Page 46 of Shots & Echoes

It didn’t matter how much I told myself this was bad.

Because we were already past the point of no return.

The moment fractured when she stepped back, like ice cracking beneath my skates—sharp, sudden, impossible to stop.

“Good night, Coach.” Her voice was steady, clipped. A dismissal. But beneath it—disdain? Relief?

I didn’t know.

Didn’t fucking care.

All I knew was that it felt like a goddamn punch to the ribs.

And then she was gone. Walking away. Leaving me in the wreckage of whatever the fuck just happened between us.

She disappeared into the shadows of the rink, each step taking her further away, and my heart pounded like I’d just lost a fight I didn’t even realize I was in.

I stood there, frozen, breathing hard, blood hot. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay still, even as something inside me howled to go after her. To drag her back. To finish what we started.

She had pushed me right to the fucking edge. Dared me to go further. And then she pulled back.

And I let her.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

Raking a hand through my hair, I forced myself to breathe, but it didn’t help. Didn’t clear the frustration clawing inside me.

What was this?

What had just happened?

She shouldn’t have mattered. None of this should have mattered.

All I wanted was to push her, break her, show my dad she wasn't as good as he thought. That she wasn't fucking perfect.

And yet—my fingers still tingled where I’d grabbed her wrist, my skin still burning with the heat of her glare, my body still remembering exactly how close she had been.

I exhaled hard, chest tight, staring at the empty space where she had stood like I could pull her back through sheer force of will.

But she was gone.

And I had no fucking clue how I let it come to this.

My jaw locked, my chest rising and falling as if I’d just finished a brutal game—heart hammering, blood running too hot, adrenaline still scorching through my veins.

My hands flexed at my sides, fingers twitching like they had unfinished business. Like they still remembered the feel of her wrist in my grip. Like they wanted to grab her again—yank her back into that thick, charged air and make her face whatever the fuck this was between us.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned and grabbed the nearest weight off the rack, squeezing the cold metal so hard my knuckles went white. Something solid. Something real. Something to ground me before I fucking lost it.

And then—I hurled it across the room.

The weight hit the wall with a sharp, violent clang that shattered the silence, the echo ricocheting back at me like a taunt. Like it wasn’t enough.

Like nothing ever would be.

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