Page 27 of Shots & Echoes

The words hit me like a puck to the ribs. Hard. Unexpected. Fucking personal.

Not that he could possibly know. Unless he knew that Iris was Dad's favorite. Unless he knew that would bother me.

I didn’t react—at least not where they could see it—but something dark curled up in my chest. Chambers had never respected me. But now he was singing her praises? Like he was her goddamn mentor? Like he was laying claim?

Bullshit.

“Talent like hers doesn’t come around often,” he went on, eyes flicking to mine—because he knew.

He fucking knew.

“She’s got grit,” he added, lips curling slightly. “Drives hard for every puck.”

The words twisted, too close to how I’d been thinking about her. Too close to everything I wanted.

His eyes met mine again. Longer this time. Testing me. Daring me.

“Just remember,” he said slowly, leaning forward like he was offering wisdom, “talent isn’t enough to make it at that level.”

I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t about Iris. It was about me. About the blood on my hands. The ref hit. The suspension. The exile.

Talent wasn’t enough.

I was proof of that.

My fists curled under the table, nails biting into my palms. I wanted to lunge across the room. Wanted to finish what we started years ago—break his nose again. Break everything.

But I didn’t.

Because this wasn’t the ice. This was politics. And I was already losing.

Worse?

Iris was in the fucking middle of it. And she didn’t even know.

Chambers wanted me to acknowledge my fall from grace. Wanted me to submit. But I wasn’t giving him that. Not here. Not ever.

But I knew one thing. He was watching her. And he was watching me.

This was just the start. And I’d be damned if I let him take her jersey—or take her—without a fucking fight.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "But grit isn't something you see nowadays, regardless of sex. It's something to look for."

I sat there, heart hammering like a fucking war drum, every muscle coiled so tight it felt like my body might snap. Chambers’ voice slid through the room, smooth, practiced—but I heard what was underneath. Poison wrapped in silk. A loaded gun with the safety off.

And Iris?

She was the target. He was using her to get to me. To remind me that no matter how far I ran, my past would always be waiting to gut me. He didn’t have to spell it out. It was in the way he leaned back, all casual confidence, that smug gleam tucked behind his eyes like he already knew how this ended. Like he was daring me to fight back—because he knew I couldn’t without losing everything.

This guy could fucking bury her.

Not because she wasn’t good enough—I knew she was. The best player on that goddamn ice.

But my name? My name was poison.

And Chambers? He was more than happy to pour that poison into her veins if it meant bleeding me out.

“You’re right,” he said, voice slick as oil but sharp enough to gut me. “But sometimes that grit can only take you so far.”

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