Page 31

Knox

I gripped the steering wheel so hard it felt like it might snap beneath my fingers.

My knuckles blanched, the leather creaking under the pressure.

My pulse pounded in my ears, a relentless, thunderous beat that drowned out the world outside.

I tipped my head back against the headrest, inhaling sharply, but it did nothing to steady me.

Because all I could fucking taste was her.

Sweet. Addictive. Still lingering on my lips like she’d branded herself into me.

I could feel her, too—everywhere. The warmth of her skin burned into my palms, seared into my memory like a scar I never wanted to fade. She had melted against me, breathless, pliant. Not pulling away. Not resisting. Wanting .

My cock throbbed at the memory, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers curled into me like she wasn’t sure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

But beneath that sharp hunger, cold dread coiled tight in my gut.

What the fuck did I just do?

I kissed her. I touched her. I crossed the fucking line.

The weight of it slammed into me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs. I wasn’t supposed to want her. I wasn’t supposed to take. I was supposed to push her—force her to be better, protect her . Instead, I’d let my control snap for a single moment, and now?

Now there was no undoing it.

I let out a slow, ragged exhale, forehead pressing against the steering wheel.

My skin still burned where she had been, my chest still heaved like I had just fought my way through a game that had no clear winner.

Guilt twisted inside me, but it wasn’t enough to smother the truth clawing at my insides.

I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

I should be. I should feel regret sinking its teeth into me, should be convincing myself that this was a mistake.

But I wasn’t.

Because I had seen it in her eyes, too—that flicker of something undeniable , something just as reckless as the fire consuming me from the inside out.

She wanted me.

Maybe she wanted more than she even realized. More than the fight. More than the game. More than she should.

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

But what if that desire destroyed her? What if it ruined both of us?

I tightened my grip, head still bowed, every muscle coiled tight with restraint.

Because now that I’d had a taste?

I didn’t know if I could stop.

I told myself I’d stop. That this was a mistake, just a moment of weakness. But I knew it was a fucking lie.

There was no stopping now.

Not after the way she melted against me. Not after the fire in her eyes, the way she clung to me like she was already mine. Because she was.

The drive home felt like a slow, agonizing crawl, my mind looping through every second of our collision. Her breathless gasps. Her body pressed into mine. That split second where she didn’t pull away—where she wanted it.

By the time I stepped into my apartment, the air felt suffocating, thick with everything I couldn’t shake off. The silence stretched, closing in on me as I kicked off my shoes. My pulse still thundered, muscles tight with restraint, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that she wasn’t here.

I needed to erase it.

I headed straight for the shower, cranking the water up as hot as it would go. Steam filled the bathroom, swallowing me whole. I stepped under the scalding spray, letting it burn away the ghost of her touch. But it wasn’t enough.

I scrubbed at my skin like I could strip her from it, but she lingered—her scent, her taste, the warmth of her breath on my neck. I dragged my hands over my face, exhaling sharply, but the frustration only burned hotter.

She was fucking everywhere.

I braced a hand against the tile, water dripping from my hair, from my lips, and squeezed my eyes shut. It was just a kiss. Just a fucking moment.

But it had wrecked me.

Because I wasn’t thinking about hockey, or her career, or all the reasons why this was a bad idea. All I could think about was how soon I could have her again.

Then there was him.

Langley. His name alone sent a violent pulse through me, anger curling deep in my gut. The way he hovered around her, too close, too fucking comfortable. He thought he had a chance. That he could be the one she smiled at, the one she leaned into.

He was wrong.

I let out a slow, unsteady breath, trying to ground myself, but the possessiveness twisted in my chest like a vice.

I knew now—I wasn’t done with her. Not even close.

I threw on my clothes, still feeling the heat of the shower clinging to my skin. My pulse hadn’t settled.

As I moved across the room, my eyes landed on the crumpled jersey in the back of my closet. Dust dulled the once-bright colors, the fabric wrinkled from years of neglect. That jersey used to define me. Used to be everything.

