I raise a brow. “What happened at twelve?”
He shrugs, but the motion is tight, almost reluctant. “Took a bad hit in juniors. Kid twice my size slammed me into the boards, my collarbone snapped clean. I thought it was the end of the world. Missed the whole season. But the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the months of rehab after. Staring at white ceilings, counting reps, learning to breathe through frustration when my body didn’t bounce back the way I wanted. I hated feeling weak. Still do.”
The honesty in his tone stirs something in me, an unexpected flicker of empathy.
I clear my throat. “Guess that makes you my personal injury encyclopedia. Do I get a subscription card or are you my shadow until I’m back on the ice?”
His mouth quirks this time, faint but real. “Both.”
The door slams open so hard it ricochets off the stopper, a violent crack that makes the nurses at the station look up. My stomach knots even before I see him.
“Leander.”
My brother strides toward my bed with fire on his heels. His presence fills the room, making it feel suddenly smaller. He doesn’t even look at Phoenix at first. His gaze hooks on me, scanning me head to toe with a soldier’s efficiency, a brother’s panic.
He takes in the brace on my knee, the slight elevation, the thin blanket the nurses left pulled up too high. His jaw tightens, a twitch of muscle under skin.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, stopping at the end of my bed.
I force my lips into something that resembles a smile. It doesn’t reach my eyes. My throat feels raw, like I’ve swallowed gravel. “It’s nothing, Silas. I just tripped on the ice during drills. Landed wrong, that’s all. Minor.”
His brows knit together. He doesn’t buy it. Of course he doesn’t. Silas has always been able to smell a lie on me, even the small ones. Especially the small ones.
“You tripped,” he repeats slowly, like he’s tasting the word, finding it rotten. His stare pins me. “You expect me to believe that?”
I swallow, shifting slightly on the stiff hospital bed. “It happens. Ice is… slippery.”
I see the corner of Phoenix’s mouth tip into a smile.
“Leander,” Silas starts, sternly. But Phoenix puts a hand out, stopping him.
“I’m Phoenix,” he says, voice cutting through like the crack of a whip. He’s been hovering at my side the whole time, but now he steps forward, planting himself between me and Silas without even realizing it. “Teammate. Captain.”
Silas’s gaze finally snaps to him. He sizes him up the way I’ve seen him do to men at bars who look twice at me, his expression hard and cold. The silence stretches a beat too long before he gives a curt nod, ignoring his hand. “Thanks for bringing him in. You can go now.”
Phoenix doesn’t budge. His body stays angled toward me, a steady wall of heat I can feel even from the bed. He tilts his head, placing his hands in his pockets, calm but unyielding. “I’m not leaving. He’s on my team. My responsibility.”
The word lodges in my chest. Responsibility. The way he says it—like it isn’t just about line changes and practice drills, but something heavier, something personal—makes my pulse jump.
Silas crosses his arms, the motion deliberate, slow. He towers just enough to make the air shift.
“Your responsibility?” His voice is flat but dangerous. “You’re telling me you, some captain, are suddenly responsible for my brother’s well-being?”
Phoenix doesn’t blink, a wolfish grin spreading on his mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I suck in a breath. The room feels thick, charged. Two forces circling, waiting for the first swing.
“Silas…” I try, my voice catching. “It’s fine. Really. He’s been helpful.”
Silas’s eyes flick back to me, then return to Phoenix. His suspicion sharpens, cutting. “Helpful.” He spits the word like it tastes wrong.
Phoenix’s jaw flexes. He looks at Silas the way he looks at defensemen who try to shove him off the puck—calm, sure, but utterly immovable. “I’m staying until he’s cleared. Then I’ll make sure he gets home. It’s what a captain does.”
Something twists low in me at that because it’s not a lie, not technically, but there’s something more behind it. And I know Silas senses it too.
My brother takes a step closer to Phoenix. Their shoulders almost brush. The energy is bristling, hot, like a match hovering above gasoline.
“You don’t get to decide what happens with my family,” Silas says. His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the growl underneath. “I do. You’ve done your part. He’s safe now. You can leave.”
