Page 5 of Steel and Ice

COLT

Next session, I showed up ten minutes earlier than everyone else.

But Blair was already there. Neat again. Tidy. The same professional mask on his face. Armor he never set down. But I noticed that his pen shivered as I walked past him.

I didn’t say a word, but I let my shoulder brush him as I took the furthest seat.

Travis came in a few minutes later. He looked smug as hell and swaggered in as if he owned the place. As if on cue, he tossed me a smirk as he plopped into the chair across the circle. His tattoos shifted and moved as he stretched out.

I caught the way his stare dragged over Blair. Too long and too familiar. Too dirty. The type of stare that made my fists itch and my body tighten.

Blair ran the session as usual, calm and measured. But he constantly tracked my movements.

Halfway through, he paused and asked the group, “What is control? When instinct screams to react and fight?”

Silence. No one uttered a word. I didn’t raise my hand because that’s what was expected.

I just said, “Control is a cage.”

Clear walls, a door that clicks. A clock you don’t rush because you can’t. You sit inside it where everyone can see you. And you keep your hands still.

Blair’s focus locked on me.

“Why a cage?” he asked.

“Because,” I said, “it’s the best way to describe how it feels. To hold it back, to lock it down. It’s not control; it’s confinement.”

His eyes never left me as he tried to see past my ribs to see the thing that snarled underneath.

Blair’s lips parted. “Is that how you felt during the Mercer fight? Caged?”

I narrowed my eyes and shut out everyone else in the room.

“No,” I said, my voice low. “During the fight, I felt free.”

A few men in the group shifted in their seats, their discomfort evident.

Blair nodded, intently. “Thank you for your honesty.”

His constantly calm demeanor infuriated me.

Part of me wanted to rip the tranquility right off his face and see who he was without a shield to protect him.

Because the truth was, honesty didn’t matter. Not here, not with Blair. He was the one who would sign off on me at the end of this circus they called therapy. Blair’s tidy little reports, his judgment. He’d decide whether I got back on the ice.

Maybe that was why he continued to return to the video, so he could see how bad I looked on repeat. To stack the deck against me when the time came for him to either sign his name or end my career.

When the session finally ended, I stayed behind again.

Blair stood near the chairs. He watched each attendee leave one by one, waiting for it.

For me.

The room emptied slowly, and clanging metal chair legs echoed through the space. Unforgiving lights hummed overhead, casting a cold, institutional glow over every inch of the room. Beige walls surrounded us. As if someone had tried to pick the most forgettable color possible and succeeded.

A lone clock ticked above the door, louder now that everyone was gone.

“You really think this will work on me?” I asked, though I knew there was no right answer.

The air felt stale. Bloated with pressure. Not enough clarity.

“Depends on what you mean by work,” Blair said.

He always spoke in riddles. He hid, analyzed.

“You want me to cry for you?” I asked with a glare, crowding the space. “Open up. Be good.”

“Pick one,” he said, his voice steady. “Tears or truth.”

I leaned closer. “Truth.”

He held for a moment. “I want you to stop before you go too far next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I scoffed.

Blair didn’t move an inch. But I stepped closer toward him. He inhaled sharply before he caught himself and tried to steel his face.

“You enjoy me this way,” I said as the tendon in my neck pulled tight.

“Enjoy what , exactly?” he asked, pretending to be steady. “Be specific.”

“This,” I said. “You look scared, but you don’t walk away. Instead, you step closer.”

He glanced away, as if there was something else he could look at in the empty room.

“Say you want me closer, Blair.”

“You’re close enough. Stay where I can see you.”

My eyes narrowed. “Tell me to stop.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then say it,” I demanded. “Tell me to back off, and I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Try me,” I growled.

Blair’s lips parted and a slight sound escaped. “Don’t.”

I didn’t lay a single finger on him. Even though I wanted to. My hand flexed but I quickly made it open. I let him feel the suffocating tension between us. My weight, right there in his space.

“Next session,” I said, my voice low and rough, “you’ll sit there with your clipboard and pretend you’re in charge. But you’ll remember this.”

Blair stood frozen as he waited to see what I’d say next.

“You’ll remember this moment,” I added. “You’ll remember how close I got.”

The air crackled between us.

Blair’s eyes narrowed. “Already do.”

Without another word, I turned to leave. But before I made it out the door, I caught the hint of fear in his expression. It should have satisfied me. Instead, it left me starved. Sank into me. A hook, sharp and painfully permanent.

And when I finally arrived home and fell into bed, I didn’t sleep. I lay there and stared at the ceiling, waiting for ruin.

My fists were clenched, my teeth gritted, and I was hard as stone; an ache I still couldn’t name.

I blamed leftover adrenaline that refused to melt away after a fight. But deep down I knew better. Unnamed pressure moved inside me as I shifted in my sheets. Not hate, certainly not fear. Not even lust.

Something darker.

What scared me wasn’t the fight but how Blair’s face kept taking shape through the darkness.

And the sick part was, I didn’t know if I wanted to break it or own it.