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I stared at the ceiling, my heart still racing, breath coming in heavy gasps. The shadows loomed overhead, flickering in the dark, but all I could see was him—Knox. His smirk, thatwicked glint in his eyes. The way he commanded every space he occupied, even the space in my head.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I whispered to the empty room. The question echoed back at me like a taunt, and I cringed at the vulnerability it exposed.

But deep down, I already knew the answer. It lurked there in the corners of my mind, whispering truths I didn’t want to confront.

I was falling.

And I wasn’t going to stop.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine. Each thought of him felt like a tether binding me tighter to this reckless desire that threatened everything I had worked for. My future on Team USA hung by a thread while Knox's presence filled every void inside me.

I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as if that could somehow shield me from this madness. The faint scent of ice rink sweat lingered in my clothes—his scent—and it sent another jolt of heat through me.

My mind spiraled back to practice earlier that day: the way he pushed me harder than anyone else, not just with drills but with his gaze—intense and unwavering. He had made it clear he was watching me; every move I made seemed to be weighed against some unspoken standard only he understood.

The thought made my stomach flip. Did he want me to break? Or was he testing how far I could go before giving in? Either way, he had succeeded; I felt like a puppet on his strings.

I exhaled sharply as frustration bubbled up within me again. This wasn’t just about hockey anymore; it was about something deeper—a dangerous game that left me breathless and wanting more.

Chapter 14

Knox

Iwoke up wrecked—hard, aching, mind still tangled in the remnants of a dream that felt too fucking real.

Because it was always her.

Iris Evans.

Her name was carved into my goddamn bones at this point. I felt her in my pulse, in my lungs, in the heavy weight pressing against my skin like a vice. Every night, she haunted me. And every morning, I woke up like this—breathless, strung tight, needing something I shouldn’t even be thinking about.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The sheets were twisted around my legs, suffocating, but not nearly as suffocating as this obsession burrowing deeper under my skin.

In the dream, she had been skating—strong, fierce, that fire burning in her eyes like she wanted to tear me apart. And fuck if that didn’t make my blood race. I could almost feel the press of her body against mine, the heat rolling off her, the way her breath would stutter when I got too close.

But it wasn’t just the physicality of it.

It was the way she fought back. The way she refused to back down, meeting me head-on like she was made to withstand thestorm I brought into her life. She didn’t just take the pressure—I could see it in her eyes. She craved it.

Just like I craved her.

I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up, trying to shake off the last traces of sleep that clung to me like a ghost. But it was useless.

Because I didn’t just want her.

I wanted to own her.

I wanted to fucking ruin her.

And the sickest part? I wanted to see if she’d let me. If she’d take the hit and come back stronger. If she’d crawl back onto that ice, chin high, daring me to do it again.

The thought sent a jolt through my body, dark and electric.

This wasn’t about hockey anymore.

It wasn’t even about control.

It was about her.