Something in my chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe. Love. It still catches me off guard. And I want to roar, to punch the snow into pieces, to wrap him in my arms and never let go. But I don’t. I stay rigid, trying to keep the storm inside me contained, because there’s still this gnawing, bitter knot of frustration at how reckless this all is.
“Leander, you’re not listening,” I growl, my voice rough and low. “I never want you to apologize for protecting me or loving me. I just wish you had looped me in before deciding to out us in front of our entire team. Our careers are on the line here!”
He’s inches from me now. His nostrils flare with anger and passion, eyes glittering like ice. “Do you know how it feels to watch someone treat you like shit while you sit there thinking you have to be the perfect… perfect captain? To feel powerlesswhen people are twisting your life and mine into some damn spectacle?”
My stomach knots. He’s right. He’s always right. Always the fire to my ice, the chaos I never expected to crave. I can feel my composure slipping—not from anger, not from frustration—but from desire, need, and the sheer intensity of him standing there, demanding me to see him.
I exhale sharply, trying to ground myself. “I just… I don’t want to lose control. I don’t want to do something stupid and reckless.”
Leander’s hand brushes against mine, light as a whisper, and it’s enough to make my entire body shiver. “Stupid? You’re the one who’s been teaching me how to defend myself. And now you’re telling me I’m the reckless one?”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I should feel humiliated, but instead I feel… proud. He’s mine. And he’s finally realizing how much he can protect me.
We stand there in the falling snow, silence stretching between us, tense and fragile. Every exhale clouds in the cold, every heartbeat drums like a warning. And then he does it.
He reaches up, fingers curling around my coat zipper, pulling me closer until our chests press together. “I love you, Phoenix,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “I love you, and if anyone has a problem with it, they can look at Eric and know exactly how I feel.”
My chest tightens. My heart hammers. I’ve never heard him say it like that, never had anyone claim me with such fire. And yet, the part of me that’s always been the protector—the one who fights, who pushes, who stakes claims—wants to roar in triumph.
“I love you too,” I whisper, voice raw, breath catching.
His lips press to mine, hesitant at first, then urgent, demanding. The snow swirls around us, cold and biting, but wedon’t notice. Our bodies are pressed together, heat radiating in defiance of the ice around us. His hands grip my coat like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
“I’m sorry I lost my head,” he murmurs, low, breathless.
“It’s alright,” I whisper back, tightening my hold. “I would have done it sooner or later.”
The tension melts, replaced by a heat that burns through my veins. The anger, the fear, the frustration—they all dissolve into this magnetic pull between us. I can feel him, pressed close, the press of his chest against mine, and it’s like the world has shrunk to just this moment, this heartbeat, this claim.
I can feel the fire in me, the fire that only he can ignite. And even though the snow keeps falling, the world feels warm, alive, charged with the promise of us against everything.
And in that moment, I know we’re unstoppable.
18
LEANDER
The investigation feels endless, even though it only lasts a couple of weeks. Meetings behind closed doors. Owners with their tight suits and tight smiles. Coaches with their carefully blank faces. They go through everything—my shifts, my stats, my interviews. Every pass Phoenix has given me, every decision he’s made about lines or ice time.
They’re not looking for the truth. They’re looking for cracks. Proof that I’ve been handed something I didn’t earn. They don’t find it.
Because it isn’t there.
When the official word comes down—no evidence of favoritism—it should feel like relief. It doesn’t. It feels like a pause before the storm. And I’m right. The story leaks within days.
“Frozen Scandal? Wolves’ Captain, Phoenix Callahan, Under Fire for Alleged Relationship with Rookie, Leander Hayes.”
I read the headline three times, waiting for my stomach to stop dropping. It never does.
The article makes us sound like a cautionary tale. Phoenix as the predatory captain, using his power to seduce me. Or me as the conniving rookie, climbing into his bed so I can climb the ranks faster.
There’s no mention of how hard I’ve worked to get here. No mention of how many bruises, how many hours of sweat and drills and exhaustion it took just to make the roster. Just gossip dressed up like journalism. And the fire spreads.
Sports channels run with it, talking heads debating whether Phoenix should step down as captain, whether I even deserve my spot on the team. TikToks blow up with slow-motion edits of me and him on the bench, hearts floating across the screen. Twitter is full of ship names like “LeoNix” and “PheanDer.” Some of it’s flattering. Some of it’s disgusting. None of it feels real.
The Wolves are trending every day. And the owners are fucking thrilled.
Ticket sales skyrocket. Jerseys with my number, with his, sell out. There are new fans everywhere—girls with signs, queer kids wearing rainbow versions of the Wolves’ logo. The franchise has never been this popular. But with the attention comes the hate.
