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“Bet Callahan taught you more than just drills.” One of the girls sneered from across the rink, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Yeah, that psycho? Guy’s a fucking joke,” another chimed in, laughter spilling from her lips. “No wonder he’s not here. Ruined his career and now he’s ruining yours.”

And that? That was it. I felt something inside me snap—a line crossed that shouldn’t have been touched. You could talk about me all you wanted, but you did not fucking talk about him.

I didn’t think about the consequences; I just dropped my gloves.

The ice felt different beneath my skates as I surged forward, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I swung first—my fist connecting hard with the girl’s helmet before snapping back and landing on her jaw. The impact sent shockwaves up my arm, but I didn’t care. The rage fueled me.

She staggered back, surprise etched on her face before anger took over. The cheers of our teammates faded into background noise as we squared off.

The fight became a blur of punches and shoves—both of us lost in our own worlds of fury. Her hands grabbed at my jersey as we grappled for control, but I was done letting someone else dictate how this played out.

She grunted but retaliated quickly—her fist finding its way to my cheek. Pain flared for a moment, but I brushed it off like it was nothing compared to what they had said about Knox.

We hit the ice, gloves tangled, refs rushing in. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

Every time someone like Chambers called Knox a disgrace, every time they looked at me and saw only his mistake, it fueled the fire in my chest. I wanted to scream that he was more than that—that he deserved better than to be remembered as a has-been who had thrown it all away.

I pushed against her, determined to make my point, my fist connecting with her face again. The clang echoed in my ears, drowning out the crowd’s roar. The rush of adrenaline filled my veins as I fought back against every taunt that had been thrown at us both—the whispered judgments, the mocking laughter. This was my fight now.

“Get off her!” I heard one of my teammates yell as chaos erupted around us.

Bodies collided on the ice as refs struggled to pull us apart, but I didn’t care. My focus narrowed to the girl whose name I couldn’t even remember—the one who dared insult Knox when she knew nothing about him.

In a blur of motion, we were pulled apart—my breath coming hard and fast as I glared at her through the throng of officials and players trying to separate us. But even as they held me back, my heart raced with the thrill of standing up for what mattered most.

The whistle blew harshly—cutting through the tension like a knife—and reality slammed into me with brutal force: ejectedfrom the game for fighting. The ref’s voice was muffled as he gave me a penalty; all I could hear was the pounding in my chest.

As they led me off the ice, anger swelled inside me like a tidal wave threatening to overflow. I felt alive and reckless and completely out of control—but this wasn’t just a momentary lapse; this was me refusing to let them silence me.

When I finally stepped into the locker room, breathless and flushed with heat from both exertion and rage, all eyes were on me—wide with surprise and confusion at what had just unfolded on the ice.

I sat on the bench in the locker room, blood drying on my knuckles, adrenaline still thrumming through my veins. The chaos of the rink faded into a low hum, but the memory of the fight played vividly in my mind..

Coach Callahan stormed into the room, his face a mask of fury. “What were you thinking, Evans? You can’t just throw punches like that! You’ve jeopardized everything!”

But I didn’t regret it—not for a second. I had taken a stand. I was a fighter.

As Coach paced back and forth, ranting about discipline and consequences, I looked down at my jersey—the one with Team USA emblazoned across the front. For so long, it had felt like the finish line—the culmination of every sacrifice, every bruise and tear.

But now?

It felt different. It felt like part of a journey that was still unfolding.

The weight of that realization settled over me as I traced my throbbing fingers along the fabric. This jersey mattered—it was a symbol of everything I had fought for. But in that moment, another truth emerged: he mattered more.

Knox Callahan had stepped into my life and turned it upside down in ways I never expected. He’d shown me what it meant topush boundaries—to fight not just for victory but for something deeper than accolades or approval.

I straightened up on the bench, determination coursing through me like wildfire. The whispers from the other girls didn’t matter anymore; their judgments were nothing compared to what Knox had awakened in me.

I wasn’t going to choose between them any longer. I wanted both—the jersey and him. If anyone could understand how important that choice was, it would be Knox.

Because I would have both—I would fight for both—and no one would take either away from me again.

Chapter 34

Knox