All Chapters of Frozen Submission (M*M)Romance: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

217 Chapters

Next Generation

**Chapter 194: Next Generation**BrooksTwo months in Portland felt like stepping into a new season—crisp, full of possibility, and carrying that underlying bite of uncertainty. The house had finally stopped smelling like cardboard. Ellie’s room was a explosion of purple and hockey posters. Liam’s was filled with soft pucks and goalie toys. The backyard rink was half-built, lights and boards waiting for winter’s first real freeze. Life was settling.Then Liam asked again.Every evening after dinner he’d drag his tiny stick across the kitchen floor. “Hockey time? Like big kids?”Callan and I talked about it in bed that night, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “He’s three and a half,” I said quietly. “Most programs start at four or five, but there’s a mixed-age intro group. Emphasis on fun. No standings. No pressure.”Callan shifted, pulling me closer. “You don’t have to say yes just because he wants it. We both know what this game can do to kids.”“I know.” I press

Last panic

**Chapter 195: Last Panic**BrooksThe hallway outside the community rink felt too narrow, the air too thin. My back pressed against the cool cinderblock wall as the panic attack crested like a rogue wave. My vision tunneled. Heart slamming against my ribs. The sounds from the ice—cheers, skates carving, small voices shouting—distorted into the roar of bigger arenas, my father’s voice, the ghost of machines flatlining.Callan was right there. On his knees in front of me, hands firm on my shoulders, grounding me to the present.“Breathe with me, baby,” he said, voice low and commanding. The tone he used when I needed structure most. “In for four… hold… out for six. Again.”I tried. My inhale hitched, ragged. He counted for me, steady as bedrock. “That’s it. Good. You’re doing so good. Stay right here with me.”His thumbs stroked over my collarbones—slow, deliberate pressure. Not dominance for pleasure right now, but dominance for safety. The same hands that had pinned me in love now an

full circle

**Chapter 196: Full Circle**BrooksThe hotel room felt both foreign and achingly familiar. Same soft lighting. Same city hum beyond the windows. Same king-sized bed where, years ago, everything between us had begun under duress. Callan stood by the minibar, watching me take it all in. He’d orchestrated this anniversary trip with the same quiet precision he brought to coaching—every detail considered, every potential trigger anticipated.“You still okay?” he asked, voice low.I nodded, crossing to the window. Below us, the streetlights painted the city in gold and shadow. “It’s strange. Being here without the fear. Without the link pulling at my chest. Just… us.”Callan came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist. His chest pressed warm and solid against my back. “That’s the point. We rewrite it tonight. No syndicate. No cameras. No deadlines. Just two men who chose each other a long time ago and keep choosing.”I leaned into him, letting his strength hold me. The old memories tri

writing our story

**Chapter 197: Writing Our Story**BrooksThe cursor blinked on the blank page like a heartbeat.I sat at the new desk we’d placed in the sunroom overlooking the backyard rink. Early Portland light filtered through the windows, catching on the frost that still clung to the boards some mornings. My fingers hovered over the keys. I’d written the title—*Full Circle*—and then nothing for twenty minutes.Callan appeared in the doorway with a mug of coffee, exactly how I liked it. “You’ve been staring at that screen since the kids went down for quiet time.”“It’s harder than I thought.” I accepted the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms. “I know the story. I lived it. But putting it on paper… it feels like opening old wounds on purpose.”He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to do this alone. And you don’t have to do it perfectly. Just honest.”That became our new rhythm.I wrote in the mornings while Callan took the kids to preschool and daycare drop-off. The

Final reveal

**Chapter 198: Final Reveal**BrooksThe book deal offer sat on the kitchen island like a live grenade.I’d printed the email. The advance figure was staggering. The marketing budget even more so. But the condition stared back at me in plain black text: *full transparency tour—interviews, podcasts, potential limited documentary extension. No holding back on the syndicate, the link, the D/s dynamic, the mental health struggles.*Callan stood across from me, arms braced on the counter, reading the email for the third time. The house was quiet. Kids were at a playdate with the assistant coach’s family. Late afternoon light slanted through the windows, catching on the half-melted snow outside.“This is the last time,” Callan said finally. His voice was steady, but I knew him well enough to hear the undercurrent of exhaustion. “One final reveal, then we close the book. Literally.”I rubbed my temples. “We’ve built something peaceful here. The kids are thriving. Your team respects you. I’ve

Are we Happy?

