Jax smirks, enjoying the reaction. “I know, right? I told her he’s way too innocent for her.”
“Those hickies say otherwise.” Phoenix smirks.
Jax bursts out laughing.
I groan, dragging a pillow over my face. “Please stop talking.”
Phoenix mutters something under his breath, low enough I can’t catch it. He finishes with the couch, strips down to a t-shirt, and flops onto it like he doesn’t care that the springs squeak.
But I know him. I can feel it—the storm still brewing under his skin.
The room settles into a weird quiet. The TV hums with some late-night rerun, Jax scrolling on his phone, Phoenix staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. I lie there, staring at the glow of the clock, feeling the weight of everything pressing in—the loss, the headlines, the way Phoenix keeps putting me first whether I ask him to or not.
Later, the hotel room is quiet, except for the low hum of the heater and Jax’s soft snores from the other bed. I should be asleep too, but every time I close my eyes, the game replays in my head. Missed chances. Bad passes. Phoenix yelling across the ice until his throat was raw.
I roll onto my side, staring at the wall, trying to will myself into rest.
The pullout mattress squeaks. I stiffen. Then the dip of my bed gives him away. Phoenix slides in behind me, careful but not careful enough—his thigh brushes mine, his breath ghosts against my neck.
I turn my head slightly. “Can’t sleep?”
“Nope.” His voice is low, rough. Tired.
There’s something broken in it, something I’m not used to hearing. The loss, the media, the team doubting him—it’s all sitting heavy on him, and for once, he doesn’t have the shield of confidence up.
He digs his face into my neck, sighing deeply.
I can’t stand it. Can’t stand seeing him like this.
So I do something reckless. My hand slips under the blankets, brushing his hip, then lower. He jerks, sharp inhale cutting the silence.
“Leander,” he hisses my name in warning.
But I don’t stop. I keep going, bolder than I’ve ever been, fingers slipping below his sweatpants and boxers. My pulse is in my throat, but I can’t pull back. Not when I can feel the heat flooding off him, not when I know I can make him forget for a while. His cock doesn’t take long to come to its full attention.
His mouth finds my shoulder, teeth grazing skin as he tries to smother the sounds threatening to spill out. The danger of it—the knowledge that Jax is asleep just feet away—makes my skin prickle, and my body tightens with every muffled breath Phoenix lets out.
“Fuck,” he breathes, so quiet it’s almost inaudible. His hand covers mine, not to stop me, but to guide me, pace quickening. His forehead presses to my neck, damp with sweat, and when he shudders, biting down on my shoulder to stay silent, I nearly lose it myself.
I want to laugh, to tell him I won, that I made him break. But instead I lie still, heart pounding, holding him through the tremor.
For once, Phoenix doesn’t pull away after. He stays, arm slung heavy around me, breathing me in like I’m oxygen.
And then?—
The bedsprings creak across the room. Jax shifts, groggy. “Phoenix? Why are you in Leander’s bed?”
My blood runs cold. I snap my eyes shut, pretending sleep, forcing my body to stay loose. Phoenix doesn’t even flinch, even with my hand still down his pants under the sheets.
He lifts his head, voice dripping with casual bravado. “Pullout couch is shit. Back’s killing me.”
Jax snorts “Wooow, so you picked to cuddle up with him instead of me? Heisyour favorite, huh?”
Phoenix laughs, lazy and unbothered. “What, you jealous? Wanna trade? I’ll take your bed, you can come cuddle with rookie instead.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts, fighting to stay still, to keep my breathing even.
Jax groans, rolling back over. “I call cuddles with Leander next away game.”
