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She didn’t need him.

She didn’t needanyone.

But then she laughed—soft, breathy,light—and that’s when the rage hit full force.

That laugh? That should’ve beenmineto pull from her lips. Mine to provoke. Not his.

Chris leaned in, murmuring something that made her smile, and I had the sudden, violent urge to rip his hand off her. The way he touched her—casual, easy, like she belonged thereagainst him—made my blood run hot, but not in the way I wanted.

She’s tough. She doesn’t need saving.

I whispered it under my breath like a mantra, but I didn’t believe it. Not when Chris was the one holding her up, when she was leaning into him instead of pushing back like she always did with me.

And I fucking hated it.

The sharp clang of blades against the ice, the distant shouts of her teammates, all of it blurred into the background as they disappeared behind the locker room doors. That moment replayed over and over—her wincing, Chris catching her, her letting him.

My pulse pounded.

I should be the one testing her limits. The one pushing her past the pain, past the hesitation. Not him.

Because Chris? He’d be too easy on her. Too fucking soft. He wouldn’t push her to the edge like I would.

Wouldn’t make herfight.

And that fire in her? The one I saw in every glare, every defiant shove against the boards, every time sherefusedto back down?

That fire belonged to me.

I prowledacross the empty rink, my skates biting into the ice with every turn. The sound echoed in the hollow arena, sharp and rhythmic, but it did nothing to drown out the fucking image burned into my head.

Iris.

Iris, leaning into Chris Langley. Iris, laughing for him.

Chris fucking Langley.

The safe choice. The guy who’d never shove her into the boards or make her bleed to prove a point. The guy who’d never tell her she wasn’t good enough just to watch her prove him wrong.

And she let him touch her. Let him slip his arm around her like he had a fucking right. Like she needed him. Like that was something she’d allow.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t push him off.

She didn’t push back.

A muscle ticked in my jaw as I pushed harder, ice cutting beneath me in angry streaks. What the fuck was wrong with me? It wasn’t like she was mine. Wasn’t like I had any reason to care who helped her limp off the ice.

But I did.

And it burned.

I gritted my teeth, trying to shake it off. It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one helping her up—or better yet, I should’ve been the one making sure she never fucking fell in the first place.

Chris wouldn’t push her the way I did. Wouldn’t test her. Wouldn’t make her better.

He’d be gentle.