Page 64

Iris

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep wouldn’t come.

The breakup sat like lead in my chest, heavy and suffocating.

I tossed and turned, my mind racing through every moment we had shared, every word spoken.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d lost something precious—something that would never come back.

Finally, I rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. The urge to see Knox was overwhelming, but it was more than that; I needed to confront what happened. With shaking fingers, I opened the app and pulled up the video of the game.

The game.

The one that ended him.

I hit play and watched as he glided across the ice in that Team USA jersey—youthful and cocky, a force to be reckoned with. Every move he made radiated confidence; he was so fucking alive. His eyes sparkled with determination as he navigated through defenders like they were mere obstacles.

Then came the moment everything shifted—the second that turned him into someone else entirely.

His teammate got targeted, shoved hard into the boards like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

My stomach twisted as I saw the refs standing by, doing nothing.

The arena filled with noise—yelling fans, angry coaches—but all I could focus on was Knox.

He was across the ice, eyes narrowing as he assessed what just happened.

He said something to the ref, and the ref chirped back.

And then he snapped.

Knox dropped his gloves like they were weights pulling him down, fists flying toward the offender with a fury I hadn’t seen before.

It was instinctive and primal—defending someone who couldn’t defend himself.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized what he was risking: his career, his future, everything he had worked for.

He fought like a man possessed, and I couldn’t look away.

But then it hit me—this wasn’t just about that moment on the ice; this was about something deeper.

He wasn’t reckless; he was desperate. He swung those fists not because he wanted to hurt someone but because no one else cared enough to step in.

The ejection came swift and brutal. Knox stood there for a heartbeat longer after they pulled him away, anger and hurt etched across his face before being escorted off the ice.

It was too late; they had already decided his fate—suspended for an indefinite period of time and blacklisted from any hope of returning to glory.

And no one on his team stood up for him. Not during the game, not after.

And sure, hitting a ref was uncalled for.

But the ref had said something.

Knox didn't just lose it to lose it.

I pressed my fingers against my lips, tears stinging my eyes as reality washed over me. Knox didn’t destroy his career because he craved chaos; he did it because he was alone. No one else stepped up to fight for those who couldn’t defend themselves—except him.

I sat at the kitchen table, coffee cold in my hands, staring out the window as the morning light filtered through. The sun glinted off the dew-kissed grass, but I felt none of its warmth. Instead, an ache settled deep in my chest, heavier than the weight of my thoughts.

Dad moved around the kitchen, humming to himself as he brewed another pot of coffee.

I could sense his eyes flicking over to me every now and then, watching with that familiar concern etched on his face.

He noticed. He always did. But he let me sit in my silence, letting me come to him when I was ready.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of sitting still, I took a shaky breath and spoke up.

“Dad,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper.

He paused mid-motion, turning to face me fully. “Yeah?”

I swallowed hard. The words had been stuck in my throat for too long—tangled with fear and shame. But this was my chance to lay it all out there. So I did.

“It’s about Knox.”

His expression shifted slightly—a mixture of concern and caution. But he didn’t interrupt; he just nodded for me to continue.

“He’s not perfect,” I said, feeling the weight of every word as it tumbled out. “But he’s good. Better than anyone sees.”

I could see my dad’s brow furrow slightly as I continued to speak, needing him to understand this part of me that had felt so isolated for too long.

“He fought because no one ever fought for him,” I admitted quietly. “He’s been carrying this burden alone for so long, and when I see him… it’s like he finally found someone worth fighting for.”

Dad leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently. There was something about laying it all bare—the highs and lows of Knox—that made it feel real and terrifying at the same time.

“Knox isn’t just some reckless guy on a power trip,” I pressed on. “He fights because he cares about those who can’t stand up for themselves.”

As I spoke, each word seemed to peel back layers of pain and confusion that had settled over me since everything changed between us. It felt freeing—and frightening—to let these feelings flow into the space between us like a thread connecting my heart to his understanding gaze.

