Page 24

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.

I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip, forcing myself to straighten up. “Go on,” I said, waving her off with a casualness I didn’t feel. “You’ve got more work to do.”

She hesitated for the briefest moment, just enough for the heat between us to coil even tighter.

Then she turned and skated away, her strides purposeful, her presence still clinging to me long after she disappeared down the tunnel.

I exhaled sharply, taking off my helmet and running a hand through my damp hair, my fingers twitching with frustration.

She might’ve left—but she took something of me with her.

And I was ready for whatever came next.

I skated off the ice, my pulse still hammering, my body vibrating with the raw energy of practice. The drills, the contact, the tension between me and Iris—it all clung to my skin like sweat. But none of it compared to the way my gut twisted when I saw him.

Chris fucking Langley.

He stood near the boards, his easygoing grin firmly in place as he waited for her. His presence alone was enough to set my teeth on edge, but the way she leaned in slightly, the way she smiled back—that was the match to the gasoline.

I moved before I could think. My strides were slow, deliberate, but the heat curling in my chest made each step feel heavier, like I was stalking something. Someone.

I cut between them, planting myself in the space that should have never been his.

Iris’s eyes flicked up, a mixture of confusion and challenge sparking there, but I didn’t give her time to react. My focus was locked, my voice steady.

“Evans. Locker room. Now.”

Not a request. A command.

She froze for a second, her body tensing like she was deciding whether or not to fight me on it. My blood roared at the thought of her pushing back, but the need to get her the hell away from him burned hotter.

Chris shifted, already stepping into my space like some goddamn knight in shining armor. His arms crossed, his posture tightening, but I didn’t acknowledge him. He wasn’t my priority. She was.

Iris hesitated a second too long, and I narrowed my gaze. “Go,” I murmured, voice low, steady.

Her jaw set, but she nodded, brushing past me, our shoulders grazing for just a second. It sent a charge through my veins—a spark of heat that nearly made me reach out, grab her, keep her.

Instead, I clenched my fists and exhaled as she disappeared toward the locker room.

Only then did I turn to Chris.

He stood firm, eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was debating whether or not to say whatever stupid thing was on his mind.

“What’s your problem?” he asked, voice laced with that cocky undertone that made me want to knock it right out of him.

I stepped in closer, dropping my tone into something cold and dangerous. “Stay out of it.”

Chris scoffed, shaking his head like I was some kind of joke. But I saw it—the flicker of doubt in his expression, the way he shifted his weight like part of him knew I wasn’t bluffing.

He didn’t push back.

Good.

Because this wasn’t a game he wanted to play with me.

I followed Iris into the locker room; the door swinging shut behind me with a quiet thud.

The space felt cavernous and empty, echoes of laughter and chatter still lingering in the air from practice.

But now? Now it was just us.The tension wrapped around us like a thick fog, heavy and electric.

My heart raced as I stood across from her, maintaining distance but letting my presence fill every inch of the room.

I wanted to move closer, wanted to close that gap, but something held me back.

Iris crossed her arms, defiantly meeting my gaze. Her expression was fierce—unyielding. She wasn’t about to back down. Not here. Not now.

I let a smirk slip through—just a flicker of it, but enough to show her I wasn’t intimidated. “You know why I’m here.”

Her jaw tightened at my words. “What do you want from me?” For a moment, silence filled the air again—a heavy pause thick with possibilities—and I could see it in her eyes: uncertainty mingled with something darker beneath it all. Something dangerous.

The real question lingered between us: Would she take that step toward the fire?

“Why are you playing with him when you know it won’t ever be the same?” I asked.

Her breath hitched—just slightly—but I caught it. The flicker of hesitation, the way her fingers curled against her jersey like she needed something to hold onto. It was all the confirmation I needed.

I took another step forward, closing the distance between us, my presence pressing against her like a storm rolling in. She didn’t back away.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Evans.” My voice was quieter now, rougher, barely above a whisper.

She swallowed hard, her throat working around whatever response she wanted to give—but didn’t. Instead, she exhaled sharply, her chin lifting in that stubborn way that made my blood burn.

“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, turning toward her locker like she could just shut me out.

Wrong move.

