Page 70 of Shots & Echoes

She squared her shoulders, standing tall—but somehow still smaller.

This wasn’t about Langley. This was about her and me.

“Why do you care?” she shot back, voice sharp, brittle, like she was trying to carve out a boundary that neither of us would ever respect.

I smirked.

Because she already knew the answer.

“Because he’s not good for you.” I kept my tone even, but the words carried weight, slicing through the cold between us.

Her jaw clenched. A storm brewed in her eyes, wild and untamed, but she didn’t look away.

And for a moment, there was nothing else—just us in this frozen world, where the lines between right and wrong blurred into something dark, something reckless.

Something inevitable.

But I wasn’t done.

Not even close.

I stepped closer, the ice beneath my skates groaning slightly under the shift. We brushed—just barely—but I felt it.

Heat. Electricity. Something sharp and alive crackling between us, pulling us in.

She stiffened, a breath catching in her throat. Barely there, but I caught it. Of course I caught it.

I let the silence stretch, pushing against the tension wrapping around us like a vice. Testing her. Daring her.

Until.

“You can’t pretend you don’t feel it, Evans.”

She inhaled sharply—a tell, a slip, a crack. But then—she squared her shoulders. A reflex. A shield. A flimsy fucking defense against the inevitable.

“You’re my coach,” she said, voice hard, but underneath? A tremor.

I smirked. Slow. Dark. A grin that carried the weight of something dangerous, something real. “Yeah…” I murmured. “And you still want me.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

It hung between us like a blade suspended in midair, ready to fall.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, a steady rhythm of denial warring with something raw and unspoken. Her grip tightened around her stick like it might keep her standing. Like it might keep her from falling straight into me.

I watched her fight it—fight me.

And it only made me want her more.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shot back, sharp, controlled—except it wasn’t. Because she knew what I was doing.

And worse? She wanted me to keep doing it.

I tilted my head, studying her, letting my voice drop lower. “Just stating facts.” I leaned in, just enough to let my breath brush against hers in the cold air. “You think I don’t notice?” I murmured. “How hard you push? How you come alive when I challenge you?”

Her lashes fluttered, the tiniest movement, but it sent a punch of satisfaction straight through my chest. She wanted to fight this. Didn’t know how. She licked her lips—a subconscious tell.

“I’m not interested in games,” she said through clenched teeth.

---