Page 61 of Shots & Echoes

“Harder,” he said, his voice low and intense.

I shot him a glare, but before I could respond, I spotted Chris entering the rink for the men’s practice. He waved casually in my direction, a friendly smile spreading across his face.

Knox stepped in front of me like a wall. His presence loomed large, shadowing everything else around us.

“Focus on your recovery, Evans,” he said, voice cold and laced with something simmering just beneath the surface. “You don’t need distractions.”

The words cut through the air like a knife. It wasn’t loud enough to be a shout, but everyone heard it—my teammates glanced over in surprise as if they sensed the shift in atmosphere. Chris’s smile faltered as he registered what had just happened; even through the glass, I could see his brow furrow with confusion.

A knot formed in my stomach. The intensity of Knox's gaze turned icy; it felt possessive and controlling. Was this about protecting me or something else? It didn’t matter—I could feel all eyes on us now.

I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders.

Knox was crossing a line that shouldn’t have existed between us—one that seemed to deepen every time we clashed on or off the ice.

I felt heat rush to my cheeks as his words hung in the air, thick with tension. I didn’t want to show it, but embarrassment clawed at me. Everyone was watching—my teammates, Chris. The eyes of the rink felt like a spotlight burning into my skin.

But beneath that embarrassment? There was a sick, twisted thrill swirling in my stomach.

He cared. Knox Callahan cared enough to throw down the gauntlet when he saw me smile at Chris. A small part of me wanted to bask in that feeling, to revel in the notion that he wasn’t indifferent. That he was here, protective and fierce.

He wasn’t just a coach; he was invested.

And as I met his intense gaze, something ignited within me—a spark of defiance and excitement. I wanted him to care like this. I wanted him to want me close enough to challenge anyone who tried to step between us.

In that moment, it clicked: Knox Callahan was mine. Not just a fleeting thought or an obsession—he belonged to me as much as I belonged on this ice.

I pushed away from the boards and stood tall, refusing to let embarrassment swallow me whole. I squared my shoulders and glared back at Knox, matching his intensity with my own stubborn resolve.

“Maybe I need distractions,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt. “What’s it to you?”

His expression shifted slightly, surprise flickering across his features before settling back into that cool facade he wore so well. But there was something else lurking behind his eyes—a flicker of approval? Or perhaps a hint of challenge?

Knox stepped closer again, invading my space just enough for our shoulders to brush together briefly. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me; it ignited every nerve ending in my body.

“Don’t make it easy for them,” he murmured low enough that only I could hear.

Every muscle in my body tightened at his words—the raw intensity wrapped around us both like a cocoon, isolating us from everything else happening on the ice.

“Trust me,” I replied, holding his gaze fiercely as if daring him to look away first.

I could feel the weight of his stare deepen between us—he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. This wasn’t just about hockey anymore; it was about everything else we hadn’t yet named or confronted.

And for the first time since this all began, I found myself craving more than just respect or approval from him—I wanted the fire igniting between us too.

I satin the empty locker room; the door closing behind me with a soft thud as my teammates left. The familiar scent of sweat and equipment hung in the air, grounding me as I began to change out of my practice gear. I moved slowly, my foot throbbed a little from the puck that had struck it earlier, but the pain was bearable.

Still, it was hard to focus on anything but him.

Knox.

His touch lingered on my skin, electric and searing. The way his body pressed against mine during that drill sent heat coursing through me. I could still feel the warmth of his hand at my hip—just a second too long for a coach. His eyes had burned into mine, filled with an intensity that made my heart race.

It terrified me how much I craved that fire.

I tugged at the laces of my skates, forcing myself to concentrate on something other than his gaze—the way he looked at me like he wanted to tear me apart and then put me back together again. There was a rawness in him that felt almost primal, a challenge I didn’t know if I wanted to accept or run from.

I hated how much I loved it.

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