He stepped close enough that our foreheads nearly touched. “Phoenix,” he breathed. “I love you.”
My lungs seized. “You can’t say that. Not after—”
“I can,” he said softly. “Because it’s true.” He cupped the side of my face, thumb catching a tear. “I love you. And I should’ve told you before everything went wrong.”
My heart twisted painfully.
“I love you too,” I whispered. “I think I have since the first night.”
He let out a breath that sounded like relief and grief tangled together. And when he pulled me even tighter into his arms, I didn’t fight it this time. Didn’t hide. Didn’t apologize for the thousandth time.
I simply sank into him — into the warmth I’d convinced myself I’d lost forever.
His arms tightened around me, not possessive, not desperate…just certain.
“We’ll figure it out,”he murmured into my hair. “Together.”
And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, maybe my whole life—I believed him.
I'd almost expected to watch the All-Star game alone. That was what I knew—how to sit at the edge of a room, unnoticed, half-braced for something to go wrong. But I wasn’t alone, and we didn't hide in the VIP box much to the fans' delight.
Ignatius was on my left, dignified as always, sitting with the quiet tension of a dragon watching his hoard take the ice. Doryu sat beside him, handing me a water bottle the second my hands started shaking. Taranis, Keegan, Drake, Ash, Ember and Max had flown in this morning, loud and bright in their seats, slapping each other on the arms whenever Cole appeared on the jumbotron.
Cole had half their hearts tied to him in one way or another—teammates, brothers, friends—and the moment they saw me, they’d pulled me right into their orbit without hesitating. I had no idea if they shared the same ancestry. Well, maybe Keegan and Taranis, but all hockey players seemed larger than life to me.
“Sit in the middle,” Max said, waving me closer. “You’ll get the best view.”
“Better than mine,” Keegan grumbled.
Taranis just gave me one of his rare, warm looks. “He’ll feel you here.” The words alone nearly undid me. We sat together as a unit—an odd little family of dragons, humans, and one emotionally delicate disaster, all waiting for Cole to take the ice.
And then he did.
The building roared when Cole skated out for introductions, lights pouring over him, fans screaming his name. But the loudest reaction came from the Dragons’ seats.
Max punched the air. Keegan whistled loud enough to make kids in front of us jump. Taranis’s chest puffed with pride. Ignatius clapped slowly, approvingly, like a monarch witnessing his heir. Doryu leaned in and whispered to me, “Watch his face. He’ll look for you.”
He did.
Right after the cameras had their fill, right after the announcers shouted his stats, Cole’s gaze swept the crowd and landed on us.
Onme.
And just like that, the tense set of his shoulders eased.
Three-on-three hockey wasn’t like anything I’d seen before, not that my grand total of two games made me an expert, but it seemed all speed and talent and impossible angles. But even among the best players in the league, Cole was unmistakable.
He moved like the ice obeyed him. Every stride fluid. Every turn sharp. Every touch of the puck controlled with quiet precision.
Taranis murmured, “He’s running hot.” I hissed a breath in panic, expecting the ice to start melting, but nothing happened.
Ignatius nodded. “But steady. Phoenix anchors him.”
Cole darted between two players, stole the puck so cleanly I thought the other guy might check himself out of embarrassment. He cut toward the net with a burst of speed that made Max swear loudly.
“He’s not supposed to be that fast,” Keegan muttered.
“He’s a bloody comet,” Max corrected. “Shut up and enjoy the show.”
