“Silas might still be here.”
Phoenix groans, making me laugh. This feels almost easy.
“How about I pick you up on Saturday, then? I’m having a thing at my place with a few people. Come.”
“Um...”
“Say yes, Lee.” His voice is so soft, pleading.
My pulse races. “Yes.”
7
PHOENIX
Ipull up to Leander’s building earlier than I promised, though I can’t bring myself to care. Waiting has never been my strength; waiting to see him all week has been a special kind of hell.
The second I see him step outside, moving slower than he used to but with that stubborn lift to his chin, my chest tightens. He looks fragile and fierce all at once, and it does something to me I can’t explain. His hair is styled back, and he’s wearing an outfit that I’m sure he changed out of three or four times before deciding this was the way to go. God, he’s cute.
He climbs carefully into the passenger seat, his brace catching the light, and gives me a look. “You’re early.”
I smirk, trying to play it off. “Figured I’d steal you before anyone else could.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s color in his cheeks that I don’t think comes from the cold air.
The drive to my place is short, though every second of it stretches out, strung taut with the silence between us. My fingers tap the wheel, aching to grab his thigh. I want to ask if he’s really okay, if he’s still hurting, if Silas gave him hell after the hospital.But the words knot in my throat. Instead, I focus on the way his presence fills the car—steady, grounding, addictive.
Being around Leander feels like breathing fire: dangerous, consuming, and necessary all at once. The days I couldn’t see him, when Silas hovered like a guard dog, were unbearable. My skin itched with his absence, and my thoughts circled endlessly around the memory of his voice, his laugh, and even the way he snaps at me when I push too far.
I needed him then. I need him now.
When we pull into my driveway, I cut the engine and glance his way. He’s staring at my house like he didn’t expect it to exist.
“You’re really inviting half the team over here?” he asks, one brow lifted.
“Thought it was time,” I say, unbuckling. “First year being captain, gotta show the boys some hospitality.”
That earns me the faintest twitch of a smile. Victory.
Inside, the house is smaller than most expect for someone in my position. One story, nothing fancy—just clean lines, worn-in furniture, and the kind of quiet that keeps me sane. It’s mine, and I’ve never brought anyone who mattered here. Not until now.
Leander steps inside and pauses, taking it all in. His eyes roam over the photographs on the wall, the old leather couch, the half-finished book on the coffee table. Watching him here, in this space, makes my throat tighten. Like the place was waiting for him to walk into it.
“Didn’t peg you for the minimalist type,” he says finally, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Guess I like keeping things simple.”
He wanders toward the bookshelf, fingertips brushing over the spines. “You read?”
I smirk. “Yes, surprisingly, I know how to read.”
I watch him move, too aware of how natural he looks here. As if he belongs and should stay. The thought hits harder than I expect, and I force myself to look away before it shows on my face.
“You want the tour?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets.
He smirks. “Sure. Impress me.”
I take him through the small house—the kitchen with its battered counters, the narrow hallway, the spare bedroom that doubles as storage. Each step feels surreal, like I’m exposing something private. Not just the house. Me.
