All Chapters of Frozen Submission (M*M)Romance: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

217 Chapters

final letter

**Chapter 183: Final Letter**Lily’s first birthday party wound down around eight o’clock. The apartment was a beautiful disaster—wrapping paper scattered across the floor, half-eaten cake on the counter, balloons slowly losing their helium and drifting toward the ceiling. Tate had already left with a sleepy Lily in his arms, promising to give her a bath and put her down so Callan and I could have a moment. Maren, Elodie, and Beck had hugged us hard before heading out, leaving behind the quiet kind of exhaustion that only comes after a day filled with love and chaos.Callan and I sat on the couch in the middle of the mess, his arm around my shoulders, my head resting against him. The letter from the prison sat on the coffee table like a live grenade.“You don’t have to read it tonight,” Callan said quietly, his fingers tracing slow circles on my arm. “It can wait.”I shook my head. “I need to know. Whatever it says, I need to face it.”He nodded and handed me the envelope. His hand s

New home

**Chapter 184: New Home**Callan had been acting strange for weeks.Little things—secretive phone calls, disappearing for “errands” on weekends, a suspiciously pleased look on his face whenever I asked what he was up to. I’d assumed it was foundation work or something for Lily’s upcoming second birthday. I had no idea he was planning our future.On a warm Saturday in late May, he woke me up early with coffee and a mischievous smile.“Get dressed. Casual. We’re going for a drive.”Lily was already up, happily babbling in her high chair while Callan fed her breakfast. She reached for me with sticky hands the second I walked into the kitchen, and I scooped her up, kissing her chubby cheeks until she squealed with laughter.“Where are we going?” I asked as we loaded into the car.“You’ll see.”He drove us north of the city, away from the downtown bustle and into a quiet, tree-lined suburb. Lily dozed in her car seat while I watched the scenery change—bigger yards, quieter streets, actual

second child

**Chapter 185: Second Child**His name was Elias.Three months old, with a full head of dark curls and wide, curious eyes that seemed to take in the entire world at once. The adoption agency had matched us perfectly—his birth mother had seen the documentary and specifically requested a family who understood struggle and second chances.We brought him home on a sunny afternoon in early July, just weeks after moving into the new house. Lily, now seventeen months old, was fascinated by her new brother. She kept trying to give him her favorite stuffed puck, patting his head with gentle (if slightly too enthusiastic) hands.Callan carried Elias in the car seat like he was made of porcelain. I walked beside him, one hand on Lily’s back as she toddled between us. The moment we stepped through the front door of our home, something clicked into place. Our family was complete.Or at least, it felt that way.The first few weeks with two children were beautiful chaos.Elias was a relatively easy

final seizure

**Chapter 186: Final Seizure**The seizure hit on a cold December evening, worse than any before it.We had just finished dinner. Lily was in her high chair, happily smearing mashed sweet potatoes across her tray while Elias banged a spoon on his. Callan was laughing at something I’d said when the world suddenly tilted violently.The aura came fast—no warning metallic taste this time, just an immediate, crushing pressure in my skull. I tried to stand, to get away from the kids, but my legs gave out. The last thing I remember was Callan’s face, eyes wide with terror, lunging toward me as everything went black.I woke up in the hospital.Again.The familiar sterile smell, the beeping monitors, the IV in my arm. My head felt like it had been split open. My tongue was sore—I’d bitten it badly. Callan sat in the chair beside my bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Lily and Elias were with Maren and Elodie. He’d handled everything while I was unconscious.“Hey,” I rasped.His

surgery Decision

**Chapter 187: Surgery Decision**BrooksThe decision wouldn’t come easily.I sat on the edge of our bed in our Chicago home, staring at the MRI images the neurologist had printed for us. The scar tissue from the syndicate drugs still glowed like ugly white lightning across my brain scans. The experimental surgery they were proposing could repair much of the damage. It could stop the seizures. It could give me back clearer days and fewer terrifying episodes.But there was a price.A real risk that the surgery could change me. Change my personality. Change the way I loved. Change the memories that made me *me*.Callan sat behind me, his strong thighs bracketing my hips, arms wrapped around my waist. His chin rested on my shoulder. Even with his arthritis, he still held me like I was something precious and breakable.“You’ve been quiet for twenty minutes,” he murmured, voice low and steady. The same voice that had talked me through panic attacks for years.“I’m scared,” I admitted. My h

