Page 32 of Shots & Echoes

I can do this,I thought fiercely with each powerful stride.I’m not just Daddy’s favorite.

Knox’s presence became an electric current fueling my ambition and anger in equal measure. No way would I let him see me falter again; no way would I give him that satisfaction.

I skated harder still—determined to prove something—if only to myself.

Knox called us to gather along the boards, and I felt a tightness in my chest. He looked like he was ready for blood—at least, that’s how it felt when he scanned the group, his eyes flickering over us with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“Time for puck battles,” he announced, leaning on his stick, his smirk all too familiar. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I shifted my weight from one skate to the other, trying to shake off the nervous energy bubbling in my stomach. This was just another drill, but Knox's presence loomed large, tainting everything with an edge I wasn’t sure I wanted to face.

Brooke slid up beside me, her competitive fire sparking as she flashed a grin. “Ready to get knocked around?”

“Only if you can catch me,” I shot back, forcing a playful smile despite the knot tightening in my gut. We’d always played hard against each other; it was part of what made us good.

“Don’t hold back,” she challenged, her eyes glinting with mischief.

As we took our positions along the boards, I focused on the puck—on keeping it away from her as Knox blew his whistle to signal the start of the drill. My heart pounded like a drum in my ears.

The moment we clashed, Brooke came at me hard and fast. I braced myself but still felt her shoulder slam into mine with a jarring force that knocked me off balance. My skates slipped on the slick surface, and I stumbled back, catching myself just before hitting the ice.

“Nice try!” Brooke laughed as she pushed past me for the puck.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered under my breath, irritation mixing with embarrassment. It stung more than just physically.

I fought to regain my composure and dove after her, but the sting of being knocked off balance lingered like a brand on my pride. With each step forward in our tussle for control over the puck, I could hear Knox’s voice cutting through the noise—a low growl laced with challenge.

“C’mon ladies! Show me some grit!”

I pushed harder against Brooke this time; there was no way I'd let anyone see how rattled I'd become by Knox or this drill or anything else that threatened to knock me down again.

The drill escalated faster than I expected—sharp, hot—like a blade slipping under my skin. Brooke slammed into me, shoulder grinding into my ribs, and something inside me snapped. Not just irritation. Something deeper. Darker. Like everything I’d been holding back was ready to detonate.

I shoved her back—hard—sticks clashing like weapons, our skates slicing across the ice. My heart was pounding, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was from the fire crawling up my throat. Because I knew he was watching.

“Come on, Evans! You’re better than this!” His voice cut through the cold—louder than the scrape of skates, louder than the echo of my pulse in my ears. Sharp. Demanding. Like he was daring me to fail in front of everyone. Daring me to break.

Heat flared under my skin—rage or something worse, something I didn’t want to name. His voice made me burn. And I hated that.

“Harder, Evans! You want that jersey, right?” Mocking. Cocky as hell. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

My teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached, but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Because I’d see that smirk—the one that made my blood boil and my thighs clench at the same time.

Brooke shoved me again, and I snapped back—harder, faster—because I needed to hit something, and I couldn’t hit him.

Our sticks tangled, skates scraping, breath coming sharp between us.

“What’s your problem?” Brooke barked, eyes narrowing.

Him.

Always him.

“Not you,” I spat, voice low and rough.

“Then take it out on the puck!” Knox again—louder, sharper. Like he could read my fucking mind.

My knuckles tightened around my stick—white-knuckled grip, like I was holding onto my pride with both hands.

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