Page 12 of Shots & Echoes

“You know why you’re here,” he shot back, eyes narrowing.

There it was—the Team USA shadow.

Always hanging over both of us.

“I’m here because you needed a favor,” I said. Cold. Cutting. And we both knew it was true. “I’m here because you don’t want anyone else knowing your son’s a fucking liability.”

His lips pressed together—because I hit the mark.

“I’m here,” I bit out, “to help. And I will. But I’m not gonna fucking hold her hand. If she can’t take the hit, she doesn’t belong.” His voice dropped lower—the real dad voice now. The one he only ever used when shit was serious. “And if you hurt her?”

I stepped closer—daring him to say it louder. “If she can’t handle it, she shouldn’t be playing hockey,” I snapped.

The words shot out before I could stop them, louder than I meant.

But I meant every fucking syllable.

“This sport’s not for princesses,” I added, leaning in, low and venomous.

He didn’t flinch.

He never did.

But his eyes hardened like steel. Like he was disappointed, but also like he expected nothing less.

“You’re jealous,” he said.

The word cracked against me like a slap to the face.

I froze.

Felt it burn through my chest like acid—because he wasn’t wrong, was he?

Jealous ofher.

Jealous of her shot.

Jealous that she still had everything I fucking lost.

Jealous that she still had his respect.

“Don’t put that shit on me,” I growled.

But I sounded like I was lying—even to myself.

He shook his head slowly, that tired look settling in again. Like he’d already decided I was beyond fixing. “I just want you to see what you’re doing,” he said quietly.

The thing was—I did see. I saw it too fucking clearly.

I was pushing her because I wanted to see her break.

Because if she broke, then maybe I wasn’t the only failure.

And if she didn’t?

Maybe I’d finally found someone who could survive the kind of pressure that destroyed me.

But I didn’t say any of that.

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