Page 77 of Shots & Echoes

And today, I wasn’t holding back.

I stared at the Team USA jersey shoved, its fabric wrinkled and worn, a relic of a life I barely recognized anymore. The sight twisted something deep in my gut—a reminder of everything I had lost.

A badge of honor turned to a ghost.

Once, I wore it with pride. Once, it meant something. Now, it was a reminder of failure. Of the moment I let it all slip through my fingers.

And she was out there, chasing that dream with every ounce of fight she had—just like I once did.

But she didn’t know what I’d become.

The weight of guilt settled in my chest like a vice, pressing harder with every breath. What if I ruined her shot? What if my obsession led her down a path she could never come back from? The thought clawed at the edges of my mind, a warning I should’ve listened to.

But I didn’t.

Because beneath the guilt, beneath the fear, something darker slithered in—a hunger that left no room for doubt.

I was already too far gone.

She was already mine.

Every time I watched her skate, something primal ignited inside me. This wasn’t just about coaching anymore. This was about claiming her—the fight in her, the fire, the way she stood in my path like she belonged there.

She didn’t back down. Not on the ice. Not with me.

And that? That made it impossible to walk away.

I could still feel the way she pushed back in drills yesterday—how she met my intensity head-on, refusing to break. It sent a jolt through me, hot and electric, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Every time our bodies collided, every accidental touch, every challenge that passed between us—it built something dangerous, something neither of us had control over anymore.

The air thickened whenever we squared off, our breath sharp in the cold, tension winding tight around us like an unspoken promise.

And the truth hit me hard.

I didn’t just want her for what she could bring to the ice.

I wanted all of her—her strength, her fire, the way she fucking looked at me like she knew I could destroy her and still wasn’t afraid.

But that guilt still lurked, coiling deep inside me—a reminder of how easily I could wreck her.

How easily I could ruin everything.

I stoodat the edge of the rink, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold around me. The girls skated through drills, some laughing, others gritting their teeth as they fought for space. I kept my distance—cold, sharp, unreadable.

With everyone but her.

Iris was a different story.

Every time she cut through the ice, I felt it like a shockwave. Her presence disrupted everything. My focus, my control, my carefully built indifference—it all unraveled with each powerful stride she took. The determination in her eyes was a challenge, one I could feel like a rope tightening around my throat.

And every time our eyes met, the air between us thickened—heavy with something neither of us wanted to name.

“Evans!” I barked, my voice slicing through the noise. “Push harder!”

She snapped her head toward me, her glare flickering between irritation and something sharper—something that lit a fire low in my gut.

I smirked. She had fight.

But that fire inside her made me reckless too. It coiled through my veins, an unrelenting burn as I stepped closer to the ice, drawn to her in a way that made no goddamn sense. I didn’t just want to coach her—I wanted to push her until she had nothing left. I wanted to break through that perfect composure, watch her unravel under my hands.

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