Page 101 of Shots & Echoes

Just the two of us, locked in something inevitable. Something dangerous.

And fuck, if that didn’t make my heart hammer harder than any game ever could.

I didn’t touch her. Not like last night.

But the space between us felt suffocating.

I could feel the tension wrapping around my ribs like a vice, coiling tight, daring me to close the distance. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to grab her—to prove to her, to myself, to everyone watching that she was mine. But I didn’t.

I just let her stand there, breathing hard, locked in this moment with me.

Chris was still out there, pretending like he had a fucking chance. Still hovering, still waiting. He didn’t know what he was playing with. Didn’t know that every second he spent near her was pushing me further into a place I wouldn’t come back from.

Because if he ever actually tried to take her?

I’d fucking end him.

Consequences be damned.

I was in this now. All the way.

This wasn’t just about training her anymore. It wasn’t about my past, my failures, my redemption. None of that shit mattered when she was standing in front of me, challenging me with those defiant eyes, making it impossible for me to breathe without wanting her.

This was about her.

And I’d burn this whole fucking place down before I lost her.

Chapter 17

Iris

Isat at the long table in the conference room, absently tracing my fingers over the cool surface as Coach Callahan set the tone for the morning meeting. The air felt thick with anticipation and something else—an edge I couldn’t quite place.

He stood at the front, hands clasped together, his gaze sweeping over us like he was trying to gauge our readiness for whatever was coming next.

“All right, team,” he began, his voice steady but charged. “Today, we have some sponsors joining us. They’re looking to invest in our program, so let’s make a good impression.” He gestured toward a pair of older men sitting across from us. They looked bored, barely hiding their yawns behind cups of coffee.

Then came her.

She entered with a confidence that cut through the stale atmosphere like a knife. Dressed in an expensive blazer and her red lipstick bright enough to demand attention, she commanded the room. Late thirties or maybe early forties, she moved with an ease that screamed authority mixed with charm.

I felt my stomach tighten when her gaze locked onto Knox.

He straightened in his chair, instantly transforming from coach to charming player—flashing that signature smirk of his that could light up any room. She approached him like a predator sizing up her prey.

“Knox Callahan,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Sloane Harding.”

“Only good things, I hope,” he replied with that effortless charm I had grown both accustomed to and irritated by.

Sloane laughed too hard at his joke, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm as she leaned in just enough for everyone to notice. My heart sank into my stomach as I watched Knox play along—polite smile firmly in place while he engaged with her easily.

There was something about their interaction that made me feel off-balance. Her laughter filled the space between them like a warm blanket while Knox's eyes sparkled—not just out of courtesy but genuine interest.

My pulse quickened as I wrestled with a mix of jealousy and anger; this wasn’t just business—it felt personal. And here I was, stuck watching from the sidelines as another woman slipped effortlessly into his orbit, capturing his attention without even trying.

“Let’s show them what we’ve got,” Coach Callahan continued after introducing Sloane and the other executives, pulling me back to reality as they all prepared for practice discussions ahead.

But all I could focus on was Sloane's touch lingering on Knox’s arm—a subtle reminder that someone else might see him in ways I hadn’t dared to admit I wanted to explore myself.

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