Chapter 14 Leander
LEANDER
Idon’t even know when it started.
When wanting him stopped being about the rush, the danger, the way he consumed me like fire. Somewhere along the line, the chaos turned into something steadier, something I don’t even have the word for.
Maybe it’s love.
It slips into my head like a traitor, uninvited, and I can’t shake it.
I’m in the back of the bus, ear pressed to the cold window, pretending I’m asleep while the guys argue about plays from the game. My knee still throbs from where I took that hit earlier, my knuckles are raw, but none of it matters. I feel more alive right now than I ever have before.
The fight should’ve drained me. Should’ve left me aching and guilty for losing control.
Instead, I feel… untouchable. Like for once, I didn’t just take the hits—I gave them back.
And the look on Phoenix’s face when I did?
That wild hunger, that pride burning in his eyes like I was more than he’d dared to hope for.
It does something to me.
I’ve been quiet my whole life. Careful. Keeping my head down, staying small, staying out of the way. But with him… with him I don’t shrink. I step into the fire. And it doesn’t burn me, it makes me stronger.
Even in the shower after, when the steam fogged the glass and his hands bruised into my skin, I wasn’t just surviving him. I pushed back. For a moment, I had him. His body pinned, his head tipped back by my hand tangled in his hair, his eyes blown wide like maybe he’d let me. Like he wanted me to.
And fuck, the memory twists low in my stomach now, hotter than it should.
I’ve never let myself imagine it before, but it comes to me so vividly I can’t stop it.
Phoenix beneath me, muscles taut and trembling, his cocky grin finally breaking when I push him past his limit.
The control in my hands, not his. Him softening for me the way he’s never softened for anyone.
I bite my lip hard, trying to shake it, but the image stays. The thought of hearing his voice rough with need instead of command. Of being the one to take him apart, to make him feel good instead of always clawing to keep up with him. My chest tightens.
It terrifies me, the idea of asking for that, of needing it. But if anyone would let me—if anyone would trust me with that—it’s Phoenix. And God help me, I think I want it.
I lean back against the seat, dragging a hand over my face, trying to smother the smile tugging at my mouth. I’m falling for him. I’m already in too deep. Every bruise he gives me, every kiss, every reckless game is pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
And yeah, maybe that’s dangerous. Maybe it’s stupid. But right now, with my body still humming from the fight, with the memory of him soft in my hands while his eyes burned into me, all I can think is… If this is love, then I don’t want safe.
I want him.
The apartment smells like laundry detergent and faint cologne when we step inside, the kind of scent that’s begun to feel like home without me even realizing it.
Phoenix tosses his keys onto the counter and shrugs out of his jacket like he hasn’t just played a full game and spent part of it yelling at refs for me.
“Sit,” he says, jerking his chin at the couch. His voice leaves no room for argument, and for once, I don’t even want to give him one.
My knee’s stiff by now, aching from the game. I lower myself onto the couch, exhaling slowly, and watch him dig through a bag near the door. Ice pack, elastic bandage, some kind of ointment that smells like menthol. He moves with easy confidence.
“Foot up,” he says, patting his thigh for me to rest my leg there.
I hesitate for half a second before obeying, settling my calf across his solid thigh. He doesn’t flinch at the weight. His focus is all on my knee, his brows drawn as he presses the ice pack into place. The coolness bites, and I suck in a breath.
“Too cold?”
“No,” I manage. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
He hums in approval and starts wrapping. His fingers graze my skin every so often, warm against the chill of the ice, and every brush sends my thoughts somewhere I don’t want them to go. Or maybe I do.
Because there he is—on his knees before me, head bent, strong hands careful as they work.
And I’m remembering the shower. Remembering the way his body curved under mine, the way his breath caught when I gripped his hair, the way, for a split second, I had power over him.
Phoenix. The captain. The man no one touches unless he lets them.
What would it be like if he let me again? If he wanted me to?
My pulse spikes, heat rushing low in my stomach.
I grip the couch tighter, like I can wrestle the thought back down, but it only grows.
I can’t stop looking at him. At the sharp cut of his jaw in the lamplight, the soft shadow of stubble, the faint sheen of sweat still drying on his temple.
He’s beautiful like this. Untouchable everywhere else, but soft here, with me.
