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I huffed a quiet laugh, stepping in even closer. She smelled like sweat and effort and something that got under my fucking skin.

“Sure I do.” My voice dipped lower, rougher. “You think pushing yourself past the edge will make you better. You think working until you can’t stand will impress me. Or someone else.”

Her breath hitched—just slightly—but I caught it.

The air between us crackled, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.

Her lips parted, chest still rising and falling from exertion, but she didn’t say anything. Just stood there, glaring at me like she wanted to fight. Like she wanted something else, too.

And fuck, if that didn’t make my pulse pound even harder.

I stepped closer, the air between us sharp as a blade, thick with heat and something darker. Iris stood her ground. Chin high, shoulders squared, daring me to push harder. Her chest rose and fell with quick, angry breaths, and I could feel the defiance rolling off her in waves.

“You act like you know me,” she spat, eyes burning into mine. “But you don’t. You don’t know what I’ve worked for.”

I scoffed. “Really?” My jaw flexed, muscles straining against the frustration curling inside me.

Then she went for the kill.

“You just want to break me,” she said, voice sharp as glass. “Like you broke yourself.”

The words slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs, knocking me back into the past—the fights, the ejections, the way my name had been dragged through the mud.

My hands curled into fists at my sides. Steady. Don’t fucking react.

I forced a cold smile. “You don’t know shit about me, Evans.” My voice came out low, edged with something rougher than anger.

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing. “You think because Daddy’s built you a pretty little pipeline to Team USA, you get to judge me?”

I felt that like a slap.

But I saw it in her too—the need to hit back. To go for the throat.

Good.

She wanted a fight? I’d fucking give her one.

She exhaled sharply, a humorless laugh spilling from her lips. “At least I respect the jersey.”

That one hit bone.

My entire body went still.

“You threw yours away.” Her voice was quiet, but the words landed like a damn body check, straight to the ribs.

I took another step into her space, close enough to see the defiance flicker behind her glare. Close enough that if I reached out, I could feel the heat of her skin.

“Yeah?” My voice was tight, something raw bleeding into the edges. “You think your pretty little dreams make you better than me?”

Her lips curled, a smirk cutting through the tension like a knife. Infuriating. Addictive.

Fuck, I hated her.

And I wanted her just as bad.

I stepped in closer, obliterating the space between us. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move back. Didn’t even fucking blink. Just stood there, chest rising and falling like she was gearing up for a war.

Good.

My blood burned hot beneath my skin, my pulse hammering, rage and something else twisting so tight inside me it was suffocating.

Iris stared up at me, green eyes burning with defiance, that fucking fire flickering behind them. She didn’t just push—she fought. She hit nerves I thought were long since dead, buried under years of bitterness and regret.

And I felt every goddamn strike.

“You don’t get it,” I bit out, voice low, lethal. “You’ve never had to fight for your fucking spot.”

Her chin lifted, sharp and defiant. And then—she stepped into me.

Right up in my space, like she belonged there.

Like she wasn’t afraid.

“You think I don’t fight?” she shot back, her breath uneven but her voice steady, a live wire of fury.

We were chest to chest now. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her, close enough that if I so much as twitched, I’d be on her.

“You think I don’t deserve this?” she demanded.

I let out a sharp breath, a dark chuckle rolling off my tongue. “I think you’re a spoiled little golden girl who’s never had to prove a damn thing.”

Her eyes flared with something dangerous. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down. She just burned hotter.

“I think you’ve had everything handed to you.” The words dripped from my lips like venom, meant to cut, meant to make her break.

And for a split second—I saw it.

The crack.

A flicker of something deep beneath all that fire, something real.

But then—she slammed the armor back into place.

“Everything?” she hissed, voice tight, vibrating with barely contained emotion. “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed.”

The air between us thickened, suffocating, electric, a live fucking grenade waiting to detonate. And despite the fury clawing up my spine—I wanted to see her break it first. Wanted to see if she’d shatter. Or if she’d fucking fight me harder.

She shoved me—harder than she had to. Not enough to move me, but enough to make her point. Enough to make my blood fucking burn.

“Screw you, Callahan.”

I didn’t move back. Couldn’t. Not when I felt that fire in her words, the heat rolling off her like a goddamn furnace.

“You don’t get to decide what I’ve earned,” she snapped, voice sharp as a skate blade cutting across ice.

My hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist before I even thought about it. Not rough. Not to hurt. Just to stop her.

And the second I did—the whole world fucking shifted.

The background noise of the rink faded, the weight room, the buzzing lights—all of it disappeared.

Just me. Just her. Just this.

Her pulse pounded against my grip, fast and erratic—matching the wild beat hammering in my chest. She wasn’t just angry. She was alive with it.

And I felt it too.

Felt it in the heat licking up my spine. In the sharp, shallow breaths between us. In the way she wasn’t pulling away.

She was waiting.

Daring me to push her harder.

I leaned in, voice dropping into something rough and quiet. “Prove it then.”

Her nostrils flared, her breath sharp.

“Take the hit," I said.

Her fingers twitched against mine.

“Get back up.”

