Page 62

Knox

T he ice groaned beneath my weight as I pushed harder, every stride fueled by something I couldn’t name—rage, regret, maybe both.

The rink was empty, silent but for the sharp cut of my skates slicing across the frozen surface, the rhythm of my breath coming too fast, too ragged.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“You’re going to bring her down.” My father’s voice curled in my head, relentless.

I forced my legs to move faster, muscles screaming in protest. The burn was a welcome distraction, but it couldn’t drown out the words, the fucking truth of them.

I had spent my whole life fighting expectations, clawing my way toward something greater, and now?

Now I was the obstacle standing in her way.

“Now she’s the girl who fucked her coach.”

My jaw clenched, fury and disgust knotting in my chest like barbed wire. Was that what they’d call her? Was that what she’d be reduced to when Chambers finally took his shot?

His smug fucking face flashed in my mind, that glint in his eyes like he’d already won. Like he had the power to take her future in his hands and crush it.

I skated harder, faster, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The weight of my mistakes stuck to me like a second skin, impossible to shake. I had done this. I had tainted her dream with my hands, my touch, my fucking name.

The boards blurred past me as I dropped my shoulder, digging into a tight turn, my edges carving deep grooves into the ice. My lungs burned, sweat dripping down my back, but I barely felt it. The only thing I felt was the goddamn panic clawing up my throat.

Iris had fought for this moment—bled for it, sacrificed for it—and I had given them exactly what they needed to rip it all away from her.

All because I couldn’t stay away.

I came to an abrupt stop at center ice, my chest rising and falling like I’d just gone ten rounds in a fight I knew I was losing. My reflection in the glass was a stranger—drenched in sweat, eyes dark with something raw, something desperate.

I had tried to convince myself this could work, that we could steal moments behind locked doors and no one would ever know. That we could have this and it wouldn’t cost her everything.

But the truth was staring me dead in the face now.

I had become the one thing I swore I’d never be.

A goddamn liability.

I slammed the puck into the net with a brutal clang; the force rattling the goalposts, but it wasn’t enough.

Not even close. I skated forward, snatching another puck from the pile, gripping my stick so tightly my knuckles ached.

My breath came sharp, ragged, my heartbeat hammering in my ears louder than the echo of my father’s words.

“You’re going to bring her down.”

I gritted my teeth and fired again—another shot, harder, faster. The impact sent a violent tremor through my shoulder, but I welcomed the pain. It grounded me. It reminded me I was still here. Still standing. Even as my world collapsed around me.

Iris.

She was everywhere. In every fucking breath I took, in every damn second I spent trying—and failing—to outrun the mess we’d tangled ourselves in.

I could still feel the heat of her skin beneath my hands, still hear her whisper my name like a confession, still taste the words she’d said with raw, reckless certainty. I love your son.

But love wasn’t enough, was it?

I crushed the blade of my stick into the ice, my skates carving deep lines as I pushed off, circling the rink like I could chase down the answer. Like I could fix this.

I had spent years fighting battles I couldn’t win, taking hits I refused to back down from, but this? This was different.

She had a future—one so fucking bright it burned to look at.

A future that didn’t need my shadow looming over it.

And that was the cruelest part of all. I wanted her to have everything she had worked for.

I wanted her to skate onto that Team USA roster with nothing but pride weighing on her shoulders.

But instead, I had made her a target.

Now she was the girl who fucked her coach.

A growl tore from my throat as I launched another puck, my body coiled with a rage I had no outlet for. It hit the crossbar and ricocheted out onto the ice, spinning uselessly before coming to a stop. Just like me.

Because no matter how hard I fought, no matter how much I tried to push it away, I knew the truth.

If I really loved her, I had to let her go.

Even if it fucking killed me.

The sharp blare of the Zamboni horn shattered the quiett.

I skated to the bench, chest heaving, adrenaline still pumping as I yanked off my gloves and slammed them down beside me.

My knuckles throbbed—raw from hours of gripping my stick too tightly, from firing off slapshots like each one could beat back the storm in my head.