And I realize I don’t just want the rush of the fight, the adrenaline, the sex in the locker room showers. I want this too. The quiet. The steadiness. Him.
He glances up, his eyes locking with mine. “You’re tense.”
I force a breath out, try to steady my voice. “It’s nothing.”
“Lee.” His tone is gentle but firm. A warning. He knows me well enough already.
I swallow hard. My chest feels too tight. He’s still holding my leg, still kneeling, still looking at me like I’m not too much, like I’m worth the trouble. And before I can think better of it, before I can stop myself, it rips out of me.
“I want you to meet Silas.”
Phoenix stills. The roll of elastic slips from his hand, dangling loose. His gaze sharpens, pinning me harder than any opponent ever has.
“Officially,” I add, my voice low, unsteady. My throat is dry, but I force the words out anyway. “As my boyfriend.”
The silence after feels like it stretches for hours. My heartbeat drums in my ears, my whole body taut like a wire. What the hell did I just do?
Phoenix’s mouth curves, slowly. Not his usual cocky grin. Softer. Dangerous in a completely different way.
Phoenix lifts his head, that soft grin still curving his mouth. But behind it, I catch a flicker of something else—hesitation.
“You really want me to meet him?” His voice is low, careful. Not like him at all.
“Yes,” I say without thinking. My fingers have drifted up to his hair. I don’t want to let go.
Phoenix exhales, shifting back on his heels, dragging his hands down his face. “Lee… I’m not exactly his favorite person. Pretty sure I made a hell of a first impression when I started resource guarding you at the hospital.”
The memory flashes in my mind. He’d been so raw that day, so reckless. Silas had hated it. But me? That was the first moment I realized how far Phoenix would go for me.
“He’ll get over it,” I say softly. “He just wants me safe. That’s all.”
Phoenix’s eyes cut back to mine, sharp and searching. “And you’re safe with me?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. My chest tightens at the way he’s looking at me—like he’s testing, like he needs me to say it plain. “I’m always safe with you.”
Something breaks in his expression then. Relief, maybe. Or something heavier. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You don’t know what that does to me, hearing you say that.”
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming. “You don’t have to prove anything to Silas. Just… be you.”
Phoenix chuckles, but it’s strained. “That might be the problem.”
I shake my head, grip his jaw so he has to look at me. “No. That’s exactly why I want him to meet you.”
For a beat, neither of us moves. His eyes darken, studying me like he’s trying to decide if I’m serious. Then, finally, he exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching into that familiar, cocky grin.
“Guess I better make sure I don’t scare your brother into thinking I’m corrupting you.”
I smirk, my chest loosening at the humor creeping back into his tone. “Too late for that.”
His laugh is soft, low, the sound curling around me like heat. He leans in to kiss me—slow, careful, nothing like the frenzy of the showers earlier. And for the first time, I let myself believe this might actually work.
The car ride over to Silas’ apartment is tense. Phoenix grips the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, jaw tense, tapping his fingers against it in rhythm with the traffic. Every so often, he glances at me, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s calculating how much of himself to show.
“You’re nervous,” I say softly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.
He stiffens, but only slightly. “I’m not nervous. Just… aware of the stakes.”
I squeeze his leg. “You look good, though.”
He shoots me a sideways glance, faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Stunning. Way better than a T-shirt and joggers.” I bite back a grin, watching him relax a little under my words.
“Better not be lying,” he murmurs, shaking his head and tugging at the hem of his button-up shirt.
I smile, letting him feel it, letting the warmth of my hand remind him he’s not alone in this. “I’m not. You’re… you’re perfect.”
He exhales, leaning back in his seat, finally allowing a small laugh. “You say the damnedest things when I need them most.”
We pull up outside Silas’ building, the familiar urban hum wrapping around us. Phoenix’s hand tightens on mine for a heartbeat, and I give a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be fine. Just… be yourself. That’s all he needs to see.”
Phoenix nods slowly but doesn’t release my hand until we’re inside the lobby. Once we hit the elevator, he fidgets again, eyes scanning the buttons, hands moving over each other. I brush my thumb against the back of his hand, hoping my touch is enough to ground him.
“You’re calm on the outside,” I murmur, “but I can feel you buzzing.”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “You feel everything, huh?”