I reached out, bracing my hand against the metal beside her head before she could fully turn away. Not trapping her—not yet. But keeping her here, keeping her in this charged, inescapable moment.

Her breathing quickened. I could feel it—hell, I could practically hear her heart hammering, matching mine beat for beat.

“You think Langley’s the better choice?” The words scraped out of me, darker than I intended. “Think he can push you like I can? Make you better?”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes burning with irritation—and something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Chris isn’t?—”

I huffed a quiet laugh, cutting her off. “Chris isn’t what? What you want?”

The silence between us thickened. Daring her to say it.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. I watched her fight against the truth, fight against herself. But I saw it—I felt it.

She was already gone.

My fingers twitched against the locker, itching to grab her, to pull her in and end whatever this war was between us.

Instead, I waited—waited for her to break first.

I could see it—the way her body betrayed her. The rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremor in her fingers as she gripped the edge of the locker behind her. She was trying to fight it, trying to shove down whatever this thing between us was, but I saw right through her.

She wanted this.

I leaned in, just enough for my breath to brush against her skin. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I murmured, my voice dark, daring.

She stayed silent.

That was all the answer I needed.

I reached out slowly, my fingers trailing along the edge of the metal beside her head—not touching her, not yet, but caging her in. She tensed, but she didn’t move away. She held my stare, fire flickering in her eyes, that same damn defiance that made me want to push her, break her, own her.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours?” I tilted my head slightly, watching as she sucked in a sharp breath. “You can fuck around with Langley all you want, but when you lay in bed at night, when you can’t stop thinking—who is it that gets under your skin?”

Her lips parted slightly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, but she still didn’t speak.

I smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

My hand finally moved—slow, deliberate—trailing down, just barely grazing the hem of her jersey. Not enough to be innocent, but not enough to be a touch either.

Her breath shuddered, and for a split second, she leaned into it.

And that? That was all the permission I needed.

She was unraveling, and I fucking loved it.

Her breath still came fast, her lips parted just enough to make me think about what they’d taste like.

But it was the way she gripped the locker behind her, like she needed something to hold her steady, that did me in.

That made me want to push just a little more—to see how far she’d let me take this before she shoved back.

“You don’t own me,” she said, voice sharp, but there was something off about it. A crack in the ice.

I tilted my head, taking my time looking at her, dragging my gaze over every inch of her until she shifted beneath the weight of it. “Don’t I?”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t say anything. She knew better.

I let the silence stretch, thick and heavy. I could feel the energy pulsing between us, electric and dangerous, coiling tighter with every breath she took.

Then I leaned in again, just close enough to make her shudder—close enough to make sure she’d feel my presence long after I was gone.

“You can fight it all you want, Evans,” I murmured, my breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “But we both know how this ends.”

I pulled back, slow and deliberate, watching the way her chest rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked wrecked.

Good.

I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, lips parted, looking like she wanted to scream or pull me back.

I didn’t give her the chance to do either.

Because this? This was only the beginning.

I stepped out of the locker room, my pulse still hammering, my jaw tight. The cold air of the rink hit me like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the fire still raging inside me. Every inch of my body felt wound too tight, like I was one wrong move away from snapping.

She’d gotten under my skin.

I ran a hand down my face, inhaling deep, but all I could fucking smell was her—the faint trace of sweat, the bite of her shampoo, the goddamn electricity she left behind in that room.

I should’ve let it go. I should’ve walked away, put distance between us, reminded myself that she was nothing more than a player under my watch.

But the way she had looked at me back there—the way her chest rose and fell too fast, the way her lips parted like she was on the verge of either cursing me out or begging me closer—had carved itself into my mind.

I had her now.

She could pretend all she wanted, could throw her walls up and spit fire at me, but I’d felt that hesitation. That flicker of something between us that neither of us wanted to name.

And now?

Now, it was only a matter of time.

I stepped out of the rink, but my mind was still stuck in that goddamn locker room. I pictured her standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving, looking at me like I was both her greatest frustration and the thing she couldn’t escape.

And maybe I was.

Nothing would be enough until she finally broke—until she admitted what we both already knew.

She was mine.

And soon, she’d stop fighting it.