Page 58 of Shots & Echoes

I let out a slow, unsteady breath, still gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

But maybe I didn’t want to be grounded.

Maybe I wanted to let go.

Maybe I wanted to fucking drown in this chaos.

Because deep down, beneath all the anger, the obsession, the fucking madness of it all?—

I knew the truth.

I wasn’t strong enough to walk away.

Not from her.

Not now.

Not ever.

Chapter 9

Iris

Lunch with Chris was fine. Just fine.

He animatedly talked about his time as a goalie, how he couldn't wait to play next year. His enthusiasm shone through, and I should have felt uplifted by his passion for the game.

But honestly?

I was miles away, my thoughts tangled in something darker.

My foot throbbed from where the puck had hit it, but that wasn’t what gnawed at me. It was the way Knox had looked at me when I walked out with Chris. His gaze pierced through the rink like a blade, heavy and charged with something primal. It sent an unsettling thrill down my spine.

I tried to shake it off, to focus on Chris and his stories about saves and strategy. He leaned in, eyes bright, gesturing wildly as he recounted a close call during practice last week.

“...and I dove just in time! You should have seen it; the puck barely skimmed past me! There's no way I'm still backup this year. Not with the way I catch everything.” He laughed, and I forced a smile, nodding along while my mind replayed Knox’s expression over and over.

Like he was ready to break something. Like he was ready to break someone.

I took a sip of my drink, trying to drown out that dark image creeping into my thoughts.

"Are you even listening?" Chris's voice broke through my haze, pulling me back to the table.

“Yeah—sorry! Just thinking about practice,” I replied quickly. My heart raced; guilt flickered within me. Wasn’t I supposed to be focusing on Chris? He was safe, predictable—everything Knox wasn’t.

But it was futile. The more I pushed Knox from my mind, the more vivid his presence became. Every brush of his fingers against my wrist in the weight room felt fresh, every moment we’d shared echoing in my head like a refrain I couldn’t escape.

Chris’s laughter faded into background noise as I stared down at my half-eaten sandwich, suddenly nauseous with confusion and unwanted longing.

He glanced at me quizzically, concern etching his brow. “Iris? You good?”

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Just tired.”

I caught myself looking toward the door again, waiting for Knox to stride in like he owned the place—but no one came through that entrance except more teammates chatting and laughing together.

I rolledout of bed the next morning, stretching my arms above my head. The ache in my foot had faded to a dull throb, and I felt lighter. I shuffled to the bathroom, letting the hot water from the shower wash over me, soothing my muscles and clearing the remnants of yesterday’s confusion from my mind.

Standing there, I let my thoughts drift while steam fogged up the mirror. Images of Knox surfaced uninvited—his intense gaze, that smirk that held more than just arrogance. I pushed them aside as I scrubbed shampoo through my hair, reminding myself today was a new day.

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