Page 72 of Shots & Echoes

The defiance was there, but it was shaky.

I smirked.

Liar.

Her pulse hammered in her throat, loud enough that I could almost hear it. She wanted to convince herself she was unaffected, that she could skate right past this, past me.

But deep down?

She wanted this fight just as much as I did.

And fuck if that didn’t make me want to push her even harder.

My hand brushed her hip—just a whisper of contact, but it felt like a declaration. Intentional. My fingers lingered for the briefest moment, daring to stake a claim.

She didn’t flinch.

That was my first victory.

I felt her breath hitch, stuttering like she couldn’t decide if it was from shock or something deeper. I fucking savored it. That tiny, stolen moment pulsed with electricity, a live wire snapping between us—dangerous, inevitable.

But before I could lean in closer, before I could test just how far this tension could stretch before it snapped, she pulled away. Just barely. Enough to send an icy rush of disappointment through me.

“I need to go,” she said. Her voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something that didn’t quite match the certainty in her words.

She pushed off fast, like she was running from something. From me. From whatever had just cracked open between us.

I watched her go, the way her blades sliced through the ice with urgency, each stride more determined than the last. But just as she reached the edge of the rink, she hesitated—just for a second.

And then she glanced back.

That glance? It wrecked me.

It was a contradiction—part hesitation, part surrender. Like she already knew she’d lost, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

I exhaled, tension coiling tight in my chest.

She could run all she wanted. But we were already tangled in this mess, and we both knew it.

She would come back.

She had to come back.

I stood alone on the ice, watching her disappear down the tunnel. My chest heaved, breaths coming in sharp bursts as adrenaline coursed through me. It burned beneath my skin—wild, electric, impossible to contain.

I had pushed her hard—maybe harder than I should have—but I didn’t regret it. Not for a second. The way she fought back, the way her eyes flashed with pure fucking defiance? It sent a thrill racing through me, sharp and addictive, like the first real hit in a game. That moment when everything locked into place, and the only thing left was instinct.

My fists clenched at my sides, the tension vibrating through me like a live wire. I wanted to chase after her. Grab her, force her to stay in this moment with me, demand that she acknowledge whatever the hell this was between us.

But I didn’t.

I exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the fire raging inside me. This wasn’t just about hockey anymore. It wasn’t about pushing her toward greatness or proving that she could take a hit. This was personal. She had gotten under my skin, burrowed so deep I could feel her there even when she wasn’t in front of me.

A slow smirk crept across my lips. She thought she could escape me? No fucking chance.

This wasn’t over.

It had barely begun.