**Chapter 199: Are We Happy?**BrooksThe galley copy of *Full Circle* felt heavy in my hands even though it was just paper and ink. Ellie’s question hung in the kitchen air like morning mist over the backyard rink: *Are you happy now? For real?*I looked at my daughter—six years old, all curious eyes and boundless energy—and realized this was one of those moments parenting books couldn’t prepare you for. Callan stood in the doorway with Liam on his hip, both of them watching me. The finished book sat on the table between us like a living thing.I pulled Ellie back onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and the outdoors.“Yes, sweetheart,” I said softly. “I’m really happy. Not pretend happy. The real kind.”She twisted to look up at me. “Even with the sad parts in the book?”“Especially with the sad parts.” I glanced at Callan. He gave me a small nod, the kind that said *I’ve got you*. “Papa and I went through a lot of hard things b

Ten years

**Chapter 200: Ten Years Later**BrooksThe backyard rink lights cast a soft blue glow across the ice. Ten years in Portland had turned our once-new house into a true home—scuffed baseboards from hockey sticks, walls covered in family photos, and this rink that had seen it all: first skates, epic snowball fights, teenage meltdowns, and quiet midnight conversations between husbands who still needed each other just as much as they had in the beginning.I stood at the boards watching my family.Ellie, sixteen now, flew across the ice with the grace of someone who’d chosen figure skating over competitive hockey but still loved tearing up the family rink. Liam, fourteen, was in net—tall for his age, focused, with my build and Callan’s intensity. And our youngest, Sophie—eight years old, adopted three years ago after another long process—skated between them in her bright purple helmet, giggling every time she attempted a spin.Callan stood beside me, shoulder brushing mine. His arm slid aro

The Question

**Chapter 201: The Question**BrooksThe backyard rink lights hummed softly above us, casting long shadows across the ice that had become the heart of our home. Ten years in Portland had worn the boards smooth from thousands of family skates, scraped goals, and quiet conversations. Tonight, the air carried that sharp early winter bite I loved—the kind that made every breath feel clean and alive.Sophie’s question still echoed in my head as I watched her glide toward the boards.“Daddy… will I have to fight like you did?”She was only eight, bundled in her purple coat and helmet, cheeks flushed from skating. Her eyes—wide, trusting, a perfect blend of curiosity and innocence—looked up at me like I held every answer in the world. Callan stood a few feet away, one hand resting on the boards, his expression carefully neutral but I knew him too well. That slight tightening at the corner of his jaw told me he felt the weight of her words just as heavily as I did.I crouched down to her leve

Truth to the next Generation

**Chapter 202: Truth to the Next Generation**BrooksThe conversation couldn’t wait.We gave the kids one more night to process Sophie’s question and our partial answers, then chose a quiet Saturday afternoon when no one had practice, games, or plans. The backyard rink lights were off. Rain pattered gently against the windows. The house smelled like fresh coffee and the cinnamon rolls Callan had baked that morning—an attempt at comfort food before we cracked open old wounds.We gathered in the living room. Ellie, sixteen and fiercely protective of her siblings, sat cross-legged on the big armchair. Liam, fourteen, lounged on the floor with his back against the couch, fiddling with a puck. Sophie, eight, curled up between Callan and me on the sectional, her head resting against my side.Callan looked at me. His hand found mine on the cushion between us and squeezed once. *Together.*I took a deep breath.“Yesterday, Sophie asked if she’d have to fight like we did,” I started. “We’ve to

Explaining power

**Chapter 203: Explaining Power**BrooksEllie’s question hung in the cool evening air like an unstruck puck waiting to drop.“Do you still do that? The kneeling thing?”She stood in the doorway in her pajamas, sixteen years old and suddenly looking both very young and very grown. Callan’s hand tightened around mine on the porch swing. I felt the familiar warmth of his presence, the steady dominance that had become my safe harbor over fifteen years of marriage. But this conversation? This one felt different. Raw in a new way.I glanced at Callan. He gave me the slightest nod—the one that meant *I’m right here*.“Why don’t you sit down, Ellie,” I said gently.She hesitated, then crossed the porch and perched on the edge of the chair across from us. The rain had left everything damp and clean-smelling. Inside the house, Liam and Sophie were already asleep, exhausted from the emotional weight of the day.Callan spoke first, his voice low and calm. “This isn’t something most parents talk

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