"That's the plan." Phoenix executed a perfect slide tackle, stealing the ball from my player. "Though your defense needs serious work."
"Story of my career," I muttered, attempting to regain possession.
Phoenix glanced at me briefly. "Really? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hockey prodigy."
"Center, not defenseman. Different skillset." I finally managed to intercept his pass. "Though Coach would argue I need to improve my defensive awareness."
"Is that why he kicked you out of practice today?"
I fumbled the controller, nearly dropping it. "How did you—"
"Doorman told me you wouldn’t be home from practice for another couple of hours." Phoenix shrugged, then winced at the movement. "I was expecting a longer wait."
"I was distracted," I admitted, not meeting his eyes.
Phoenix paused the game, setting down his controller. "Because of me?"
The directness of the question caught me off guard. I'd expected deflection, maybe even satisfaction that he'd disrupted my day. I studied Phoenix's face, the bruises now a mottled purple-yellow against his too-pale skin. His question deserved honesty. "Yeah," I admitted. "Because of you. Or...because of me. I don't know."
He nodded slowly, as if he'd expected this answer. "I'm sorry. I never meant to mess with your career." He sighed. “Just financially,” he mumbled.
"You didn't," I said quickly. "I did. I chose to bring you here."
Phoenix looked down at his controller, turning it over in his hands. "Why, though? I tried to blackmail you. I don't deserve your help."
The question hung between us, weighted with all the things I wasn't ready to examine. Why had I searched for him? Why did I care if he lived or died on the streets? Why did the thought of him leaving again make my chest feel like it was caving in?
"Everyone deserves help," I said finally, the answer sounding trite.
Phoenix's mouth twisted. "Right. Your savior complex."
"It's not—" I started, but he cut me off.
"It's okay. I get it." He set the controller down on the coffee table. "I'm tired. Mind if we finish this tomorrow?"
The abrupt end to our conversation left me wrong-footed, but I nodded. "I may stay up a while. I’m leaving around noon tomorrow."
"Sure?" he asked as if he expected me to change my mind, but the exhaustion in his voice betrayed him. He could barely keep his eyes open.
"You're injured. You need sleep." I stood, gathering the empty soup bowls. "It's not negotiable."
Phoenix looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he pushed himself up from the couch with a grimace. "Fine. I’ll make other arrangements soon."
“No need. theplace will be mostly empty. We've got a lot of road games coming up.” The thought of him running again made my chest tighten. I watched him head to the bedroom. At the doorway, he paused and looked back at me.
"Cole?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." The words were soft, almost reluctant. "For everything."
Before I could respond, he disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
I sank back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. The events of the day—the disastrous practice, the argument with Phoenix, his unexpected return—had left me drained. I should have been relieved he was safe, grateful he'd come back instead of dying in some alley. But all I felt was confusion.
I didn't trust him. I wanted him to stay. I knew he should leave.
What the hell was I doing?
