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And Iris? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t second-guess. Her lips parted, and when she spoke, it wasn’t hesitant or fragile. It was steady, unshaken, fierce.

My pulse slammed into my ribs. The weight of it—those four words—landed with the force of a body check, knocking every last ounce of doubt out of me.

This was real. Not a game. Not a mistake. Not something we could shove into the dark and pretend didn’t exist.

I grabbed her hand, tight, certain, desperate, and pulled her down the hallway without a second thought. My grip firm, my pace relentless. The world blurred around us—empty offices, flickering lights, the faint hum of the rink outside—but none of it mattered.

The door to my office slammed shut behind us, the sound sharp, final.

I turned to her, breath short, adrenaline spiking hard. The space between us shrank to nothing.

No more running. No more hiding. No more pretending.

I reached for her, cupping her face between my hands like she was the only thing tethering me to this earth. And maybe she was.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” I murmured, voice rough, laced with something close to desperation. “Not about this.”

Her gaze locked on mine, sharp and unwavering. No hesitation. No fear.

“Neither do I.”

Something inside me snapped, unraveled, rebuilt itself all at once.

We weren’t just two people caught in something reckless anymore. We weren’t just skating on thin ice, waiting to fall through.

We were this.

Messy. Defiant. Unbreakable.

And no matter what came next—together would be enough.

The second her lips touched mine, the world outside ceased to exist.

No expectations. No consequences. No fear.

Just her.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and I crashed into her like I had been starving for this—for her—for months. Because I had.

I lifted her onto my desk, the sharp edge biting into my hips as I pressed between her legs, dragging her flush against me. Her breath hitched, her hands gripping my shoulders like she needed to hold on or risk getting swept away. Too late, baby. We’re already lost in this.

My fingers skimmed beneath her jersey, tracing the soft, heated skin of her waist. She trembled—not from hesitation, but from the same wild, uncontrollable hunger that had ignited in me the first time I touched her.

“Knox,” she gasped, breathless and wanting, and that sound— fuck, that sound —sent a primal bolt of heat straight through me.

I tilted her head back, my lips trailing down her throat, feeling the frantic thrum of her pulse beneath my tongue. Her body arched against me, demanding more, and I gave it to her—God, I’d give her anything.

Her nails dug into my back, sharp and insistent, as I pushed her jersey higher, my palms mapping out every perfect dip and curve. She was all heat, all fire, and I wanted to burn with her until nothing else remained.

Her thighs tightened around me, pulling me in deeper, and for the first time in my life, I felt it—the raw, terrifying realization that I was gone for her. There was no coming back from this.

I braced my hands on either side of her, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers as I forced myself to slow the hell down.

I needed to see her.

Her eyes locked onto mine, wide and dark, filled with something deeper than desire—trust.

And it nearly fucking broke me.

Because this wasn’t just sex. This was us.

Two people who had fought like hell to deny what was inevitable.

And now?

Now, there was no denying it at all.

I slid her pants down her legs, kissing every inch of skin I revealed—her ankle, her knee, the inside of her thigh. She trembled beneath my touch, her breath hitching as I traced my lips along the sensitive skin.

With a growl, I ripped the boy shorts she was wearing in two, tossing the scraps aside. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but there was no fear in them—only desire.

I pulled out my cock, so damn hard for her. I stroked myself once, twice, and then slid inside of her slowly. Deeply.

And it was like coming home.

My eyes never left hers as I fucked her. I kept the slow, torturous pace, watching her face as she writhed beneath me. Her lips parted, her breath coming in short gasps as I filled her completely.

It felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. Like every nerve in my body was on fire, every sensation amplified by the connection between us. The way she fit around me, so tight and perfect, was almost too much to bear.

I could feel every inch of her, every quiver and tremble as I moved inside her. It was like we were one, like there was nothing separating us anymore.

