Page 51 of Shots & Echoes (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #12)

Knox

I stood in front of the bulletin board, jaw locked, fists buried deep in my pockets. The noise of the rink faded into a dull hum, nothing but static as my eyes locked onto the sheet of paper pinned to the wall.

The names were posted—bold, black ink standing out like a brand against the white page. Top six forwards.

Iris Evans—center, first line.

A gut punch. A high. A twisted mix of pride and something sharper—something I didn’t want to name.

I had pushed her to this. Harder than anyone. She had fought back, every drill, every late-night skate, every moment where she could’ve broken but didn’t. And now, she was exactly where I knew she should be. First line.

I raked a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to grin like a fucking idiot. Because this wasn’t luck. This wasn’t a gift. She earned this.

Every puck battle. Every hit. Every second spent proving she was better than the rest.

I remembered the way she looked after that last scrimmage—chest heaving, sweat dripping down her temple, eyes blazing with something unstoppable. The way she tore through the competition, playing like she had something to prove. And now? Now, she didn’t have to prove shit to anyone.

She’d made it.

But as pride settled in my chest, something darker slithered in alongside it. What now?

Because this wasn’t just about talent anymore.

The whispers would start soon enough.

How did Evans get so close to Callahan?

How reckless was he to let this happen?

It didn’t matter that she had earned her place. People would talk. People would assume. And Chambers? He’d be watching even closer now.

The thought made my fists clench, a sick heat burning under my skin.

Beneath the pride, something dark twisted in my gut, coiling tighter with every breath. I should’ve felt victorious—this was what she wanted, what I pushed her toward. The jersey. The recognition. The shot at Team USA.

But all I could think about was what happened after.

Once she got that jersey—once she made it—what the hell would I be?

A mistake she outgrew? A memory that faded the higher she climbed? Or worse, a secret she buried beneath medals and headlines?

I shook my head, trying to shove the thoughts down, but they latched on like barbs, ripping into me.

I had pushed Iris harder than anyone else. I made her fight. I made her bleed for this. And now? Now that she had it, I was the one terrified.

Because the more she succeeded, the more I felt it—the inevitability of her slipping through my fingers.

She wouldn’t need me then. She’d have teammates who looked at her like a rising star, coaches who would praise her, fans who would chant her name.

She would be surrounded by people who could offer her everything—a future untainted by me, by us, by the wreckage I carried with me wherever I fucking went.

I turned away from the bulletin board, my teeth grinding together as I swallowed down the bitter taste of jealousy, of fear, of something far worse—the sick, gnawing realization that I might have just set her free.

And wasn’t that the whole point?

I should have been happy for her. I was happy for her.

But then why did every muscle in my body scream at me to drag her back into my orbit? To pull her close one last time, to kiss her like a goddamn brand, like a scar she’d never be able to erase?

Because if she walked away now—if she soared into that bright future without looking back—what did any of this mean?

What the hell was I supposed to be without her?

The buzz of excitement grew as players crowded the board, murmurs of congratulations filling the space. I stayed rooted where I was, watching as Iris walked toward us, shoulders squared, that signature confidence radiating off her like a pulse.

Her teammates swarmed her, drawn to her light like moths to a flame.

And I stood there, heart hammering, knowing—she belonged here.

But I wasn’t sure if I did anymore.

“All right,” Coach Callahan said. “Let’s focus on practice, yeah?”

The team trickled onto the ice, and I followed, forcing myself into professional mode. Cold. Detached. The way I was supposed to be.

Skates cut into the surface, the sharp scrape of blades filling the rink. I ran them through drills—clean, efficient, with no wasted movement. No extra pushes. No edge. Just another practice.

But every time my eyes landed on her, that tight knot in my gut twisted harder.

She moved like she was carved from ice and fire, slicing through the rink with a ruthless grace that made my chest ache. Her focus was locked in, razor-sharp, as if nothing outside the game existed. As if I didn’t exist.

I waited for it—the glance, the smirk, the stolen moment that would tell me last night hadn’t been some fever dream. That she still felt it too.

But it never came.

