Page 41 of Shots & Echoes

Soft.

And maybe that’s what she wanted.

I clenched my fists around my stick, my pulse pounding in my ears. She didn’t need soft. She needed to be challenged. To be fought for.

And if she thought Chris Langley could give her that, then she didn’t fucking know me at all.

I stalked across the ice, every step weighted with the image of her limping off, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched like she’d rather diethan admit she was in pain. The way she flinched when that puck slammed into her foot—it kept looping in my head, relentless and sharp.

I’d seen players take worse. Hell, I’d taken worse. But this? This was Iris.

And I wasn’t supposed to care.

This was just a job. A temporary stint. Serve my time, keep my head down, don’t get attached. I’d taken this gig to escape the bullshit—the headlines, the fights, the bad fucking choices that landed me here in the first place.

Yet here I was. Wound up over a goddamn sophomore with too much fire in her veins.

I told myself to walk away. Let it go.

I wouldn’t push her. Wouldn’t go looking for her after practice. Wouldn’t give a single shit what she did or who she did it with.

But then an hour passed.

And I fucking cracked.

I stormed out of the rink, ignoring the way my gut twisted, ignoring the warning bells screaming in my head. The night air slapped against my skin, sharp and biting, but it did nothing to cool the heat buzzing under my skin. This wasn’t adrenaline from practice. This was something darker.

What if she was still there?

What if Chris fucking Langley had stayed behind, playing the golden boy, giving her that easy, safe,nice guybullshit? What if she let him?

The thought rotted in my chest, something primal and ugly rising to the surface. I’d shove him against the wall if I had to. Remind him exactly who the fuck he was dealing with.

But this wasn’t about him.

This was about her.

And maybe that was even worse.

I reached the rink doors, my pulse a heavy drum in my ears.Turn around. Leave. Don’t do this.

I didn’t listen.

I pushed through, breath sharp, heart hammering, tension snapping like a live wire beneath my skin. Because maybe she needed me more than anyone else did. And maybe that scared the hell out of me too.

I stormed into the weight room, every muscle coiled tight, tension crawling up my spine like barbed wire. It was the only thing keeping me from going over to her place and asking her what the fuck she was doing. The clang of metal, the scent of sweat—it should’ve grounded me. Should’ve drowned out the noise in my head.

But nothing shut this shit off tonight.

I grabbed a barbell, loaded it heavier than I should’ve, and dropped it against my shoulders like a fucking punishment. My arms burned, my chest strained, but the pain was good. It kept me focused. It kept me from thinking about her.

The way she limped off the ice.

The way she let Chris Langley put his hands on her.

The way shelaughedat something he said—light, easy, like she hadn’t just been in the dirt.

I gritted my teeth, pushing the weight higher, harder, but the image wouldn’t leave my head.It should’ve been me.

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