“Yes?”
He leaned in slightly. “You’re going to thrive.”
Something in mychest shifted—like a small flame finding oxygen, and I took a deep breath. For the first time I believed Iwas.
Chapter twenty-four
Empty Net - When a team removes its goalie for an extra attacker.
Cole
Returning to my apartment felt strangely unreal, as if I were stepping not into home but into some echo of it—familiar walls, familiar air, but nothing sitting quite right beneath my skin. Maybe we should move? This felt too much like my father could walk in, and it was sterile…too sterile. The door clicked shut behind us, soft but definitive, sealing out the hallway noise: the distant TV from down the hall, the elevator groaning through its cables, the steady thump of footsteps overhead. Usually that mix of sounds comforted me. Tonight, they only made the silence between us feel sharper.
Phoenix hovered in the middle of the living room like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to sit or stand or breathe. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders curled inward, and the dragon beneath my ribs bristled immediately at the wrongness in his posture. He looked like someone boxed in on all sides.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
He nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”
It wasn’t the lie that hit me—it was how easily he said it. He wasn’t a bad liar; he was simply terrified. I just didn't know why. My biggest fear that was he regretted me,us.
I moved toward the bedroom, and he followed, staying just far enough behind that I could feel the distance he was trying to create. He’d kept that same few feet between us all day, close enough to watch but far enough to hide. I pulled down garment bags and shirts from the closet. Phoenix pulled out his own clothes and that settled me.
“You didn’t sleep last night,” I said gently.
“A bit.”
Another lie.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not with me.”
He stilled. His hands flattened on the fabric. When he finally lifted his eyes, they looked bruised with exhaustion. “I’m just tired,” he said again. “You had a big day. I didn’t want to make it about me.”
“You can tell me anything.”
Something flickered across his face at that—wanting, fear, apology—but vanished before I could reach for it.
“Not this,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because…” He swallowed hard. “You deserve to be excited about the All-Stars. You deserve something good without me dragging you down.”
I touched his arm, every alarm I had blaring. “Phoenix—talk to me.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, voice barely steady. “I can’t. Not now. Please.”
It felt wrong to drop my hand, but I did, a mixture of hurt and confusion. “Okay. When you’re ready.”
“After the tournament,” he murmured, and the way he said it twisted something deep in my chest.
We kept packing. I touched him deliberately, and he didn't pull away. For a heartbeat he leaned toward me, breath catching like he needed the contact, needed someone to pull him out of whatever hell he was drowning in. Then he stepped backwards, out of reach.
“We should finish packing,” he said, voice too even to be real.
