for keeping us alive. Like he didn’t already do that by showing up tonight.
I climb into bed next to Jax, then curl my fingers around Leander’s wrist before he can pull back. My grip’s sloppy but desperate.
“Stay.”
He hesitates. I see the war in his eyes, the urge to keep that perfect line between us. But he doesn’t win it. Not tonight.
“Fine.”
Lee goes over to his pile of stuff in the corner, quickly pulling on one of my old high school t-shirts and some basketball shorts. He slides onto the mattress, stiff at first, then warm when I tug him closer.
I wedge myself behind him, greedy, pulling Leander into my chest until his back’s pressed to me, his body fitting against mine like it’s always belonged there. My arm hooks around his waist, my face buried in his neck.
Jax groans again. “For the love of God, don’t fuck while I’m right here. I’m too drunk to move, but I swear, I’ll puke on both of you if I hear one moan.”
I grin against Leander’s skin, the taste of sweat and salt right there for me. “Relax, Jax. I’m just cuddling.”
He mutters something unintelligible, already half-asleep.
I’ve got Leander’s pulse fluttering under my lips, his body caged tight against mine. He shifts once, maybe out of nerves, maybe out of habit, but I just squeeze tighter.
“Mine,” I whisper so low only he can hear.
And this time, he doesn’t pull away.