Page 162 of Shots & Echoes

My pulse hammered in my throat as I watched my father’s expression shift—shock flickering across his face, then something colder, something calculating. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, least of all by someone half his age, least of all by her.

He had come here expecting guilt. Expecting regret.

But Iris? She didn’t give him either.

I felt the tension coil tighter, the space between us shrinking as she stepped closer—not in defiance, not in recklessness, but in certainty. She was choosing this. Choosing me.

And for the first time, the fear that had been gnawing at my insides—the doubt—it didn’t win.

Because no matter what storm we were walking into, no matter how badly this could all end, there was one thing I knew for sure:

We weren’t backing down.

My breath hitched.

“Knox didn’t ruin me. He pushed me to be better.”

The words hit like a slap to the face, cutting through the tension in the room like a scalpel. I felt them settle deep in mychest, an ache I didn’t know how to name. Pride. Possessiveness. Something darker. I had pushed her—I had torn her down and built her back up, believing in her when no one else had. She was a fighter because of me.

“I made that team because of him.”

She wasn’t just defending me—she was staking her claim. Declaring it out loud, in front of him—the only person whose approval had ever meant anything to me, even when I pretended it didn’t.

And then she said the words that stole the fucking breath from my lungs.

“I love your son.”

The world stopped.

My body went still, tension locking my spine as those three words wrapped around my ribs and squeezed. This wasn’t a whispered confession in the dark, hidden beneath sheets and secrets. This was public. Real. This was a declaration made in the face of power, judgment, and consequence.

My father’s expression twisted—disbelief first, then something colder. That look of control. The one he always wielded like a weapon.

“You’re young.” His voice was sharp, measured, as if trying to contain this. To contain us. “This will ruin you. Do you understand what people will say?”

But Iris didn’t fold. Didn’t shrink. She just stood there, chin high, gaze unwavering.

“I understand,” she said, and then—again, stronger this time, deadlier, like a blade driving straight into my father’s chest—“I still love him.”

My breath came hard, ragged. My fists clenched at my sides as something deep and primal rose inside me—something fierce, something that wanted to fucking destroy anyone who doubted her, who doubted us.

I wanted to step forward. Wanted to claim her the way she had just claimed me. But the fear gnawed at my insides like acid—because this was it.

We had crossed the line.

And there was no coming back.

Iris’s phone rang, sharp and jarring, slicing through the tension like a blade.

My jaw locked as she stiffened beside me, fingers tightening around the device. One second of hesitation. Then she answered, voice level—controlled—but there was something beneath it, something just out of reach.

“Yeah?”

I leaned in, every nerve in my body braced for whatever was coming next. But all I could do was watch—watch as her expression flickered, as something unreadable passed over her features. My father was still standing there, his presence suffocating, his silence heavier than his words.

But fuck him.

I only cared abouther.

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