He shuffled to his feet, moving like an old man. I resisted the urge to help him, sensing he needed to do this on his own.
The ride up was silent. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor numbers, aware of Phoenix standing a careful distance away. When we reached my floor, he followed me down the hall, each step measured and deliberate.
"Thank you," he said as I unlocked the door. "For letting me come back."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The apartment was exactly as I'd left it—the untouched mug of tea on the counter, a note beside it. I picked it up, reading the five words:You were right about me.
"I didn't mean it," Phoenix said, noticing what I held. "Not the way it sounds."
"What did you mean, then?" I asked, setting the paper down.
He lowered himself carefully onto the couch, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. "Maybe I do... I'm exactly what you think I am. Damaged. Difficult. Someone who runs when things get too real."
I sat across from him, maintaining the distance he seemed to need. "Is that why you picked that fight this morning? To have a reason to leave?"
Phoenix stared at his hands. "Maybe. I don't know. Everything felt... too much." He glanced up at me. "Why did you let me back in?"
It was the question I'd been asking myself since the doorman's call. Why did I care what happened to this stranger who'd tried to con me? Who'd left without a backward glance? The answer that came to mind was too honest, too real to say aloud.
"Because everyone deserves a second chance," I said instead, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
Phoenix's mouth twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. "Even someone like me?"
"Especially someone like you." I stood and walked to the kitchen, needing space to think. "Are you hungry?"
"Always," he admitted.
I pulled ingredients from the fridge, grateful for something to do with my hands. " I have soup I can heat up, and I have sandwiches, or I can order." I huffed apologetically. "I don't cook."
"Whatever you want," Phoenix said, carefully. I didn't like careful. For a second I imagined him wild. Pupils blown, fair hair mussed…and naked, very naked.
"Cole?"
I looked up and managed not to adjust myself. "Yeah?"
"What happens now?" The question hung between us, heavy with implication.
"Now you rest. Get better." I focused on the soup, not meeting his eyes. "After that... we'll figure it out."
"I can't stay here forever." His voice was quiet but firm.
"No, you can't." I stirred the soup more vigorously than necessary. "But you don't have to leave today. Tomorrow I’m going to St. Louis with the team, you can stay here."
The silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the soft bubbling of the soup. I wasn't ready to examine why I wanted him to stay, why the thought of him leaving again made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Why are you doing this?" Phoenix asked, his voice barely audible over the soup bubbling on the stove. "The truth this time."
I turned off the burner and braced my hands against the counter. The question deserved an honest answer, one I wasn't sure I had. When I looked at him—bruised, exhausted, still somehow defiant—something twisted in my chest that had nothing to do with pity.
"Because when I look at you," I said finally, "I see someone fighting to survive against impossible odds. And I respect that."
His eyes widened slightly, as if this was the last answer he'd expected.
"And," I continued, pouring soup into two bowls, "because I know what it's like to be trapped."
Phoenix's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
I carried the bowls to the coffee table, setting one in front of him before taking a seat in the armchair across from him. "My father controls everything. My money, my career, my entire life. Has since I was thirteen." I blew on a spoonful of soup, not meeting his eyes. "I have a multi-million-dollar contract and can't access a penny without his approval."
