Page 135 of Shots & Echoes

“You think this is easy?” My voice cut through the air as she stumbled slightly—a split-second mistake, but enough to fuel the fire burning inside me. “You want that jersey or not?”

Her eyes blazed as she shot me a glare, sharp as a blade, defiant as ever.

And fuck—I liked it.

Liked the way she pushed back. Liked the way she never crumbled beneath my weight. Liked the way that fight in her made me want to grab her, claim her, ruin her all over again.

But beneath all of it, beneath the ice and fire and fury, a voice whispered—one I couldn’t ignore.

You’re going to break her.

Everyone left after practice.

Everyone except her.

I paced the locker room, fingers raking through my hair, my jaw locked so tight it felt like my teeth might shatter. My pulse was a war drum, pounding out the reality I didn’t want to face.

This was getting dangerous.

Iris walked in from the shower dressed in sweat, and the second she saw me—saw the tension wrapping around me like a fucking straitjacket—her expression shifted. Concern flickered in her eyes, and I hated that she could read me so damn well.

I hated that she saw the cracks.

“What happened?” Her voice cut through the heavy silence, steady but edged, like she already knew the answer would be bad.

I snapped. “Chambers is watching you.”

Her breath hitched—just for a second—but I caught it. I saw how quickly she recovered, how her shoulders squared, chin lifting in that stubborn way that made my blood burn.

“What do you mean?”

“Brooke’s asking questions.” I stepped forward, closing the space between us in one stride, until I could see the pulse hammering in her throat. Until I could feel the heat rolling off her like a warning. “This is getting out of control.”

She crossed her arms, stubborn as ever, refusing to give an inch. She never did. “What do you want me to do about it?”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because she was right. This wasn’t just her problem; it was mine. Ours.

I dragged a hand down my face, frustration clawing at my ribs. I didn’t fucking know what to do.

“We can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

She just stared at me, her gaze searching, as if trying to find something steady in the mess of me. She wouldn’t find it.

“Knox…”

The way she said my name—it wasn’t soft, wasn’t pleading. It was a warning. But I couldn’t stop now.

“I don’t want anyone fucking with your head.” The words came out sharp, edged with something too raw to name.

She opened her mouth to argue—because of course she did—but hesitated.

Iris pushed back, chin high, eyes burning with a fire that only made me want her more. She was scared too—I knew it, felt it—but she wouldn’t let me in. Not when everything between us was one wrong move away from falling apart.

“We’re fine. We’re being careful—” she started, voice controlled but taut, stretched too thin over the weight of everything pressing down on us.

I snapped.