Page 23 of Shots & Echoes

But deep down? I didn’t know anymore. The passion that once burned bright now flickered under shadows of doubt and intimidation. Would pushing harder really bring me closer to Team USA? Or would it push me further away from everything that felt safe?

After dinner, I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. The sound pulled me back into reality as I gathered my plate and utensils, slipping into the familiar rhythm of washing dishes. The warm water rushed over my hands, and I focused on thesuds, scrubbing away remnants of pasta and sauce while my mind tried to escape.

With each plate I cleaned, I aimed to lose myself in the mundane task—the swirls of bubbles and the glint of silverware becoming my only concern. The repetitive motion calmed me for a moment, letting me forget about practice and Knox’s relentless presence.

But as I dried my hands on a dish towel, his name echoed in my thoughts again.

I shook my head as if it would physically shake him out of there. No use pretending everything was fine when it felt like he had carved a place in my mind that refused to budge.

Once the last dish dried on the rack, I slipped away to my room. The door clicked shut behind me, shutting out the world. My gear lay in the corner—my helmet and pads scattered like armor waiting for battle, airing out. I didn't think I sweated that much from a practice, and that said something. My stick leaned against the wall nearby, its surface worn but still sturdy like a weapon ready for war.

I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. Thumbing through contacts, I landed on Jenna’s name. We always joked around after practice; she’d know how to lighten things up.

Hey! Can’t believe Callahan thinks he can push us around. LOL.

I hit send and stared at the screen, willing her response to come quickly. But as minutes ticked by without a reply, that sense of normalcy slipped through my fingers like ice melting under pressure.

Friends were hard to come by when I lived and breathed hockey. Even players on the team didn’t revolve their life around it the way I did.

Knox lingered at the edge of my thoughts—the weight of his body against mine along those boards still burned hot inmemory. His eyes had held something intense when I pushed back—something that sent a jolt through me and left me questioning everything.

What did he see? A rival? A challenge? Or was it something deeper?

I groaned and tossed my phone onto the bed, running a hand through my hair as frustration swelled within me again. Nothing felt right; every attempt at distraction only brought him back into focus—his smirk haunting every corner of my mind.

I hated that I was thinking about him. But no matter how hard I tried, Knox Callahan crept into my thoughts like a shadow, dark and unavoidable. His smirk lingered in my mind, taunting me even when I closed my eyes.

I considered calling Jeremy. He’d been a fling from those early midget hockey days—nothing serious, just a distraction for both of us when the pressures of the sport got too heavy. We used each other for physical release, and he’d been my first and only. Having Jeremy meant I didn't have to worry about boyfriends or crushes or anything like that. It was supposed to be simple, but once I got to Crestwood and focused on my game, those late-night texts fizzled out until they were nothing more than echoes.

But now?

The idea of him felt like an anchor in the swirling storm that was Knox. Jeremy wouldn’t challenge me; he wouldn’t push me like Knox did with that rough edge I couldn’t shake off. Maybe that’s what made me think of him in this moment—a lifeline to something safe and familiar.

A safe way to get release.

But it wasn’t just safety that called to me now; it was something deeper, something dangerous. Something that looked a hell of a lot like Knox Callahan.

I wanted to make Dad proud.That mantra pulsed through me like a heartbeat, steady and strong. Every drill, every early morning on the ice—it was all for him, for the years he’d poured into coaching and guiding me toward Team USA. But now another voice whispered in the back of my mind:What if I wanted something else too?

I bit my lip as frustration mounted inside me again. Dad thought Knox would make me tougher. Maybe he was right—maybe I needed someone to challenge me outside the lines of practice—to throw me off balance until I found my footing again.

But tough girls bled too.

That thought hung there like an uninvited guest at the back of my mind—a reminder that strength could come with scars, both visible and hidden. Each moment spent reliving our battle along the boards felt like an invitation to cross some line I hadn’t yet dared approach.

I shook my head again as if doing so would banish Knox from my thoughts entirely. The weight of those feelings pressed against me—a mix of curiosity and irritation swirling together until it felt suffocating.

Until I couldn't breathe anything but him.

Chapter 4

Knox

The morning light cut through the blinds like a blade, slicing across my face, dragging me out of another restless, fucked-up excuse for sleep.

I shoved the covers off, heat and frustration twisting through my chest like barbed wire. My skin felt tight—like I was still buzzing from last night, from her.

Iris fucking Evans.

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