Instead, she laughed with Brooke as they circled back to the blue line, their breathless amusement carrying across the ice like a blade against my skin. Something dark curled inside me at the sound—jealousy, frustration, something I didn’t have the patience to name.

She didn’t look my way. Didn’t acknowledge my voice when I barked out commands. Didn’t react when I pushed the pace harder.

And that stung more than it should have.

“Keep your head up!” I snapped during a drill, watching her weave past defenders like they were nothing. Perfect form. Perfect execution. Perfect fucking indifference.

By the time practice hit a pause for water breaks, I was still standing by the boards, fists clenched at my sides, trying to cool the heat simmering in my blood.

Then she glanced at me. Just for a second.

And in that second, I saw it—saw the flicker of something unsteady in her expression before she shut it down and turned back to Brooke like I wasn’t even there.

Like we hadn’t spent yesterday in the locker room, gasping each other’s names.

I forced a slow breath through my nose, swallowing down the raw, irrational urge to pull her off the ice and remind her exactly what this was.

Why couldn’t she see me?

Why did everything feel different?

Why the fuck did it feel like I was the only one losing my mind over this?

After practice, I stormed into my office, ripped off my skates, and let them hit the rubber floor with a hollow, metallic clatter.

The sound echoed in the empty rink, underscoring the frustration coiling tight in my chest. Everyone else had cleared out, leaving behind only silence and the lingering bite of cold air.

But I wasn’t ready to leave.

Without thinking, I pushed to my feet, shoved my hands deep in my pockets, and made my way toward the locker room. My pulse pounded in my throat as I leaned against the wall, jaw tight, waiting.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t how I operated. But none of this was.

Everything with her felt reckless. Raw.

I needed more than just watching her on the ice, more than stolen moments and fading bruises. I needed her here, in front of me. Close enough to touch. Close enough that she couldn’t ignore the weight of this thing between us.

The seconds stretched, tension twisting tighter inside me. I told myself to leave—to be smarter—but then the door swung open.

And there she was.

Iris stepped into the hallway, hair damp, cheeks still flushed from practice, her breathing steady but tired.

She paused for a beat, just enough time for me to drink her in—the way loose strands stuck to her skin, the slight drop of her shoulders, the exhaustion wrapped around her like a second jersey.

My chest tightened.

She was beautiful like this—unguarded, stripped down to something real. Not just a player. Not just a competitor.

Mine.

She caught my gaze, hesitating. For a second, I thought she’d keep walking, pretend she didn’t see me. But she didn’t. Instead, she looked away—just for a beat—before a soft flush crept up her throat, betraying her.

She felt it too.

“Hey,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.

Her lips parted slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say. That hesitance flickered across her face—curiosity, caution, something else lurking beneath the surface.

“Knox,” she murmured, stepping closer.

The air shifted, thick with unspoken words and everything we’d refused to acknowledge.

I pushed off the wall, moving toward her like it was inevitable. Maybe it was.

“You did it.”

I watched as Iris’s lips curled into a small smile, exhaustion pressing into the edges of her features but failing to dim the fire in her eyes. She looked—fuck—she looked alive. A little worn, a little unsteady, but there was something else there too. Something raw.

Something that made my chest tighten.

“I’m proud of you, Evans.”

The words came out rougher than I intended, scraping against the walls I had built between us. I meant them. Every single syllable. And from the way she swallowed hard, her fingers flexing at her sides, I knew she felt it too.

But beneath the pride, behind the glow of victory, I saw it—the flicker of something darker, something she wasn’t saying. A shadow curling at the edges of her expression like a secret she was too tired to hide.

I ignored it. Forced it down into the same place I buried all the other things I didn’t want to deal with.

Instead, I reached for something tangible. Something real.

“Come over tonight.”

The words were a slow burn in the air between us, heavier than any invitation I had ever given her before. This wasn’t about heat. It wasn’t about getting lost in her body or stealing another night away from the world.

This was something else. Something dangerous.

“Just us. No bullshit.”

Her breath caught. I saw it—the way her chest rose and fell just a little sharper, how her fingers twitched like she was fighting the urge to reach for me. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken truths and things neither of us wanted to name.

Then her lips parted. “I can’t.”

And fuck, if those two words didn’t hit harder than a body check to the boards.