Page 39

Iris

C oach Callahan gathered us at center ice, his voice slicing through the chatter of skates and sticks. His eyes were hard, locking onto each one of us with a seriousness that sent a ripple of tension across the rink.

“This is what you’ve all been waiting for,” he declared, his tone commanding silence. “Scout’s coming next practice. Two days.”

The weight of those words crashed over me like a tidal wave. I had spent years pushing through bruises, blood, and sweat to reach this moment—the culmination of every early morning, every late-night drill. The final Team USA selections would be posted right after.

But as I stood there, heart racing in my chest, all I could think about was Knox.

The memory of the other night flooded my mind—his hand covering my mouth, stifling my gasps as he pinned me against the lockers.

His body had pushed into mine with a desperation that left me breathless.

He had taken me like I belonged to him—no hesitations, no apologies.

It was raw and chaotic and everything I shouldn’t want but craved all the same.

“Understand?” Coach Callahan continued, pulling me back to reality.

His gaze scanned our faces for acknowledgment, but I felt disconnected from the world around me.

The urgency in his voice clashed violently with the echo of Knox’s whispers in my ear—those words that stirred something deep within me.

I nodded along with the others, but inside? I was spinning.

My mind replayed every moment—the way he had looked at me with that possessive fire, how he had made it clear I was more than just another player to him. And now here I stood on the brink of everything I ever wanted while still carrying the weight of what we’d done.

It felt impossible to reconcile both parts of my life: this shot at glory and whatever this thing with Knox had become.

A part of me wanted to run back to him—to feel his hands on me again—but there was no time for that now. There was too much at stake.

I focused on Coach Callahan as he went over strategy for the upcoming practice—his voice fading into background noise while Knox loomed large in my thoughts, making it hard to breathe beneath the pressure of expectation mixed with desire.

The moment Coach Callahan dismissed us, I felt the air shift. The rink, usually filled with the crisp sound of skates slicing against ice, now echoed with my racing heart. My teammates scattered, laughter and chatter filling the space, but I lingered, trapped in my own turmoil.

When I envisioned this moment—the jersey, the glory—I had never imagined it would come with such a heavy price. It terrified me to admit that now I wanted more than just the jersey.

I wanted Knox.

The way he looked at me with that mix of intensity and hunger made my pulse quicken. But it was more than physical desire; it was something deeper, more consuming.

What if I couldn’t have both? What if wanting him meant sacrificing everything I had worked for?

I leaned against the boards, staring at my reflection in the glass. My face looked familiar yet foreign—caught between girlhood dreams and this raw need that gnawed at my insides. The thought of losing my shot at Team USA twisted like a knife in my gut.

“Hey, Iris!” Brooke’s voice broke through my reverie. She jogged over, her brow glistening with sweat from practice. “You good? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah,” I managed to reply, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Just thinking.”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing me with an intensity that made me shift uncomfortably. “About what? You’re going to crush it next practice! You’ve worked too hard to let anything distract you.”

Her encouragement fell flat as Knox’s face flashed through my mind again—his smirk after our heated moments together, his hands on me like they owned me.

“I know,” I said quickly, brushing off her concern. “I just want to make sure I'm ready. That we're all ready. This is a team thing."

But readiness felt like an illusion when every time I pictured myself standing on that podium wearing the Team USA jersey, Knox overshadowed it all. What if he became a distraction? Or worse—what if he was exactly what I needed?

I peeled off my gloves, the cool air of the rink sending a shiver up my arms. The team had trickled off, laughter fading into echoes as I sat near the bench, feeling oddly out of place.

My heart still raced from practice, but it wasn’t just the drills or the tension with Knox that kept my pulse quickening.

It was everything that lingered between us—his presence shadowing my every thought.

“Hey, Iris!” Chris slid up beside me, his smile bright and casual. There was a weight beneath it that I couldn’t ignore. He always seemed to sense when something was off.

“Hey,” I replied, forcing a smile back as I shoved my gloves into my bag.

He leaned against the bench, hands in his pockets. “Bonfire’s coming up this weekend. You in?” His voice held an easy confidence, but I could see a flicker of something else in his eyes—a hopefulness mixed with uncertainty.

