Page 132 of Shots & Echoes

She moved like she was built for this—every stride powerful, every pivot calculated. Precision and fire, wrapped in muscle and instinct. She didn’t skate to impress; she skated to dominate. And fuck if it didn’t do something to me, watching her take control of the ice like she owned every inch of it.

But then I saw him.

Chambers.

Leaning against the boards like he belonged there, like he had some fucking right to be anywhere near her. He chatted with Coach Callahan, his posture too casual, too comfortable. And then his eyes flicked to Iris, tracking her movements, assessing her. Like she was a goddamn prospect. Like she wasn’t already mine.

A slow, simmering rage unfurled in my chest.

I clenched my jaw, fingers twitching at my sides. He didn’t know. He didn’t have a fucking clue what Iris had become to me—the way she unraveled under my hands, the way she pushed back, fierce and unbreakable. She wasn’t just another player, another name on some scout’s list.

She was mine.

“Keep your fucking eyes off my girl,” I muttered, too low for anyone to hear, but the words tasted like a promise.

Iris fired off a shot, the puck slicing clean through the air and slamming into the net with a precision that sent a dark thrill down my spine.That’s my girl.She didn’t need Chambers’ approval, didn’t need anyone’s fucking validation.

But then he leaned in toward Coach Callahan, whispering something, and I felt it in my bones—that slick, calculated kind of talk. The kind that meant he was planning something.

I took a step forward before I even realized it, my pulse a war drum in my ears. Not today. Not ever.

I forced myself to stop, to stay in the shadows a second longer. Because today? Today wasn’t about losing control.

Today was about making sure everyone knew exactly who mattered on this ice.

It felt like a knife between the ribs when Chambers looked at me. Not just suspicion—confirmation.

That fucker didn’t need proof. He just needed a gut feeling, a flicker of doubt, a reason to dig deeper. And that look? It told me he had one.

He gave me a nod—friendly on the surface, but I wasn’t stupid. It was a loaded gun with the safety off. I forced myself to nod back, my stomach coiling tight. I knew that look. It was the same one I’d given guys before a hit—calculating, patient, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Iris skated past, sharp and locked in, but even from here, I saw it—the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath camefaster the second Chambers walked into the rink. She didn’t realize it yet, but everything mattered now. Every glance, every movement, every second she spent unaware of the shark circling us was another second closer to disaster.

“Stay focused,” I muttered, just loud enough that maybe—just maybe—she’d hear me. She didn’t react, but I saw it. The slightest hitch in her stride.

She was already slipping, and she didn’t even know it.

The ice feltthinner beneath my skates, as if everything beneath me was starting to crack. Chambers was watching, waiting. If he caught even a hint of something out of place, it was over. Not just for me, but for her.

Fucking breathe.

“Let’s run drills!” Coach Callahan’s voice sliced through the tension, pulling the team back into focus. But it did nothing to shake the weight pressing down on my chest.

I skated out, forcing myself into motion, trying to drown out the static in my head. The puck dropped, and my focus snapped to Iris—her speed, her precision, her fire. She cut through the ice like she owned it, pushing harder, faster. But my gut still twisted because I knew the truth.

Chambers was still watching.

And every time his eyes tracked her movements with that same measured, waiting expression, something dark clawed its way up my throat. Mine.

So I pushed her harder. I needed her to be sharper, faster—untouchable.

Because we weren’t just training anymore. We were on the edge of a fucking cliff.

And one wrong step would send us both crashing down.

The drills were brutal—exactly how I wanted them. Every stride, every impact against the boards, every sharp breath sucked in between gritted teeth—it all fed into the control I needed. The control I refused to lose.

I stood at the edge of the rink, arms crossed, voice sharp and cutting as I pushed them harder. Pushed her harder.

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