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As I walked through the front door, the warmth of home enveloped me, but the moment I stepped into the kitchen, that warmth turned cold. Chris was sitting at the table with Dad, laughing like he’d always belonged there.

My dad looked tired as usual, his sunken eyes hidden beneath his messy hair. He wore his well-loved windbreaker and cradled a cup of coffee that was more habit than necessity. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed for once, sharing a joke with Chris that made both of them chuckle heartily.

Seeing them together should have brought me comfort; after all, Dad had been my rock ever since Mom packed her bags and left without a backward glance. He stayed through everything—the heartbreak and disappointment—and gave me a shot at mydreams. The thought of Team USA loomed large in my mind as something tangible, something possible because of him.

But instead of comfort, a tight knot formed in my chest. It felt suffocating watching Chris laugh so easily with Dad as if they were old friends while I stood there feeling like an outsider in my own home. I had spent so much time trying to keep up appearances—being good enough for everyone—but now it felt like I was losing ground.

“Hey, Iris!” Chris called out cheerfully as he turned toward me.

I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Hey.”

“Just talking about your last practice,” he said, excitement lacing his voice.

I nodded absently while wishing desperately for a moment alone to collect myself. I could feel Dad's gaze shifting between us—curious and slightly concerned—as if he sensed that something wasn’t right. But how could I explain? How could I tell him that I felt like I was straddling two worlds?

My dad's eyes softened when he saw me, the stern Coach hat slipping away as he shifted into Dad mode. “Knox pushing you pretty hard out there, huh?”

I froze. I heard it wrong; I had to have. My mind spiraled to the way Knox pushed me—not just on the ice but in every way that mattered. It was more than just drills and demands; it was about possession, intensity, a fire that ignited between us and threatened to consume everything else.

But my dad was just worried about my health. About my future. About that damn jersey I wanted so desperately.

I tried to play it cool, shrugging off his concern like it didn’t matter. “I’m fine,” I said, but before I could explain or justify anything further, Chris jumped in.

“Honestly, Coach, I’ve been a little worried about it too.” His tone shifted slightly—an edge laced beneath his concern—as ifhe were testing the waters of my relationship with Knox. “She’s been limping. That slapshot to her skate? Knox didn’t let up at all after that. Seems like he’s… singling her out.”

My heart raced at his words. Singling me out? It felt like a knife twisted in my gut as if he’d ripped open what I tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone—including myself. Did Chris suspect something more? Or was this just his way of looking out for me?

I opened my mouth to defend Knox—to tell them both that he was pushing me because he believed in me—but the words caught in my throat. How could I explain that the intensity felt right even when it terrified me? That Knox’s demand for perfection came wrapped in a darkness I craved?

Dad leaned forward, brows furrowing with concern as he scanned my face for answers. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softened further as if sensing my internal struggle.

“Yeah,” I managed finally, but the conviction behind it felt weak and hollow—even to me.

"I don't know," Chris said. "I feel like there's a target on her back. I don't get what Callahan's deal is with her. Maybe he's jealous of Iris's potential after he threw his own career away."

“Are you sure you’re all right, kiddo? I can talk to him. If he’s going too far—” Dad’s voice cut through my thoughts like ice.

Panic surged through me. No. That couldn’t happen. Knox was already walking a tightrope with his emotions—if my dad stepped in, it would shatter whatever fragile connection we had built. Knox would pull away completely, and I couldn't bear that thought.

“I’m fine, Dad. He’s just… pushing me to be better.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think them through, but I clung to them desperately. It was true—Knox was relentless, but it felt like more than that. He saw something in me that I was still trying to grasp for myself.

My dad studied me closely, searching for any hint of hesitation or discomfort in my expression. Finally, he nodded slowly and let it go for now, but I could feel the weight of his concern still hovering over us.

Chris didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on me as if he’d just confirmed something unspoken between us—like he owned a piece of this complicated puzzle that I hadn’t fully shared with anyone yet. It made my skin crawl and my heart race.

“What exactly is he pushing you on?” Chris asked, his tone casual but probing.

“Just drills,” I replied too quickly, trying to dismiss the question while heat crept up my neck. “He thinks I need to work on my speed.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by my half-hearted explanation. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? If he’s pushing too hard?—”

“No,” I cut him off sharply, perhaps too sharply for comfort. “I can handle it.”

There was an edge in my voice that surprised even me; frustration and fear blended into one fierce response that left Chris momentarily speechless.

"All right then," my father said, standing up. "I'll be off to bed."

He dad hugged me goodnight, his calloused hands wrapping around me like a shield. I could feel the weight of his tired eyes, searching mine for any hint of trouble. The man who stayed through my mother’s departure, the one who fought for my dreams even when it seemed like all was lost. He deserved better than the worry etched into his face.