Silas picked up the pieces when no one else would. He worked double shifts, kept food in the kitchen, and kept me alive. I learned fast that the only way to survive in a house like that was to stay small, stay quiet, stayin control. If you didn’t, you became another casualty of his rage.
I catch my own eyes in the mirror. Steady. Calm. That’s the only way I know how to be. And yet, Phoenix… he pushes at those edges like he can sense what’s underneath. Like he knows there’s something brittle in me waiting to shatter.
I hate how close he got today. How his grin burned into me even when he lost the puck. How his words dug deeper than they should have. He’s too reckless, too wild. The kind of person I should keep at arm’s length. The kind of person who reminds me too much of my childhood.
And still, I can’t stop thinking about him.
My hand clenches around the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I force myself to breathe. In. Out. Stay calm. Stay easy.
“Not this time,” I mutter to my reflection, my voice low, certain. “I won’t let someone like him pull me under.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
Phoenix isn’t just anyone. He represents the storm I’ve been running from my whole damn life. The risk of unraveling. Of finally screaming at the sky. If I ever get to the point, I couldn’t pull myself back together again.
I lean forward, palms flat on the sink, water dripping down my face in steady trails. For a second, my reflection blurs, and I almost see another boy there. Younger. Smaller. Wide-eyed and braced for the next storm inside a house that was never safe.
Back then, bruises weren’t from hockey. They were from ducking too slowly when a glass bottle flew across the room. From trying to shield my father from himself when the drugs took over and he thrashed against anyone who came near.
Silas always told me,Stay calm, Leander. Don’t let him see he can hurt you.His voice became a mantra, a rope I clung to in the chaos. He carried the weight no kid should’ve carried, and he taught me early that composure was our sharpest weapon.
Rage and tears just made us targets.
So I learned to control everything: my breath, expression, and words. I learned to shrink into silence when noise could destroy me. I learned never to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing my emotions—of seeing me.
Phoenix is the opposite. He’s all noise and fire, every emotion pouring out of him in a way that demands attention. He thrives on chaos, where I suffocate from it. Being near him feels too much like being back in that house—heat, danger, unpredictability clawing at the edges of my carefully built walls.
And yet, for reasons I can’t explain, I didn’t back away. Not when he leaned too close, not when his voice dipped low like a dare. A part of me wanted to step into that fire. To feel something raw and unrestrained, even if it burned.
I drag in a breath, staring myself down in the mirror until the old ghosts fade from my vision. I tell myself Phoenix is just another teammate. Just another emotion to avoid.
But my chest still tightens with the truth I don’t want to admit:
He’s already deep under my skin.
The whistle blows sharply, slicing through the heavy rink air. Coach barks orders for another drill, and skates carve into the ice as the team splits into lines. My lungs already burn, sweat sticking damp beneath my pads.
Yesterday, I was sharp, alive in every play. Today, I can’t keep my focus straight. Every mistake and misstep feels like it has Phoenix Locke’s name on it. And of course, he notices.
“Careful, Cameron,” Phoenix coos from across the ice after I bobble a puck during a transition drill. His grin is wide, wolfish. “Wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself after that hot streak yesterday. Must’ve been a fluke, huh?”
The guys laugh, a ripple of amusement skating down the line. Not cruel, not yet, but Phoenix knows how to twist the knife just enough to make the whole rink lean his way. He thrives on it.
I roll my shoulders back, refusing to give him more than a glance. “Maybe you should focus on keeping your stick on the ice instead of running your mouth.”
A few snorts of approval come from the line behind me, but Phoenix only smiles bigger. He loves this. Loves the back-and-forth. Somehow, the more I resist, the harder he pushes. I don’t know how to fucking get him off my back.
The drill resets. The puck drops. We tear across the ice, blades biting hard. I keep low, chest forward, determined not to give him another excuse. But Phoenix is on me like a shadow, dogging my every stride. His stick clatters against mine, body pressing too close in what should be a clean drill.
“Don’t choke this time,” he hisses near my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
I shove him off with my shoulder and send the puck forward, sharp and clean, to Nolan waiting near the crease. A perfect pass—textbook.
“Finally,” Phoenix drawls, tapping his stick against the ice. “Took you long enough.”
More chuckles from the other guys. My jaw locks. I want to ignore him, but every word digs deep, stirring something between fury and fascination. Why me? Why single me out when half the team is dragging today?
Scrimmage begins next, blue jerseys against white. I pull my helmet tighter, forcing myself into the zone. If Phoenix wants to make me a target, that’s fine. I’ll show him that I thrive under pressure.