But nothing could.

The cold air clung to my skin as I untied my skates, every movement stiff, mechanical.

My body was spent, but my mind? My mind was a fucking war zone.

I could still hear my father’s voice, still see the way he looked at me—like I was the one thing standing between Iris and everything she’d ever wanted.

And maybe he wasn’t wrong.

By the time I got home, the exhaustion had settled deep in my bones, but the restless energy still burned.

I tossed my gear to the side, not caring where it landed, and ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair.

My pulse was still erratic, my head a mess.

I needed something to focus on—anything to drown out the nagging voice in my head telling me what I already knew.

Then my gaze landed on it.

The jersey.

That goddamn Team USA jersey, wadded up in the corner of my living room, forgotten and faded. Just like me.

I stared at it, my jaw locking tight as something bitter curled in my chest. Once, that jersey had meant everything. It had been my future, my identity, my fucking dream. But now? Now it was nothing but a reminder of what I had lost.

And worse—what Iris still had to lose.

She wasn’t just fighting for that jersey. She was fighting for her place in something bigger, for a chance to be part of a team that could launch her into the life she deserved.

And I was the one thing that could rip it away from her.

The truth clawed at my throat, vicious and undeniable. No matter how much I wanted her, I was standing in her way.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as the realization settled deep, sharp as a blade. She could survive the whispers, the rumors. She could battle the scrutiny, the judgment. She was built for it—strong, relentless, fearless.

But what if that wasn’t enough?

What if Chambers decided she wasn’t worth the risk? What if USA Hockey took one look at her name, saw mine tangled up with it, and decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?

What if I was the thing that cost her everything?

The thought made me sick.

I dropped onto the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers digging into my scalp as the weight of it all pressed down on me. She deserved more. More than this mess. More than the risks. More than me.

And if I really fucking loved her?

I’d find a way to let her go.

It wrecked me—the realization that I was about to burn it all to the ground.

I loved her. More than I had any right to. More than was safe. But love had never been a gift in my hands—it had always been a loaded gun, pointed at whoever was stupid enough to get close. And now? Now, the barrel was aimed square at Iris.

If I let this go on any longer, I’d be the thing that cost her everything.

The truth dug into me like glass shards, sharp and unforgiving, as I sat on the couch, staring at nothing, my thoughts spiraling into a dark abyss.

I could already see it—see the way her face would twist when I said the words, when I made her believe I didn’t want this anymore.

First confusion, then anger, and finally, the thing that would destroy me completely—hatred.

And I needed her to hate me.

Because if she hated me, she’d let go. She’d move on. She’d stop clinging to something that was always destined to ruin her.

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the strands, as the words I’d have to say formed in my mind like a script I was rehearsing for my own execution.

“You need to focus on your game.”

“You’re getting too distracted.”

“This was never serious.”

Each sentence felt like a blade to my ribs, but I would say them, anyway. I would watch the light in her eyes flicker, watch her walls slam into place, and I would take it. I would let her break me.

Because the alternative?

Was watching her lose everything she’d worked for because of me.

A bitter laugh scraped its way up my throat. She’d probably run to Langley after this. And I’d have to watch, wouldn’t I? Watch her try to replace what we had with someone easier. Someone who didn’t come with baggage and broken edges.

It would kill me.

But it would be for the best.

I inhaled sharply, pushing down the ache threatening to claw its way to the surface.

Love was never meant to be easy for me.

It had never come without bloodshed.

And this?

This would be my final sacrifice.

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitation clawing at the edges of my resolve. Just do it. Before I could think better of it, I typed the words:

Come over.

The second I hit send, my chest tightened, my mind already second-guessing itself. This was a mistake. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it was too late.

The response came faster than I expected, my screen lighting up with her reply:

On my way.

A sharp exhale left my lips as I dragged a hand through my hair. Relief? Dread? Maybe both.

Minutes passed in slow motion, my body wound tight as I waited. I paced. I ran a hand over my face, trying to ground myself against the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. What the fuck are you doing?