I hesitated. Shouldn’t I be focused on the upcoming practice and making Team USA? But as I thought about Knox—the way he had looked at me after our moment in the locker room—the heat radiating from him made me question everything again.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, guilt gnawing at me like an unwelcome guest. Knox was still lingering in my mind like a specter I couldn’t shake off.

But Chris continued to smile at me, and there was a comfort in that familiarity—the normalcy of his presence that felt like a breath of fresh air amid the chaos swirling inside me.

“Come on! It’ll be fun,” he pressed gently. “Just some friends hanging out by the fire, nothing serious.”

The idea of slipping away from all this pressure pulled at me like a lifeline. I needed normal—at least the illusion of it—for just one night.

“Yeah, I’ll go.” The words slipped out before I could second-guess myself.

Chris’s grin widened as relief washed over his features. “Awesome! We’ll have a good time.”

Before I knew it, he leaned in closer, but I barely had time to process it before his lips brushed against mine. It was a quick kiss, hardly more than a whisper of contact.

And yet, it felt like nothing. Just wrong.

I pulled back, my heart racing not from excitement but confusion. Chris’s grin widened, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. He moved to step onto the ice with his teams, laughter echoing behind him as they took their positions for practice.

But when I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Knox stood across the rink, and the moment our eyes locked, the world around me faded into silence. His face was carved from stone—hard lines and sharp angles that seemed to radiate tension.

His eyes bore into me, black with fury and something else I couldn’t quite decipher.

The air thickened with unspoken words between us; I felt pinned under his gaze like a butterfly on display.

His presence felt all-consuming; it filled every corner of my mind as I replayed our night together—the way he held me, how he made me feel alive in ways that had nothing to do with the jersey or glory.

And yet here was Chris—sweet and safe—and all I could think about was how wrong it felt for him to kiss me when Knox was right there, watching.

I tried to tear my gaze away from Knox's fierce expression, but it was like trying to look away from a car crash—you just couldn't help but stare. The way his jaw clenched told me everything: he wasn’t just angry; he was possessive.

With each passing second under his scrutiny, my heart raced faster.

Coach Callahan stepped in front of me, his presence filling the space like a heavy fog. His voice dropped to a low, firm tone, cutting through the swirl of my thoughts. “Evans, I know you’re young. Langley is a good kid, but I don’t want you carried away with distractions.”

I felt the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. The truth stung more than I wanted to admit. Distractions? That was an understatement. Knox had become a force in my life, something wild and consuming that I couldn’t quite tame.

“But this is it, Iris. The scout’s coming in two days. Names are going up after that. You can’t afford to lose focus.”

I nodded, throat tight as shame washed over me. I was letting him down—letting everyone down—by allowing this… whatever it was with Knox to take precedence over my dreams.

Every time I closed my eyes, it wasn’t just the jersey or the team that haunted me; it was Knox’s intense gaze and the way he made me feel alive, like I was burning from the inside out. How could I expect to perform at my best when he consumed my thoughts day and night?

My stomach twisted as Coach’s disappointment loomed large in my mind. He had invested so much in me—years of coaching, guiding me through every bruise and scrape—and here I was, spiraling into a distraction that threatened to derail everything.

“Are you listening to me?” Coach asked, concern etched into his features.

I blinked, forcing myself back to reality. “Yes, Coach.” My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

“Good,” he said, giving me a pointed look before moving on to address the rest of the team.

But as he turned away, a part of me felt lost in the chaos. How could I focus on practice when every ounce of my being craved Knox? It wasn’t just lust; it was something deeper—something raw and real that left no room for doubt.

I tried to shake off, but every drill felt like an uphill battle against a tide I couldn’t swim against. How could I fight for a jersey when all I wanted was him?

I gathered my stuff, shoving my gear into my bag with trembling hands.

I needed to bolt before anyone noticed the heat creeping up my neck or the way my heart hammered in my chest. The weight of Knox’s gaze lingered like a brand on my skin, and I could still feel the echoes of our last encounter buzzing in the back of my mind.