Page 39 of Shots & Echoes

I was supposed to be focusing on him. This was the part where I let him fix things—be the good guy, take some of the weight off.

Be normal.

Be easy.

I rolled my ankle carefully, testing the wrap. It was tight but secure, and the pain had dulled to a steady throb.

Chris returned a moment later, a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a towel. He crouched down beside me again, holding it out. I reached for it, fingers brushing his—warm, steady. A little charge of contact—but not the kind that made my chest squeeze or my pulse kick up. Not the kind that left me breathless and angry. Not the kind I craved.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, trying to make my voice sound softer, more like I appreciated it.

I did.

Chris stayed there, close but not too close. Watching me like he wanted to say more—but he didn’t. He was giving me space. Respecting boundaries. Being perfect.

And yet…

I couldn’t help it.

My gaze drifted. Through the glass—toward the ice—towardhim. Standing near the boards, stick in hand, mask of indifference on his face—except his eyes.

His eyes were locked on me. Sharp. Dark. Fucking furious.

Our eyes collided, and for a second, my breath caught in my throat—because that wasn’t just irritation. That was possession. That was a warning.

His jaw flexed, hands tightening around his stick like he wanted to break it in half. Like he wanted to break Chris.

I snapped my gaze away—heat rushing to my cheeks—heart racing in a way it hadn’t when Chris touched me.

I adjusted the ice on my foot, pretending like I hadn’t seen him, like it didn’t matter. Like Knox Callahan didn’t already have his fucking hooks in me.

But I felt him watching. Even from across the rink,

I felt him everywhere.

And I hated that I liked it. That I liked him like this. Jealous. Angry. Dangerous.

Was he jealous?

Did he care?

Or was he just upset someone was being nice to me?

Fuck, I didn't care.

I needed to stop thinking about him… before it ruined me.

Chapter 6

Knox

Istood at the edge of the rink, jaw locked so tight my teeth ached, watching Iris limp off like she wasn’t in pain. Like she hadn’t just taken a slapshot to the fucking skate because she was too stubborn to move.

And then there was him.

Chris fucking Langley. Right there, waiting, like he’d been counting down the seconds to play hero.

His arm slid around her shoulders like he had the right, and something inside me snapped. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, tension coiling tight in my gut like a wire about to snap. What the fuck was he doing?

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