She swallowed, fire raging in her eyes, but there was something else there too. Something deeper. Something she didn’t want me to see.

“Show me you want it.”

For half a second, she wavered.

And then—she ripped her arm free like I’d burned her.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you," she growled.

The lie sat between us, thick and obvious.

I held her gaze, refusing to back down. The air between us was a live wire, sparking, ready to ignite. This wasn’t just about hockey. This was about us. A challenge. A battle line. A fucking war waiting to happen. And we were just getting started.

Silence stretched between us, thick, charged, suffocating.

The air was heavy as a glove drop, tense as a fight waiting to break out.

Every breath she took, every sharp rise and fall of her chest, only pushed me closer to the edge.

She should walk away. She should shove me again, should spin on her heel and get as far from me as possible.

But she didn’t.

She stood there, shoulders squared, chin tilted up, staring me down like I was her next battle.

And fuck—maybe I was.

Her eyes flickered—hatred, defiance, something else. Something that coiled low in my stomach, dark and insatiable. She wanted to destroy me just as much as she wanted to close the distance.

And I couldn’t decide which one I wanted more.

My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to reach for her. To grab her jaw, tilt her head back, and see what kind of sound she’d make if I pushed her past her breaking point.

Her breath hitched, just barely, and then—she licked her lips.

Slow. Deliberate.

My gaze snapped to her mouth, a single second too long, and I felt the shift—the way the air crackled, like this was already spiraling out of control.

Goddamn it.

Everything around us blurred. The rink, the weight room, the world beyond this moment—all of it faded to nothing.

Just her.

Just this heat, this fucking pull that gnawed at my insides and refused to let go.

Her chest rose and fell faster now, tension wound tight enough to snap. That fire in her gaze burned dangerously close to something more—something raw, something untamed.

And I knew, in that split second, that whatever this was between us—it wasn’t going away.

It didn’t matter how hard I tried to fight it.

It didn’t matter how much I told myself this was bad.

Because we were already past the point of no return.

The moment fractured when she stepped back, like ice cracking beneath my skates—sharp, sudden, impossible to stop.

“Good night, Coach.” Her voice was steady, clipped. A dismissal. But beneath it—disdain? Relief?

I didn’t know.

Didn’t fucking care.

All I knew was that it felt like a goddamn punch to the ribs.

And then she was gone. Walking away. Leaving me in the wreckage of whatever the fuck just happened between us.

She disappeared into the shadows of the rink, each step taking her further away, and my heart pounded like I’d just lost a fight I didn’t even realize I was in.

I stood there, frozen, breathing hard, blood hot. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay still, even as something inside me howled to go after her. To drag her back. To finish what we started.

She had pushed me right to the fucking edge. Dared me to go further. And then she pulled back.

And I let her.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

Raking a hand through my hair, I forced myself to breathe, but it didn’t help. Didn’t clear the frustration clawing inside me.

What was this?

What had just happened?

She shouldn’t have mattered. None of this should have mattered.

All I wanted was to push her, break her, show my dad she wasn't as good as he thought. That she wasn't fucking perfect.

And yet—my fingers still tingled where I’d grabbed her wrist, my skin still burning with the heat of her glare, my body still remembering exactly how close she had been.

I exhaled hard, chest tight, staring at the empty space where she had stood like I could pull her back through sheer force of will.

But she was gone.

And I had no fucking clue how I let it come to this.

My jaw locked, my chest rising and falling as if I’d just finished a brutal game—heart hammering, blood running too hot, adrenaline still scorching through my veins.

My hands flexed at my sides, fingers twitching like they had unfinished business. Like they still remembered the feel of her wrist in my grip. Like they wanted to grab her again—yank her back into that thick, charged air and make her face whatever the fuck this was between us.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned and grabbed the nearest weight off the rack, squeezing the cold metal so hard my knuckles went white. Something solid. Something real. Something to ground me before I fucking lost it.

And then—I hurled it across the room.

The weight hit the wall with a sharp, violent clang that shattered the silence, the echo ricocheting back at me like a taunt. Like it wasn’t enough.

Like nothing ever would be.

My breath came rough, heavy. Iris was under my skin now—buried deep, in a way that felt more invasive than any hit I’d ever taken on the ice.

She pissed me off. Infuriated me.

And worse? She fucking excited me.

That defiance of hers—it stoked something dark inside me, something hungry. Every second I spent fighting her, every shove, every glare, only made me want to push harder.

To see how far she’d go before she shattered.

Before I did.

I forced out a breath and paced along the edge of the rink, fists clenched, a storm brewing inside me that I had no way of controlling.

What was it about her? Why did she get under my skin like this?

Why did every second in her presence feel like balancing on a knife’s edge—one wrong move from cutting too deep?

She had no fucking clue about my past. About the wreckage I carried. She didn’t know how easy it would be for me to drag her down if she let me.

But that was the problem.

She wasn’t afraid to stand in the fire with me.

And worse?

I wanted to burn with her.

“Damn it,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair, my pulse refusing to settle.

The gym was silent now—just me, the ghosts of my past, and the weight of whatever the fuck was happening between us. And it wasn’t going anywhere.