Page 103 of Shots & Echoes

Something dark sparked in his look—an intensity that seemed to radiate through the air between us. I held my breath as he stepped away from Sloane and shifted his weight slightly toward me. It was like a magnet pulling me closer despite the invisible barrier between us.

I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside, it was chaos. Did he really see it? The jealousy swirling around in my chest? His smirk widened just a fraction, and I swore there was satisfaction etched into every line of his face.

“Hey, Evans,” Knox called out casually, voice low but laced with something charged—something that sent heat rushing through me.

“Hey,” I replied too quickly, hoping no one noticed how breathless I sounded.

His eyes lingered for a moment longer before he turned back to Sloane, who had clearly been trying to capture his attention again. But it didn’t matter; our connection felt electric despite the distance growing between us.

Knox liked this—liked knowing he had some hold over me even when another woman stood at his side—and it made me feel raw and exposed.

I hated that goddamn smirk of his. The way his mouth twitched at the corners told me he was enjoying this—enjoying watching me squirm. It infuriated me, and yet there was an undeniable thrill that shot through my veins at the same time. I tried to push it down, to ignore how it made my heart race and my skin heat up, but every time I glanced at him, I felt that familiar pull.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting against the surge of jealousy clawing its way up from my gut.

“Why are you even here?” I muttered under my breath, hoping no one heard me as I shot a glance at Knox again. He seemed oblivious to everything else around him except for Sloane—his focus locked in tight on her.

The confidence she exuded radiated from her like an aura, making it all too clear why Knox found her intriguing. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was just another distraction for him or if there was something deeper behind their banter.

My pulse quickened as Knox caught my eye again, and that smirk returned, more pronounced this time. He leaned casually against the wall as if he had all the time in the world, and I hated how effortlessly he held himself like he owned the place.

I fought to keep my expression neutral while my thoughts raced—a dangerous mix of anger and desire brewing inside me. What gave him the right to look so smug? He didn’t have to worry about anything—he was Knox Callahan, after all. A star player who could charm anyone with a flick of his wrist or a grin.

All I could think about was how much I wanted to wipe that smirk off Knox's face—and how much I craved the way it made me feel alive in this twisted moment between us.

I tookto the ice like a wild animal unleashed. Every pass I made sliced through the air with fierce precision, the puck gliding seamlessly off my stick. I could feel the energy coursing through me, fueled by jealousy and anger as I channeled all my frustration into each movement. The sting of Knox’s smirk from earlier burned in my chest, driving me to push harder.

“Come on, Evans! Let’s see that fire!” he shouted, voice cutting through the clamor of skates on ice.

I nodded curtly but didn’t acknowledge him directly. Instead, I poured every ounce of rage into my next drill—a battle against one of my teammates. I slammed into her shoulder, using every bit of strength I had. She fought back hard, but I didn’t hold back; I wouldn’t give her an inch.

Knox’s presence loomed at the edge of the rink like a predator watching its prey. His eyes were glued to me every time I skated past, lingering just long enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his gaze. It ignited something primal inside me—something raw and desperate.

“Get your head in the game!” he barked again, and I felt a surge of adrenaline at his command.

I snapped back into focus as we cycled through drills. My heart raced with each collision and every shot taken. This wasn’t just practice anymore; it was a battlefield where I could prove myself worthy—not just to Knox, but to everyone around me.

The way he watched me sent electric shocks down my spine. It felt as if he was measuring me, assessing how far I’d go before breaking under pressure. His expression was inscrutable yet intense, making me acutely aware that every move mattered—every wince or gasp was a testament to my determination not to crumble.

As we transitioned from drills to scrimmage, the intensity escalated further. Each time we collided on the ice, it was like fireworks exploded between us—his presence a constant reminder that failure wasn’t an option. If Knox Callahan expected greatness from me, then damn it, that was what he would get.

As I skated hard, the ice beneath me felt alive, vibrating with energy. The air was sharp, biting at my cheeks, but I barely noticed. My focus narrowed to the puck gliding ahead of me and the goal looming at the far end of the rink. Every muscle in my body screamed for more as I pushed past fatigue.

Then it happened—our eyes locked across the ice.

In that moment, time stood still. Knox stood on the edge of the rink, arms crossed, a dark smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His gaze bore into me, a silent challenge wrapped in layers of unspoken tension. My heart raced in response, thudding heavily against my ribs. It was like he had reached through the chaos and grabbed hold of something deep inside me.

I felt a jolt of panic—a sudden urge to skate faster, to escape whatever it was that churned between us. The sound of blades on ice faded away as my breath quickened. I pushedharder against the surface, propelling myself forward like I could outrun this connection that tethered me to him.

But it didn’t work.

No matter how fast I skated or how hard I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t shake off that feeling—like he had already caught me in his web and was pulling me closer with every stride I took. My legs burned from exertion, but my thoughts were consumed by him—the way he watched me like I was both a puzzle and an adversary.

I stumbled slightly during a turn, but righted myself quickly, determination flaring up again. Knox’s smirk widened as if he found some twisted pleasure in my struggle—a reminder that this wasn’t just about hockey anymore; it was about him.

About us.

The ice beneath my skates seemed to taunt me with every move I made, reminding me that despite all my efforts to resist whatever this was between us, I was already caught. And deep down? Part of me wanted it—wanted him—more than anything else on this rink or beyond it.

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