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This was about us.

As the drill wrapped up, the tension still clung to the air like a thick fog, refusing to dissipate. The other players started shuffling off the ice, laughing, catching their breath.

Not her.

She was still locked in, the adrenaline thrumming through her veins, the fight not yet shaken from her body.

I wasn’t ready to let her leave, anyway.

“Evans!”

She stilled at the sound of her name, turning slowly. Reluctantly.

“Stay back.”

Her brow furrowed, curiosity flickering behind those sharp eyes, but I caught the uncertainty beneath it. She could pretend all she wanted, but we both knew what was happening here.

The other girls exchanged glances before heading toward the locker room, a few of them smirking, a few of them whispering. They didn’t know what this was, but they felt it.

They all knew she was my favorite.

But not the way a coach picks a star player.

No, this was something else. Something more. And I had no intention of letting her leave this rink until we both understood exactly what that meant.

I watched her—breathless, flushed, a sheen of sweat on her skin as she stood her ground. Her chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, her body still vibrating from the drill. But it wasn’t exhaustion that burned behind those blue eyes.

It was something else.

Something that twisted my insides and made my pulse hammer in my throat.

Iris didn’t break. She didn’t fucking bend. She took every challenge I threw at her and shoved it right back in my face like a goddamn weapon. And she liked it.

That wrecked me more than anything.

She liked the push, the tension, the edge of danger we were dancing on. She liked me pushing her harder than anyone else ever would.

And hell if I didn’t want to push her further.

“Get low when you’re fighting for the puck,” I said, keeping my voice even despite the storm raging inside me. “Use your body. Make them work for it.”

She nodded, sharp and sure, but there was something else flickering in her expression—something reckless. A challenge. A dare.

I leaned in just enough for my breath to brush against her ear. Low. Private. A whisper of something that shouldn’t have meant as much as it did.

“And don’t hesitate. Hesitation gets you knocked out of the play.”

Her lips parted slightly—just for a second—but she held my gaze, her spine straightening like she was absorbing the weight of my words, filing them away to use against me later.

Fuck.

She wasn’t scared of me. Not even close.

I watched her muscles tighten, her fingers flex against the shaft of her stick, like she was ready to throw herself into another battle just to prove a point. To prove she could take every hit and still come out standing.

I wanted to see that.

I wanted to be the one testing her limits.