Now?

Now it didn’t feel like the most important thing I’d lost.

That realization sat heavy in my chest, sharp as a blade pressing against bone.

Because now, there was her. Iris Evans. And the way she melted against me earlier—fuck.

It was burned into my mind, looping over and over.

The small, breathless sound she made when I grabbed her.

The way she should’ve pushed me away but didn’t. How, instead, she pulled me closer.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. She’s mine now.

The thought hit fast and hard, adrenaline surging through my veins. I had her.

And fuck, it felt like a win—like the kind that left your knuckles bloodied and your heart still pounding long after the final whistle.

But right behind that rush? Something darker. Something uglier.

How the fuck was I supposed to keep her?

How could I hold on when everything in my life—everything good—had always slipped through my fingers?

This wasn’t just about control, about possession.

This was something else entirely, something that clawed at my insides and made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of a drop-off I couldn’t see the bottom of.

No one else could have her. Not while I was still breathing.

I started pacing, muscles coiled tight, body thrumming with something raw and unrelenting. The stakes felt bigger than anything I’d ever faced on the ice. If this went south—if she walked away—what then?

That fear twisted deep, lodged itself in my ribs like shrapnel.

But then, right on top of it, came the thrill. The undeniable high of knowing we had already crossed that line. She was mine now.

And I sure as hell wasn’t letting anyone take her from me.

I slid into a booth at River Styx, the familiar scent of brewed coffee mingling with the sound of quiet chatter around me. The place buzzed with the usual morning crowd—players, coaches, and fans sharing their stories over steaming cups. I could almost convince myself this was just another day.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Dad stirred his coffee, slow and methodical, like he was thinking through every word before saying it out loud. He hadn’t looked up in the last thirty seconds, but I could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying pressing between us.

I shifted in my seat, gripping my cup tighter, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. But inside? Inside, I was still wrecked. Still feeling her, still tasting her. Iris had burrowed beneath my fucking skin, and no amount of hot coffee or small talk was going to fix that.

Dad finally exhaled, leaning back in his chair, his gaze cutting through the early morning light like a blade. Here it comes.

“You look like shit.”

I let out a sharp exhale, a humorless laugh slipping past my lips. “Good morning to you, too.”

His expression didn’t shift. He wasn’t joking. “I’m serious, Knox.” He set his mug down, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s going on?”

I forced a shrug, playing it off. “Nothing. Just a long night.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Dad had a way of seeing people—really seeing them. It was why he was such a good coach, why his players would take a bullet for him if he asked. And now, that same skill was turned on me, peeling back my bullshit layer by layer until he got to the rot underneath.

“You’re distracted.”

I scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw. I could still feel the ghost of Iris’s breath on my lips, her body pressed against mine. I had my hands on her last night—and now I was sitting across from my father, the one person who could end everything if he knew.

I should’ve felt guilt. Should’ve let the shame creep in like it was supposed to.

But all I felt was want.

Dad sighed, shaking his head, his disappointment tangible. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but if you’re not careful, you’re gonna lose control of this team.”

I met his gaze then, my grip tightening around my cup. “I’ve got it handled.”

Dad studied me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to call me on my shit—really call me on it. But then he just shook his head again, exhaling like he was already tired of this conversation.

“Just remember what matters, Knox.” His voice dropped, steady and final. “You’ve already lost enough.”

His words hit like a slap to the ribs, sharp and unyielding.

I nodded, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, Coach. I know.”

But the thing was?

I didn’t know anymore.

Dad leaned back, swirling the remnants of his coffee in the cup, his gaze fixed on the table. “I’ve been watching Evans closely,” he said, breaking the silence that had settled between us like a thick fog. “That girl has something special.”

My chest tightened at the mention of her name.

“She works harder than anyone else out there,” he continued, his voice steady and filled with pride. “Her work ethic? It’s impressive. She’s got potential, Knox. She could make that Team USA roster if she keeps this up.”