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I shouldn’t have let it get to me.

But it did.

I leaned in, voice like a blade. “Cute dig. But how’s that working out for you? You’re the guy who tanked his own career—now you’re playing babysitter for your dad’s team.” My smirk was vicious. “Is it take your son to work day, or just your retirement party?”

The air between us went tight.

Knox shifted forward, just slightly—but enough that I felt it. The weight of him. The heat. The threat.

Everyone was watching.

Holding their breath.

Waiting to see who’d crack.

I should’ve stepped back.

I didn’t.

“You can skate fast, Evans,” he murmured, voice like gravel, like a warning. “But I’ve broken better players than you.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, but I smiled through it—sharp, defiant. “Burned those bridges, huh?”

His laugh was low, under his breath—the kind that made my stomach twist in a way I hated.

I was winning this exchange.

So why did it feel like he was getting exactly what he wanted?

“You really think you’re gonna impress anyone with that attitude?” he asked, voice silky with disdain.

I should’ve left it there.

But he was under my skin now.

I stepped closer—into his space, letting my skates brush his—because if he was testing me, I was pushing back.

“Impressing people isn’t my goal,” I said, voice steady, eyes locked on his. “Winning is.”

The smirk returned—but it was different now. Like I’d finally shown him something worth seeing.

He tapped his stick against the ice. “Let’s see what you’ve got then.”

The puck dropped between us.

I lunged for it.

He slammed into me, hard and deliberate, sending shock waves through my body.

It hurt.

But I held my ground.

I fought like hell for the puck, but he made it brutal—hips, elbows, stick pushing against mine, his body crowding me into the boards.

“You want that jersey?” he taunted, breath hot against my ear. “This is what it costs.”

My skates slipped slightly under his pressure.