"I love him, Dad," I murmured. "I know it isn’t… right, but it feels right for me."

As I sat there at the kitchen table, pouring my heart out, I saw the understanding in his eyes. He listened—really listened—his focus unwavering.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but honest. “And how does he feel about you?”

I sighed, my chest tightening at the thought of Knox’s face when he’d turned away from me. “I know he cares, but…”

“But?” Dad pressed gently.

“He broke things off,” I admitted, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Probably heard about the Team USA meeting.” My heart squeezed painfully at the memory of that day—the fear that had gripped me as they spoke of my future like it was some game I was bound to lose.

“I know he thinks he was doing it for me, but…”

The weight of my emotions pressed down hard, and I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

Dad fell silent for a moment before finally saying, “You know why I coached you so hard? Because I knew you could take it.” He paused, searching my face. “But I forgot… sometimes even the strong ones need someone in their corner.”

I nodded slowly—because that was exactly how I felt about Knox. He was tough and stubborn and always seemed to have everything figured out. But deep down, I sensed the cracks—the way he fought his battles alone.

“Sounds like you want to be that for him,” he continued.

I took a breath and nodded again. Yes, that was it. I didn’t just love Knox; I wanted to fight for him. But first?—

I had to play.

The upcoming game loomed over me like a storm cloud as adrenaline surged through my veins. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth as thoughts whirled in my head: would this be enough? Would winning today matter if Knox wasn't by my side?

With every ounce of determination pooling inside me, I stood up from the table and grabbed my gear from where it hung near the door. The weight felt familiar—the pads against my shoulders grounding me in purpose.

I nodded at my dad; the words hanging in the air between us. "I’ll see you at the rink," I said, trying to sound confident, but inside, a storm brewed.

“Honey.” His voice stopped me as I turned to leave. I looked back, meeting his gaze. “I trust your judgment. I trust your heart. Don’t doubt yourself in any capacity, okay? The right ones will stay, no matter how hard things get.”

I sucked in a breath and headed to my car, those words echoing in my mind as I drove to the rink.

The arena buzzed with energy when I arrived—red, white, and blue everywhere. Flags hung proudly from the rafters, banners draped across the walls. This was it—the moment I’d been dreaming about since I first laced up my skates.

My chest swelled with pride as I pulled that Team USA jersey over my head. It felt heavy but empowering—like it wrapped around me in a way that screamed belonging. This was what I bled for; this was everything.

But as I stepped onto the ice and glided out for warm-ups, something felt off.

It was wrong.

Because he wasn’t there.

The one person who made me believe I deserved this—the one who pushed me through every bruise and tear—was missing from this moment that should have been filled with joy.

As I skated across the surface, adrenaline coursing through me, all I could think about was Knox and his absence like a phantom limb. The cheers from my teammates faded into a dull roar as my focus wavered; it felt hollow without him witnessing this triumph.

Each pass and shot felt like an echo of something incomplete—a reminder that while this dream came true on paper, it didn’t feel whole without him by my side.

I fought against the feeling tightening in my chest—this overwhelming urge to turn around and search for him. But he wasn’t coming. Not now.

Instead of strength flowing through me, doubt crept in like an unwelcome shadow—a constant reminder that despite wearing this jersey, something crucial was missing from the picture of success I'd always envisioned.

The weight of it bore down harder than any loss I'd ever experienced on the ice.

When the game started, I pushed myself harder than ever, each stride cutting through the ice with purpose. The puck felt like an extension of my body, gliding smoothly as I maneuvered past defenders. My teammates shouted encouragement, and I could hear the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

Every time I touched the puck, adrenaline surged through me. I danced around a defender, eyes locked on the goal ahead. My heart raced, not from fear but from the fire inside me—the drive to prove that I belonged here. This was my moment.

As I skated toward the net, everything fell away—the noise of the crowd, the weight of expectations—until there was just me and that small piece of rubber. I wound up for a shot, focusing solely on where I wanted it to go.