memory lost

**Chapter 188: Memory Loss**I woke up to white walls and the faint beeping of machines.My head felt heavy, wrapped in gauze and fog. Everything hurt in a distant, muffled way. I tried to move, but my body felt disconnected, like it belonged to someone else.A warm hand closed around mine.“Brooks?”The voice was deep. Familiar. Safe. I turned my head slowly, wincing at the pull of stitches and bandages.A man sat beside my bed. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark eyes filled with exhausted hope. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.“Who...?” My voice cracked. My throat was raw.The man’s face crumpled for a moment, then steadied. “It’s okay. The doctors said this might happen. I’m Callan. Your husband.”*Husband.*The word felt right even as my brain struggled to place him. I knew his face. I knew the way his hand felt in mine. But everything else was... blurry. Gaps. Empty spaces where memories should be.“What happened?” I whispered.“You had surgery. Experimental. To fix the damage fr

Remembering us

**Chapter 189: Remembering Us**BrooksThe hospital room smelled like antiseptic and the faint, woodsy cologne Callan had dabbed on his wrist before leaving for coffee. I lay propped against pillows, staring at the ceiling tiles, willing the fog in my head to lift. The surgery had been a success, they said. The scar tissue from the syndicate drugs was gone. But my brain was a shattered hard drive, pieces scattered everywhere.I remembered the ice. The weight of pads on my shoulders. The roar of a crowd. Goalie instincts still lived in my muscles—the way my body wanted to drop into a butterfly at the slightest shift of air. But the last year? A black hole.Callan had been here every second. His voice was the only constant. Low, steady, that slight rasp that always settled something restless in my chest. He’d told me stories like bedtime tales for an amnesiac husband: how we met, how the link formed, how everything went to hell and then somehow became the best thing in both our lives.I

Explaining to kids

**Chapter 190: Explaining to Kids**BrooksThe question hung in the sunlit kitchen like a live puck dropped on thin ice. Ellie’s small fingers were still tracing the faint scar near my temple, her cereal forgotten. Liam banged his spoon happily, oblivious, banana smeared across his cheeks like war paint. Callan stood frozen by the stove, spatula hovering, his eyes locking with mine in that silent way we’d perfected over years of shared storms.I swallowed. This moment had been coming since the documentary aired, since old clips resurfaced on tablets at preschool, since curious kids repeated what their parents whispered. We couldn’t protect them from our past forever. Not if we wanted them to grow up knowing the truth of their dads.“Hey, Ellie-bug,” I said gently, adjusting her on my lap so I could see her face. Her eyes—Callan’s eyes, sharp and blue—searched mine with that unnerving honesty only children have. “That’s a really big question. Want to finish breakfast first, and then Pa

mentorship

**Chapter 191: Mentorship**BrooksThe young player’s name was Marcus. Eighteen, fresh out of juniors, eyes carrying the kind of quiet desperation I recognized too well. He stood by my truck in the emptying parking lot, twisting his stick tape between nervous fingers while the arena lights hummed overhead.“I saw your press stuff,” he said, voice low. “The book. The documentary. You talked about anxiety and pressure like it wasn’t just some weakness. I… I freeze up in net sometimes. Not because I don’t know how. My brain just screams that if I let one in, I’m done. Coach benches me for ‘mental lapses.’ My dad says real goalies don’t fold.”I leaned against the truck, arms crossed, letting him talk. The evening air had that crisp bite that promised winter skating soon. My scars tingled faintly under my jacket—old reminders, new purpose.“First thing,” I told him, “your brain isn’t broken. It’s loud. Mine was loud too. Syndicate drugs amplified everything, but the anxiety was there long

New Team

**Chapter 192: New Team**BrooksThe decision didn’t come in a single dramatic moment. It unfolded over late-night conversations on the back porch, stolen discussions during kids’ naptime, and quiet reflections while watching Ellie and Liam chase each other across the backyard rink.Callan had earned this. After everything—the lost pension, the retirement that never quite felt complete, the way he’d stepped back so I could heal and coach—he deserved to lead again. Head coach of the Portland Pioneers. A fresh start for a franchise that needed exactly the kind of steady, scarred leadership he brought.“We’ll make it an adventure,” I told him on the night we finally committed. The kids were asleep. Rain tapped against the windows. Callan’s hand rested on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles.“You sure?” His voice was low, that protective rumble I’d fallen for years ago. “Your mentorship program here is thriving. The kids at the academy look up to you. Marcus just texted me that he made a

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