Page 97 of Shots & Echoes

By the time I stepped into my apartment, the air felt suffocating, thick with everything I couldn’t shake off. The silence stretched, closing in on me as I kicked off my shoes. My pulse still thundered, muscles tight with restraint, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that she wasn’t here.

I needed to erase it.

I headed straight for the shower, cranking the water up as hot as it would go. Steam filled the bathroom, swallowing me whole. I stepped under the scalding spray, letting it burn away the ghost of her touch. But it wasn’t enough.

I scrubbed at my skin like I could strip her from it, but she lingered—her scent, her taste, the warmth of her breath on my neck. I dragged my hands over my face, exhaling sharply, but the frustration only burned hotter.

She was fuckingeverywhere.

I braced a hand against the tile, water dripping from my hair, from my lips, and squeezed my eyes shut.It was just a kiss.Just a fucking moment.

But it had wrecked me.

Because I wasn’t thinking about hockey, or her career, or all the reasons why this was a bad idea. All I could think about was how soon I could have her again.

Then there washim.

Langley. His name alone sent a violent pulse through me, anger curling deep in my gut. The way he hovered around her,too close, too fucking comfortable. He thought he had a chance. That he could be the one she smiled at, the one she leaned into.

He was wrong.

I let out a slow, unsteady breath, trying to ground myself, but the possessiveness twisted in my chest like a vice.

I knew now—I wasn’t done with her. Not even close.

I threw on my clothes, still feeling the heat of the shower clinging to my skin. My pulse hadn’t settled.

As I moved across the room, my eyes landed on the crumpled jersey in the back of my closet. Dust dulled the once-bright colors, the fabric wrinkled from years of neglect. That jersey used to define me. Used to be everything.

Now?

Now it didn’t feel like the most important thing I’d lost.

That realization sat heavy in my chest, sharp as a blade pressing against bone. Because now, there was her.Iris Evans.And the way she melted against me earlier—fuck. It was burned into my mind, looping over and over. The small, breathless sound she made when I grabbed her. The way she should’ve pushed me away but didn’t. How, instead, she pulled me closer.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides.She’s mine now.

The thought hit fast and hard, adrenaline surging through my veins.I had her.

And fuck, it felt like a win—like the kind that left your knuckles bloodied and your heart still pounding long after the final whistle.

But right behind that rush? Something darker. Something uglier.

How the fuck was I supposed to keep her? How could I hold on when everything in my life—everything good—had always slipped through my fingers? This wasn’t just about control, about possession. This was something else entirely, somethingthat clawed at my insides and made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of a drop-off I couldn’t see the bottom of.

No one else could have her. Not while I was still breathing.

I started pacing, muscles coiled tight, body thrumming with something raw and unrelenting. The stakes felt bigger than anything I’d ever faced on the ice. If this went south—if she walked away—what then?

That fear twisted deep, lodged itself in my ribs like shrapnel.

But then, right on top of it, came the thrill. The undeniable high of knowing we had already crossed that line. She was mine now.

And I sure as hell wasn’t letting anyone take her from me.

I slidinto a booth at River Styx, the familiar scent of brewed coffee mingling with the sound of quiet chatter around me. The place buzzed with the usual morning crowd—players, coaches, and fans sharing their stories over steaming cups. I could almost convince myself this was just another day.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

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