Page 8 of Steel and Ice

COLT

Streets blurred around me as I covered mile after mile. I didn’t listen to music, didn’t check my phone, didn’t let myself think past the next left… next right.

Next heartbeat.

My hands remembered the way—I didn’t need the address.

I couldn’t think. I could only drive.

On the way over, I passed Tribune Tower, looming against the black of night sky. Its spires and gargoyle corners glared down at the streetlights. Chicago didn’t bury its history. It left it out on display, sharp as jagged teeth.

Minutes later, I was there.

Blair’s house carried a similar weight. An old Victorian leftover that didn’t belong to this century.

The house was crouched between two narrow lots, a relic waiting for a wrecking ball to put it out of its misery.

Peeled paint, crooked shutters. A roof patched with a varied array of mismatched shingles.

Not quite dilapidated but not cared for either.

Blair hadn’t chosen for this to be his home. I knew that much. I had more knowledge about Blair than he realized. The League paid me well, and I didn’t mind spending some of it to obtain information.

Blair inherited this place. An anchor tied around his neck. According to real estate websites, he’d attempted twice to sell it with massive price cuts. Both attempts failed. No one wanted to buy a house that demanded so much, and Blair’s salary wouldn’t cover a renovation on a place this old.

I pulled into the shadow of a side street and killed the engine. The headlights went dark. Blair’s porch light burned dim, barely clinging to the electrical grid.

Just one look at Blair. It was all I needed.

One.

But I didn’t get out of my truck. Instead, I sat back in my seat as leather groaned beneath me.

My fingers were locked on the steering wheel so hard I thought I might break it. My knuckles ached with stiffness, but my chest was worse. I couldn’t help but notice Blair’s windows; tall and narrow. Maybe I’d remain unseen.

Maybe I didn’t want to be unseen.

Second floor, far left. Blair’s bedroom.

One lamp burned behind an antique curtain, faint, and flickering, as if the house itself preferred darkness. Blair’s light was on in spite of the late hour. I’d only seen him come out once, but that’d been enough.

I leaned further back in my seat and forced myself not to move.

Things were far, far worse now. Urge had progressed into want. Every time I closed my eyes for a second, I saw Blair’s lips part. I pictured his throat shifting when he swallowed hard, hoping I wouldn’t notice.

Blair was the worst type of temptation; one who didn’t know they tempted you.

My hands froze in place as I imagined the approach to his door. One knock, then two, before I’d press my shoulder into the door and step inside.

I swallowed hard.

No.

I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a fucking psycho. I just needed to see Blair. From a distance. For a second. So that the ache in my chest would ease or at least be easier to ignore.

Light shifted behind the curtain. He was there—I knew it. A shadow moved across the window, and my heart raced. Not a full body, but enough to know it was Blair. A slope of a shoulder, the unmistakable motion of him as he pulled a shirt over his head.

My chest was tighter than ever.

I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t me.

But I didn’t turn the key, didn’t leave. I sat motionless in my truck. A man watching a fire he’d set, unable to peel away.

I pictured Blair sitting down, reading, making tea. Some soft, overly domestic shit that didn’t fit with how my brain dragged me back to the sound of his voice when he was scared.

How his tone changed when I got too close for comfort.

But with Blair, fear tangled with curiosity. He wouldn’t name it—couldn’t. And it had crawled under my skin and festered through my entire body. Made it impossible for me to think.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat.

Just one look.

That was the lie I fed myself in my truck as my engine cooled. I watched his window glow like it was the last remaining light in the city.

But what I wanted was more than a simple glance. I wanted the door unlocked and for Blair to know I was out here, watching him. And I wanted to know what he’d do if I knocked.

I shifted in the driver’s seat, my muscles wound so tight they ached, and not because of heavy weights I’d lifted during my workout. A different type of pain.

The silence inside the truck rang louder than the city noise around me. I could hear my own ragged breath as the engine ticked, begging me to start it and leave. Even louder, I could hear my own pulse as it pounded behind my ears, sending shockwaves through me with each thud.

What the fuck was I doing here?

I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to talk myself down.

Leave. Start the truck, drive away, and pretend this never happened.

But I didn’t reach for my keys. Instead, I stared up at the window. Blair’s window. Where light glowed behind a curtain, soft and golden. Blair’s silhouette shifted across before it disappeared from view.

I imagined him up there, his hair damp from a shower as he walked around. Shirt off, barefoot, rubbing lotion into his wrist where Travis had grabbed him. My stomach turned hot at the thought of it. A twisted mixture of anger and something murkier. Something needier.

I could have killed Travis.

If Blair hadn’t said my name…

If I hadn’t heard Blair’s voice…

I didn’t know how far I’d have gone in the parking lot.

I could still feel it. A ghost of the moment replaying itself. Blair’s grip on my arm. Not scared. Not really. Just firm and steady. It calmed me, soothed me. Centered me.

And I fucking hated that.

I wasn’t supposed to need anyone, least of all Blair. But here I was, parked outside his house like a stalker, watching and waiting.

My hand instinctively slid toward the door handle and tightened around it. I pictured how Blair’s face might look if I knocked. The surprise, the wariness, then… a flicker of something else.

Something he’d never admit but I’d seen, in spite of his efforts to hide it. The curiosity, the pull.

My knuckles tensed so hard I thought my fingers might start to bleed.

I could walk up there; tell him I wanted to talk to him. Wanted to make sure he was okay after the parking lot incident.

But it’d be a lie.

Because I didn’t want to talk.

I wanted Blair up against his wall, to feel the closeness of him. To hear the sharp intake of breath he always tried to conceal when I got too close and surprised him. To see if the fear in Blair’s eyes would melt into something else entirely.

The problem was I wasn’t just circling Blair. No, it couldn’t be that simple. I was circling ruin . Every step closer meant something could snap for both of us. The stakes were high. For him, his buttoned-up job. For me, my career and multi-million-dollar contracts on the line.

Suddenly, the image hit me; my coach’s face, carved with bone-deep disappointment that cut worse than a punch.

The scandalous headlines flashing across sports networks and my phone buzzing incessantly with my agent’s frantic calls, his voice breaking as he reminded me that creeps who watch therapists through their bedroom windows don’t get welcomed back on the ice with fanfare.

I could practically smell the Tiger Balm in the locker room, the tiny sticks and splinters I’d get under my thumbnails during games.

I had to remind myself about my career. My entire life’s work.

But in this moment, I didn’t care whose life unraveled first, as long as I was the one who pulled the thread.

My fingers tightened on the truck’s door handle. But I forced myself to let go as my hands shook.

Not like this.

I wasn’t prepared to learn what I might do if Blair opened the door.

So, I steeled myself, gritted my teeth, and stared at the glow in his bedroom window until it finally flicked off.

I exhaled and started my truck, then drove away as every nerve in my body screamed.

The engine’s low growl filled the silence, a sound that should’ve meant escape. Should have meant control, survival. I made it halfway down the block, my headlights cutting across the empty, cold sidewalks of Chicago at night.

But I couldn’t do it.

The steering wheel trembled under my grip. I sat at a red light that refused to change, frozen in time. My jaw was filled with a numb pain from grinding my teeth every night.

And day.

Every bone in my body said to drive home. To save myself while there was still something left to save.

Instead, I pushed the blinker so hard it almost broke and pulled into the next alley.

Right there, I decided. I circled back. Back toward the old house I had no business being near.

And back toward the man who didn’t even know he’d already let me in.