Page 152 of Shots & Echoes

Because no matter how much she fought it, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise—Iris was mine.

And I wasn’t about to let her forget it.

My jaw clenched, the frustration clawing at my insides as memories surged up, uninvited. The hit. The whistle. The fists and the blood. The wild rush of adrenaline that had felt better—truer—than any goal I’d ever scored.

I didn’t regret it. I never would.

But regret or not, it had cost me everything.

And now? Now, I was on the verge of losing something else. Someone else.

Iris.

She had started as just another player. A name on a roster. A challenge. But somewhere between the drills and the late nights, between the fights and the fucking, she had embedded herself inside me. Like a knife. Like an addiction.

And that scared the shit out of me.

Because I knew exactly what I was—I was the storm, the wreckage, the inevitable disaster waiting to happen. And Iris? She was better. She was fire and grit and determination wrapped up in a body that moved like she was born for the ice.

I braced my hands against the counter, my breath coming too hard, too fast. She deserved that jersey. She deserved everything she had fought for. But instead of clearing the way for her, I was dragging her down—pulling her deeper into the mess that was me.

My demons were hungry, and they were circling her now.

The thought twisted something in my gut, sharp and relentless. She deserved more. More than whispered conversations in the dark. More than the constant threat of discovery. More than me.

I exhaled sharply, stepping away from the counter as the weight of it all crushed down on me. My fists curled at my sides, itching for something to hit, to break, to destroy.

But what was left to ruin except the one thing I didn’t want to lose?

I slammed my fist into the wall—pain flashing white-hot up my arm, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

If Chambers found out, if my father found out, if she finally realized that I was the thing standing between her and everything she had ever wanted?—

I’d lose her.

And the fucked-up part?

Maybe I should.

I sat on the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers digging into my scalp like I could claw the thoughts right out of my head. The air in my apartment was thick—suffocating. The silence pressed in on me, amplifying the single, brutal truth I could no longer outrun.

I loved her.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing. I fucking loved her. And the worst part? It wasn’t some slow, creeping thing that I could pretend I didn’t see coming. No, it was a wrecking ball, slamming into me full force, leaving destruction in its wake.

I had spent so long convincing myself this was just heat, just obsession, just something reckless and dangerous that I would eventually walk away from. But that was a lie. I had never been capable of walking away from Iris Evans.

And now? Now, I didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

The panic set in fast, coiling around my ribs, squeezing tight. What if I ruined her? What if I had already ruined her? I had dragged her into my chaos, into my fucked-up life, and I couldn’t shake the fear that one day she’d wake up and realize she wanted out.

The thought alone made me feel sick.

Then—a knock.

The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot. My head snapped up, my body tensing instantly, a sharp jolt of adrenaline firing through me.

I moved before I could think, crossing the room in three long strides. When I swung the door open, my pulse flatlined.

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