Page 22 of Shots & Echoes

I twirled my fork through the pasta, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. Dad had this way of talking about players like they were heroes, even when their stories ended in disaster.

“Callahan was a hell of a player before the ref hit,” he said, waving his fork around as if that would add emphasis. “That kid bled for the jersey. Played with heart. We need more of that.”

I froze, the bite I’d been about to take hanging in mid-air. Heart? That was what Knox called it when he shoved me into the boards, leaving me breathless and humiliated. It felt less like passion and more like a threat—a warning to step up or get crushed under his weight.

“Yeah, he’s… intense,” I managed, forcing a casual tone despite the tremor in my voice.

Dad nodded, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “A little out of control, if you ask me.” He chuckled softly as if Knox’s reckless abandon was nothing more than a quirk.

“Right.” I twirled another strand of pasta around my fork, but my appetite vanished. The bite sat heavy on my tongue as I thought about Knox’s gaze—sharp and piercing as he pinned me against those boards. He hadn’t just tested my skills; he’d probed something deeper.

“I know you’re used to pressure,” Dad continued, still lost in his thoughts about Knox. “But don’t let him get into your head.”

I wanted to scream that it was too late for that—Knox Callahan had already wormed his way inside and settled there like an unwelcome guest. My skin still tingled from our collision on the ice; every moment since had only amplified the confusion roiling in my gut.

“You know how coaches are,” I said, forcing a smile while pushing food around my plate. “They have their favorites.”

Dad leaned back, eyeing me with concern mixed with pride. “Just don’t let anyone shake your confidence, Iris. You’ve worked too hard for that.”

His words dripped with sincerity, but they only fueled the tightness in my chest—the fear that one day someone might make me question everything I’d built myself up to be.

I pushed the pasta around my plate, trying to absorb my dad’s words.

“And sometimes that’s what it takes. You want Team USA? You have to want it more than the girl next to you. Callahan understood that.”

I nodded, forcing a smile as if his praise meant something solid. But inside, I churned. Becausetougherfelt like bruises on my ribs, the sharp edges of his body pressing into mine when he pinned me against the boards. It was a reminder of just how close he’d come—too close for comfort.

“Knox will make you tougher,” he continued, pride lacing his tone. "Your skill is superb, Iris. But you need that brute physicality. He'll help with that."

Tougher? I bit my lip, trying to suppress the memories of our first encounter on the ice—the heat of his breath brushing against my neck, sending jolts of confusion straight through me. My heart raced for reasons I didn’t want to explore. Adrenaline from competition should have fueled me, but this was different; it stirred something raw and unsettling.

“Right,” I replied, still stirring my food as if it could somehow dull the images flooding my mind.

His eyes sparkled with that familiar blend of encouragement and expectation. “He’ll push you to be better than ever.”

I wanted to tell him that Knox’s version of better involved a level of aggression that rattled me—a ruthless side I wasn’t sure I could handle. Every time I thought about it, I felt those bruises settle deeper beneath my skin.

Dad went on about Knox’s career like he was recounting a heroic tale, but all I could focus on were the moments from practice—the laughter from teammates ringing in my ears as Knox stepped back after our battle with that smirk on his face. The mix of humiliation and respect twisted in my gut like a knot that refused to loosen.

“Just keep your head in the game,” Dad said softly, a knowing look crossing his face.

But how could I? Every time Knox crossed my mind, he broke through layers of composure I’d spent years building up like armor against distraction and doubt. The tension between us crackled in ways I couldn’t begin to comprehend or control.

“I will,” I finally said, though even as the words left my mouth, uncertainty settled like lead in my stomach.

Dad leaned back in his chair, the warmth from the kitchen light casting shadows across his face. His expression turnedserious, and I felt the weight of his gaze settle on me like a thick blanket. “You’ve got what it takes, Iris. But you have to want it. You have to let them push you.”

His words hung in the air, echoing against the walls that had witnessed so many conversations just like this one. There was no cruelty in his tone—just raw encouragement that pressed against my chest. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes. He wasn’t wrong; I’d worked my whole life for this moment—the pride I saw reflected in him was everything I’d ever wanted.

“I know it’s tough,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but… I see you. I know you’re special. Much better than my high school players.”

Special. That word wrapped around me like a tight hug but also tightened the knot in my stomach. It was what fueled every early morning practice, every sacrifice I’d made over the years—everything I wanted him to believe about me.

But now, that dream felt tangled up with Knox Callahan and the storm he brought with him. The challenge he represented sat heavy on my shoulders, like a weight threatening to drag me under when all I'd ever known was how to stay afloat.

I forced a smile, but my heart pounded against my ribs like a drumbeat—a reminder of Knox’s presence lingering in my mind.

“I know, Dad.” The words slipped out, light enough to hide the confusion swirling inside me.

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