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Now she was the girl who fucked her coach.

A growl tore from my throat as I launched another puck, my body coiled with a rage I had no outlet for. It hit the crossbar and ricocheted out onto the ice, spinning uselessly before coming to a stop. Just like me.

Because no matter how hard I fought, no matter how much I tried to push it away, I knew the truth.

If I really loved her, I had to let her go.

Even if it fucking killed me.

The sharp blare of the Zamboni horn shattered the quiett. I skated to the bench, chest heaving, adrenaline still pumping as I yanked off my gloves and slammed them down beside me. My knuckles throbbed—raw from hours of gripping my stick too tightly, from firing off slapshots like each one could beat back the storm in my head.

But nothing could.

The cold air clung to my skin as I untied my skates, every movement stiff, mechanical. My body was spent, but my mind? My mind was a fucking war zone. I could still hear my father’s voice, still see the way he looked at me—like I was the one thing standing between Iris and everything she’d ever wanted.

And maybe he wasn’t wrong.

By the time I got home, the exhaustion had settled deep in my bones, but the restless energy still burned. I tossed my gear to the side, not caring where it landed, and ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair. My pulse was still erratic, my head a mess. I needed something to focus on—anything to drown out the nagging voice in my head telling me what I already knew.

Then my gaze landed on it.

The jersey.

That goddamn Team USA jersey, wadded up in the corner of my living room, forgotten and faded. Just like me.

I stared at it, my jaw locking tight as something bitter curled in my chest. Once, that jersey had meant everything. It had been my future, my identity, my fucking dream. But now? Now it was nothing but a reminder of what I had lost.

And worse—what Iris still had to lose.

She wasn’t just fighting for that jersey. She was fighting for her place in something bigger, for a chance to be part of a team that could launch her into the life she deserved.

And I was the one thing that could rip it away from her.

The truth clawed at my throat, vicious and undeniable. No matter how much I wanted her, I was standing in her way.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as the realization settled deep, sharp as a blade. She could survive the whispers, the rumors. She could battle the scrutiny, the judgment. She was built for it—strong, relentless, fearless.

But what if that wasn’t enough?

What if Chambers decided she wasn’t worth the risk? What if USA Hockey took one look at her name, saw mine tangled up with it, and decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?

What if I was the thing that cost her everything?

The thought made me sick.

I dropped onto the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers digging into my scalp as the weight of it all pressed down on me. She deserved more. More than this mess. More than the risks. More than me.

And if I really fucking loved her?

I’d find a way to let her go.

It wrecked me—the realization that I was about to burn it all to the ground.

I loved her. More than I had any right to. More than was safe. But love had never been a gift in my hands—it had always been a loaded gun, pointed at whoever was stupid enough to get close. And now? Now, the barrel was aimed square at Iris.

If I let this go on any longer, I’d be the thing that cost her everything.

The truth dug into me like glass shards, sharp and unforgiving, as I sat on the couch, staring at nothing, my thoughts spiraling into a dark abyss. I could already see it—see the way her face would twist when I said the words, when I made her believe I didn’t want this anymore. First confusion, then anger, and finally, the thing that would destroy me completely—hatred.