Page 43 of Shots & Echoes

“Sure I do.” My voice dipped lower, rougher. “You think pushing yourself past the edge will make you better. You think working until you can’t stand will impress me. Or someone else.”

Her breath hitched—just slightly—but I caught it.

The air between us crackled, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.

Her lips parted, chest still rising and falling from exertion, but she didn’t say anything. Just stood there, glaring at me like she wanted to fight. Like she wantedsomething else, too.

And fuck, if that didn’t make my pulse pound even harder.

I stepped closer, the air between us sharp as a blade, thick with heat and something darker. Iris stood her ground. Chin high, shoulders squared, daring me to push harder. Her chest rose and fell with quick, angry breaths, and I could feel the defiance rolling off her in waves.

“You act like you know me,” she spat, eyes burning into mine. “But you don’t. You don’t know what I’ve worked for.”

I scoffed. “Really?” My jaw flexed, muscles straining against the frustration curling inside me.

Then she went for the kill.

“You just want to break me,” she said, voice sharp as glass. “Like you broke yourself.”

The words slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs, knocking me back into the past—the fights, the ejections, the way my name had been dragged through the mud.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.Steady. Don’t fucking react.

I forced a cold smile. “You don’t know shit about me, Evans.” My voice came out low, edged with something rougher than anger.

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing. “You think because Daddy’s built you a pretty little pipeline to Team USA, you get to judge me?”

I felt that like a slap.

But I saw it in her too—the need to hit back. To go for the throat.

Good.

She wanted a fight? I’d fucking give her one.

She exhaled sharply, a humorless laugh spilling from her lips. “At least I respect the jersey.”

That one hit bone.

My entire body went still.

“You threw yours away.” Her voice was quiet, but the words landed like a damn body check, straight to the ribs.

I took another step into her space, close enough to see the defiance flicker behind her glare. Close enough that if I reached out, I could feel the heat of her skin.

“Yeah?” My voice was tight, something raw bleeding into the edges. “You think your pretty little dreams make you better than me?”

Her lips curled, a smirk cutting through the tension like a knife. Infuriating. Addictive.

Fuck, I hated her.

And I wanted her just as bad.

I stepped in closer, obliterating the space between us. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move back. Didn’t even fucking blink. Just stood there, chest rising and falling like she was gearing up for a war.

Good.

My blood burned hot beneath my skin, my pulse hammering, rage and something else twisting so tight inside me it was suffocating.

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