Page 142 of Shots & Echoes

The finality of his statement settled over me like ice water splashed across my skin, sending chills through my entire body. This wasn’t just about Chris and me anymore; it was about the fallout of every decision made behind closed doors—the risk that Knox might pay for whatever we did next.

I stared at Chris, my heart pounding in my chest, grappling with the implications of what he was saying and how it intertwined with everything I felt for Knox.

I felt sick, my stomach twisting into knots as Chris’s words sunk in. He wasn’t wrong. Knox was already hanging on by a thread, balancing precariously between desire and the consequences of our reckless actions. The thought of him facingthe fallout for something I chose to pursue made my heart race with panic. I loved him too much to let that happen.

“Fine,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But we’re friends. That’s it.”

I held his gaze, trying to project strength while the truth clawed at me from the inside. I needed to protect Knox—whatever that meant. Whatever sacrifices it would take, I’d make them.

Chris smirked, a look of satisfaction crossing his face that made my skin crawl. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he had just sealed a business deal. “For now,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with confidence.

With that, he stood up and sauntered toward the door, whistling a light tune as he left the room. Each step felt like another piece of my resolve crumbling away. As the door clicked shut behind him, I remained frozen in place, staring at the empty space where he had just stood.

I had just sold myself—traded my integrity for a fragile sense of safety that didn’t feel safe at all.

Protecting Knox was all that mattered now. But as I sat there in silence, a wave of despair washed over me; it felt like losing myself with every breath I took. How had it come to this? My heart sank as I realized what I was willing to sacrifice—the lines we had crossed blurring even further into oblivion.

I stared at the ceiling fan, its blades spinning lazily above me, a constant hum filling the silence of the kitchen. Knox’s touch still lingered on my skin, hot and electric, but Chris’s voice echoed in my mind—threatening, final. I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at me after dealing the final blow, like he owned a piece of me now.

The weight of it pressed down on my chest. I felt trapped between two worlds—one where I chased after dreams and fought for the jersey that symbolized everything I’d worked for,and another where Knox had pulled me into something wild and reckless that threatened to swallow me whole.

Reaching for my phone, I typed out a message to Knox, fingers trembling as I tried to find the right words.Hey, can we talk?It felt too simple—too easy—and I knew better than to think we could just go back to normal after everything that had happened.

I swallowed as I hovered over the send button. What was I supposed to say?I’m dating Chris now. But it’s fake.That would only confuse him more. How could I explain that this was all just a protective measure?

But then came the wave of guilt crashing over me. Wasn’t that exactly what Chris had said? The offer of safety wrapped in layers of expectation? He wanted me to play it safe with him while keeping Knox at arm’s length, pretending this charade wouldn’t hurt anyone in the end.

I deleted the message before it could be sent, frustration boiling beneath my skin as I tossed my phone onto the table beside me. My heart thudded loudly in my chest—like it was reminding me how real this all was—and how dangerously close we were to losing everything.

Each time I thought about Knox's possessive gaze or how he’d marked me with his touch, heat coursed through me again.

My breath caught as confusion twisted inside me. What did this mean for us? For our future? The answers slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving only uncertainty in their wake as I sat there staring at that fan above—a silent witness to everything falling apart around me.

Chapter 26

Knox

Istood in front of the bulletin board, jaw locked, fists buried deep in my pockets. The noise of the rink faded into a dull hum, nothing but static as my eyes locked onto the sheet of paper pinned to the wall.

The names were posted—bold, black ink standing out like a brand against the white page. Top six forwards.

Iris Evans—center, first line.

A gut punch. A high. A twisted mix of pride and something sharper—something I didn’t want to name.

I had pushed her to this. Harder than anyone. She had fought back, every drill, every late-night skate, every moment where she could’ve broken but didn’t. And now, she was exactly where I knew she should be. First line.

I raked a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to grin like a fucking idiot. Because this wasn’t luck. This wasn’t a gift. She earned this.

Every puck battle. Every hit. Every second spent proving she was better than the rest.

I remembered the way she looked after that last scrimmage—chest heaving, sweat dripping down her temple, eyes blazingwith something unstoppable. The way she tore through the competition, playing like she had something to prove. And now? Now, she didn’t have to prove shit to anyone.

She’d made it.

But as pride settled in my chest, something darker slithered in alongside it. What now?

Because this wasn’t just about talent anymore.

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