Page 64 of Shots & Echoes

Another. Missed.

Another. Still not fucking good enough.

“Damn it.”

The curse ripped from my throat as I raked a hand through my damp hair, my pulse hammering, my body thrumming with unchecked adrenaline.

This was supposed to help.

But nothing helped.

Because all I could see was her.

Iris Evans, standing across from me on the ice, fire in her eyes, defiance in her stance.

The way she had collided with me, the raw tension between us snapping like a live wire. That split second when she didn’t pull away—when she let herself get too close, let me see that flicker of something real.

Something dangerous.

Something mine.

And then—Langley.

That motherfucker was still there. Still standing in my way.

A reminder that I’d waited too long.

That someone else was already trying to take what belonged to me.

I sucked in a sharp breath and slammed another puck toward the net. It hit the crossbar and flew into the glass with a sickening crack.

I didn’t care.

I swung again. Harder.

Again.

Again.

The rage still wouldn’t leave.

Because no matter how many times I tried to shoot it out of me, no matter how hard I skated, how much I fought to bury it deep?—

I couldn’t change one simple, infuriating truth.

She was still out there.

And she was still fucking smiling at someone else.

The sound of the doors swinging open ripped me from my thoughts.

I turned, muscles still tight, pulse still fucking thrumming, as the rest of the team filtered onto the ice. Laughter. Chatter. Theeasy camaraderie of teammates who weren’t battling their own demons every goddamn second.

Good.

Practice was about to start.

I forced my jaw to unclench as I scanned the group. Waiting. Watching.

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