Page 29 of Shots & Echoes

Just the headline:Callahan Snaps. Career Over.

He never saw what Chambers did to me. He only saw what I became after. The disgrace. The fucking waste.

“Yeah? And what if I’m the reason she doesn’t make it? What if my name drags her down with me?”

I saw the shift in his face—the crack in his coach mask. That flicker of something personal. Real concern. Real fear.

Because he knew. He’d thought it too. Maybe not out loud—but he fucking knew.

The space between us tightened.

This wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about her. And he cared about her future almost as much as I did. Maybe more.

“Iris is a talented player,” he said carefully—too carefully. Like every word was a step through a minefield. “She can handle herself.”

Irritation spiked hot in my chest. Wrong answer. Too fucking easy.

“But she shouldn’t have to.” The words ripped out, rough, raw, before I could choke them back. “I don’t want to be another obstacle for her. I don’t want her fighting against my past just to get to her future.”

That was the truth. The part I hadn’t even admitted to myself until right now.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, eyes sharp—seeing past the anger, past the bravado, straight into the wreckage underneath.

“You’re not your past,” he said finally.

But his voice wavered—just a little. Enough that I heard the doubt.

I let out a sharp laugh, bitter and low. “No? Then why does everyone still see me as that guy?”

I paced—couldn’t fucking help it. Body too wired, adrenaline still crawling under my skin from sitting across from Chambers. Hand raked through my hair, breath sharp through my teeth. “I’m just supposed to stand here—play babysitter—while someone else builds their dream on this ice? While mine went up in flames?”

My voice cracked on that last part. I hated that. Hated that he heard it.

But it was too late. The truth was already bleeding out.

My father’s expression softened—but not with pity. With understanding. That was worse. Because it meant he knew exactly how far I’d fallen.

He exhaled slow. “Focus on helping her,” he said. Quiet, but firm. Like he was offering me a rope instead of a lecture. But it still felt like a leash. “That’s what you’re here for.”

That hit harder than anything Chambers said. Because it was final. It was the limit. The line I wasn’t allowed to cross.

I looked away—couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Because if I did, he’d see everything. The anger. The guilt. The fucking need. He’d see her. The player I was supposed to build up. The girl I was supposed to stay away from. The one I already fucking wanted.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, fists still clenched. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince—him or myself—but the words came out, anyway.

“I got it.”

Lie.

We both knew it.

But he let me walk away.

Because that’s what Callahans do. We buried it.

Until it fucking killed us.

I left the rink with my jaw tight and my hands shaking—like I’d just come off a fight I hadn’t finished. The summer air hit me hard, hot and damp, but it didn’t cool the fire burning under my skin. Nothing could.

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