Page 88 of Shots & Echoes

But today, something had shifted.

The way she looked at me wasn’t just defiance—it was something deeper, something raw. She was waiting for me to say something. To close the distance.

To choose her.

And fuck, I wanted to. I wanted to grab her by the jersey, haul her against me, and let her know exactly who she belonged to. I wanted to feel her fight me, wanted her to push back just as hard, wanted her to break just so I could put her back together the way I wanted.

But instead, I gave her nothing.

I took a slow, deliberate step away.

Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, but then her jaw tightened, her body coiling with renewed frustration.

She hated this. Hated the way I had her tied up in knots.

And I fucking loved it.

I turned away first, dismissing her without a word. I heard the sharp inhale of breath she took, the quiet scrape of her skates as she stiffened in place. She was waiting for me to acknowledge her, to let her know she wasn’t losing her mind, that this pull between us wasn’t just in her head.

But I wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Because she needed to suffer a little longer. Needed to understand that no matter how hard she fought me on this, I would always push harder.

I felt her glare burning into my back as I called out to the rest of the team, signaling the next drill.

And still, I fucking smirked.

I pushed her harder for the rest of practice, watching as she fought to keep up with my intensity. Every drill, every puck battle, I made sure she felt me—pushing back just enough to remind her who was in control. She kept her head high, but I could see the strain behind those fierce eyes.

Practice ended, and the rink slowly emptied as my team dispersed. I leaned against the boards, letting the adrenaline from the session wear off. That was when I spotted Iris near the bench, taping her stick with a focus that had nothing to do with hockey.

Then Chris Langley strolled over, all easy charm and that smile he thought he had a right to flash around like it meant something. My stomach twisted at the sight of him leaning too close to Iris, invading her space with casual familiarity.

She smiled at him—not her real smile, but a practiced one. It didn’t matter; it wasn’t genuine. It was just a mask for whatever had been eating at her all day.

I tightened my grip on the boards, the cold bite of the metal barely registering through the fire simmering beneath my skin.Every fiber of my being screamed to intervene, to yank her away from him, to remind her who she belonged to.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, I watched—silent, calculating, my chest rising and falling with each deep breath I forced into my lungs.

Chris fucking Langley. Acting like he had a right to stand so close.

Iris shifted her weight slightly, her fingers curling tighter around the roll of tape in her hands. A tell. She wasn’t as relaxed as she wanted to seem. Not with him.

And sure as hell not with me watching.

Chris said something else—low enough that I couldn’t hear it—but it made her laugh. Or at least, it made herpretendto laugh.

That sound twisted inside me like a knife.

And then he touched her shoulder.

Chris touched her shoulder—too familiar. The way he leaned in, all easy charm and casual confidence, made my stomach twist into a tight knot. I saw the way Iris reacted; her smile faltering for just a heartbeat before she recovered. It didn’t matter that it was just a friendly gesture; in that moment, it felt like a challenge.

---