Page 67 of Shots & Echoes

Not pride.

Not respect.

Something worse.

Something possessive. Dark. Ugly.

Something that wanted to rip her apart just to see if she’d put herself back together for me.

“Come on, Evans!” My voice lashed across the rink. “Show me you fucking want it!”

Brooke came at her again, but this time, Iris fought back.

She twisted, used her weight, shoved hard—and Brooke stumbled.

Yes.

Fucking yes.

I took a step closer, my blood roaring through my veins. I wanted more. More fight. More fire. More of her.

I watched as Iris battled Brooke, their bodies crashing against the boards, their sticks clashing like goddamn weapons.

The rest of the team saw a drill. I saw a fight.

And she still wasn’t digging deep enough.

She fought like hell, sure. But I wanted more.

I stepped closer, pacing like a predator, watching her every move.

Brooke drove into her, pinning her against the boards with a force that echoed through the rink.

But Iris didn’t crumble.

She pressed back. Hard. Shoving off the boards, she countered—aggressive, unrelenting, perfect.

Brooke stumbled. That fire in Iris’s eyes—sharp and wild—hit me like a gut punch.

It should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

She could give me more.

I moved in before I could stop myself.

The second she faltered—just a fucking second—I slammed into her, body-checking her into the boards.

Hard.

Not enough to hurt her. Just enough to make her feel it.

She bounced off, breathless, wide-eyed.

Half fury.

Half something else.

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