Page 4 of Shots & Echoes

“I heard about you,” Knox said, his voice low, rough, the kind of tone designed to cut.

Mocking, but beneath it—something colder.

Something personal.

“The golden girl of Crestwood.”

His eyes flicked over me—slow, assessing—like he was sizing up a target, not a player.

“My dad thinks you’re capable of going all the way.”

The way he said it—my dad—was acid.

Bitter as hell.

It stung more than it should have, because it hit exactly where he wanted it to—right at the foundation of everything I’d built here.

I was Callahan’s girl.

The coach’s project.

Everyone knew it.

I stiffened, forcing my arms to cross over my chest like I wasn’t bothered.

“You keep tabs on all the local talent, Callahan? Or just the ones who might skate circles around you?”

His smirk cut sideways across his face—not amused, not really.

Interested. Hungry.

“Local talent,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who hasn’t even made the national team yet.”

The dig hit dead-on.

Because he was right.

I felt that familiar flare of embarrassment, the one I always swallowed down—but this time, it burned hotter because it was him saying it.

Because he was the guy I grew up watching wear the jersey I was still chasing.

“Maybe focus on your own game instead of mine,” I snapped.

He laughed, but it wasn’t light—it was sharp, like glass breaking.

“You think you’re ready for this?” He leaned in closer, voice low. “Pressure’s different when the jersey’s on your back.”

I raised a brow, trying to play it cool even though his proximity was making my pulse climb, making my skin flush under my gear.

“You wouldn’t know pressure if it punched you in the face. Or wait… did you hit first?”

His smile stayed, but his eyes sharpened—something dangerous flashing beneath that practiced calm.

“At least I didn’t need daddy’s name to get my ice time.”

There it was.

The thing everyone thought but never said to my face.

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