I’d been circling the words for days, maybe weeks, like a stray around a warm porch, pretending I was just there for the scraps. But there it was. No point lying to myself anymore.
I loved him.This broken, blazing, gentle man who apologized for things that weren’t his fault and still flinched when someone raised their voice. This dragon who’d almost torn apart a room when someone threatened me.
It landed in my chest with a weird mix of terror and relief. Like my heart had been waiting for me to admit it so it could stop tying itself in knots.
Chapter twenty-one
Icing - When a player shoots the puck from their own side of the center line past the opponent's goal line without it being touched.
Phoenix
Cole had started thrashing, not violently but desperate, and I jerked awake because he'd tangled his hand in my shirt, not letting go. At first, I couldn't even figure out what was happening. His whole body was locked up, sweat beading along his brow despite the chill in the room, lips parted like he was trying to get a breath and couldn't find it.
I didn't touch him, not right away. I just whispered softly, "Cole? Hey, sweetheart, you're safe. You're here, with me. It's okay."
His hand kept gripping, panic in every motion. I pressed my forehead to his, careful, so careful, and just kept repeating it. "Safe, Cole. You're safe. They're not here. They can't get you."
He whimpered, a low breathless sound, and tried to jerk his hand away.
"No," I said, gentle but firm. "Don't fight me. I've got you. I'm not leaving."
Slowly, I smoothed my palm up his arm, tracing light circles like he’d done against the back of my neck when I'd been the one spiraling. He was burning up. But it wasn't the kind of heat that melted ice—it was the heat of someone who'd run from every nightmare and finally couldn't anymore.
He muttered something, voice a hoarse scrape. Didn't even sound like words, just noise. Pain.
I pushed my other hand into his curls and cradled his head, bringing him close. "Breathe with me, okay? In. Out. Good. You're here, just me and you. No one else."
He shuddered, ribs stuttering like he couldn't pull in enough air. I pressed a kiss to his cheek, then another, and finally his jaw, letting him feel me, taste me if he wanted.
"You're not alone," I kept whispering, every time the panic tried to snatch him away. "You're not a monster. You're mine. You hear me? Only ever mine."
That finally seemed to get through. His eyes opened, unfocused at first, then clearing, pinning me in place.
"Phoenix?" His voice was wrecked. Nothing but broken glass and hope.
"I'm right here," I promised. "Not letting you go."
He made a sound that couldn't decide if it was a sob or a laugh, and then he just…melted. Right there in my hands, all the tension leaking out, leaving him trembling and wild-eyed.
I waited until I could see him again, the real Cole, and then I kissed him, soft and careful, not asking for anything. Just a touch, a promise, anchored in skin.
He made another sound, this one closer to a moan, and the heat rolled up from his chest like a living thing, hungry for touch, for comfort, for something only I could give.
"Let me take care of you," I said, still whispering, because it felt too raw for anything else. "Please. Let me make it better."
He nodded. Barely.
I slid down, slow, letting my mouth trail along his throat, following the salt of his skin until I found the old bruises and new ones on the sharp ridge of his collarbone. My mouth barely touched, just enough pressure to say I was here, I was real, this wasn’t a dream or one of the old nightmares. His hands curled tighter, locking around my shirt. I didn’t rush. I was too scared I’d fuck it up and he’d slip away again, back into whatever hell his father built for him.
He didn’t shake me off.
I kissed along his jaw, light, soft, letting him get used to the weight of me. I didn’t know what I was doing but somehow my body did—all instinct, the way he got small when he was overwhelmed, how every inch of him wanted to hide and be touched at the same time. I mapped my mouth along the trail of sweat, tasted salt and the bitter chemical edge of adrenaline, and felt him shudder.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but he wasn’t gone. I could see it, hear it, the way he tried to match my breaths, how each inhale got less desperate. So I did it again. Kissed him under the ear, careful. On the edge of his jaw, careful. Down the column of his throat, slow as I dared, because I knew how hard it was for both of us when someone touched and wanted nothing except to stay.
I whispered, “Let me,” and didn’t add all the words that wanted to spill out.
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go either. So I kept going. I levered myself half onto his chest, not heavy, not pinning, just enough to say you don’t have to move, I’m not going to let anyone near you tonight, nothing can get in.
