Page 124 of Shots & Echoes

Too late.

Because I knew. I fucking knew exactly how much I’d already complicated it. The taste of her was still on my tongue. The feeling of her body pressed against mine still lingered like a brand seared into my skin. I couldn’t erase it, couldn’t shove it back into some untouchable corner of my mind.

She was mine now.

And if anyone tried to take her from me—if he tried to make me choose between her and hockey, between her and whatever future he thought I was supposed to chase—I already knew how that would end.

I met his gaze, my smirk slow and deliberate. A challenge. “I’m just coaching her, Dad.”

Liar.

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—doubt, suspicion, maybe even disappointment.

He knew I was lying.

And I knew I didn’t give a fuck.

“Knox,” my father warned, his voice edged with something that made my pulse kick up a notch.

I leaned back in my chair, feigning indifference, but my heart was hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.

“I’m doing my job. I’m getting her ready.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to, but I didn’t fucking care. If he wanted me to back off, he’d be waiting a long time. Defiance coiled around me like armor, a shield against whatever lecture he thought he was about to give.

Dad exhaled, slow and measured, but when he spoke again, his voice carried that weight that always managed to hit its mark.

“You’ve got your demons, Knox. Don’t make her carry them too.”

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. There it was. The real hit. He knew me too well—knew my past, knew how I destroyed everything I touched. And maybe that was the worst part… the fact that he was right.

I’d burned bridges. Dragged people down with me. But I wouldn’t do that to her.

“She can handle herself,” I muttered, but even to my own ears, it sounded weak—like I was trying to convince myself more than him.

Dad’s gaze softened, just for a second, and that almost broke something inside me. Almost.

“You know her mom walked out, right?”

The words slammed into me like a sucker punch, knocking the air clean out of my lungs.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. The only sound was the rush of blood pounding in my ears.

What?

I blinked, my grip tightening around the edge of the table as if it could ground me. “What?” My voice came out rough, raw.

Dad didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze with a steady resolve that told me he wasn’t fucking around. “She left when Iris was young. Just up and vanished without looking back.”

Everything clicked into place.

The fight in her. The walls she put up. The way she acted like she had something to prove every second of every day. She’d been left before. And now? Now I was the reckless bastard barreling straight into her life with no regard for what kind of damage I could cause.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, thoughts spiraling faster than I could catch them. What if I was just another version of what had already broken her?

“Fifteen,” Dad went on, his voice steady, emotionless—like he was reading off a scouting report. “Right before Championship weekend. Came home one night after practice, her mom was packing. Said she needed more than this life. Never came back.”

The words landed like a blade to the gut, sharp and merciless.

Iris had never told me.

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