I wanted to lose myself in her, to drown in the feeling of being inside her. But I held back, keeping the slow, agonizing pace, watching her face as she came apart beneath me.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

The way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her body arched, the way she cried out my name as she came. It was like I was witnessing something sacred, something pure and untouchable.

“Fuck, Iris.” I groaned against her mouth, my fingers digging into her hips as I thrust deeper. She was so tight, so wet, and I could feel every inch of her clenching around me. I couldn't get enough.

I grabbed her leg and rested it on my shoulder, pushing myself even deeper. She gasped, her nails digging into my back as I hit that spot that made her eyes roll back in her head.

"Mine," I growled, my voice low and possessive. "Always fucking mine."

She nodded, her breath coming in short pants as I continued to move inside her. "Yours," she whispered. "Always."

I could feel myself getting closer, my muscles tensing as I fought to hold on just a little longer. But Iris was right there with me, her body trembling as she met me thrust for thrust.

"You fucking better come, Evans," I ground out, my voice strained. "I can't... I'm going to..."

She cried out, her body convulsing around me as she came. It was all I needed to push me over the edge. I buried myself deep inside her, my own release washing over me like a tidal wave.

For a moment, everything was white-hot and blinding. I saw stars, my vision swimming as I struggled to catch my breath. Iris was still trembling beneath me, her body limp and sated.

I pulled out slowly, my cock still twitching as I collapsed onto the desk beside her. She rolled over, her head resting on my chest as we both tried to catch our breath.

"Fuck," I muttered, running my fingers through her hair. "That was... incredible."

She smiled, her eyes still closed as she snuggled closer to me. "Yeah," she agreed. "It was."

For a while, we just lay there, our bodies entwined as we basked in the afterglow. I could feel my heartbeat slowing, my muscles relaxing as I drifted toward sleep.

But before I could fully succumb to the darkness, Iris spoke up again.

"Knox?"

"Hmm?" I murmured, my eyes still closed.

"I love you."

I smiled, my heart swelling in my chest. "I love you too, Evans," I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Always."

I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing like I had just gone to war. Maybe I had.

Every battle—every fight to keep her at arm’s length, every moment spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable—had led us right here. And now, standing on the other side of it, I realized something terrifying.

I never stood a fucking chance.

She shifted beneath me, her hands still resting on my skin, reluctant to pull away. Neither of us wanted to break the moment—to shatter the fragile, sacred thing we had just built between us.

Slowly, we got dressed, but it wasn’t just a routine. It was deliberate. Like we were memorizing each other.

Her fingers skimmed down my forearm as I reached for my hoodie, lingering there for just a second too long. I trailed my palm over her thigh as she pulled on her sweats, the warmth of her skin branding itself onto me.

She smiled at me then—soft and knowing, like she could see straight through me. Like she knew, even before I did, that this wasn’t just another night. This wasn’t something I could walk away from.

And when she slipped that Team USA jersey over her head, my chest tightened.

I had watched her bleed for that jersey. Watched her claw her way to it, pushing harder than anyone else on that ice, proving—over and over—that she fucking belonged there. And now, seeing her wear it, shoulders squared, chin high?

Fuck, I had never seen anything more beautiful.

“This is it,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be. Reverent.

She looked down at herself, fingertips grazing the fabric, then back at me. There was pride in her gaze—fierce and unshakable—but something else too. Something just for me.

Because this wasn’t just her dream anymore.

It was ours.

The weight of it all came crashing down—our past, the risks, the impossible future we were daring to reach for. But I didn’t care. I wouldn’t care. Not when she was standing in front of me like this, fire in her eyes, daring the world to tell her she couldn’t have it all.

“I’m not letting you go,” I murmured, stepping closer, voice edged with the kind of certainty I had spent my whole damn life running from.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

And when I kissed her, I knew, with every fucking part of me?—

This fight wasn’t over.

But it was one we would take on together.

“So… you’re not quitting Team USA?” My voice was steady, but underneath it, there was something else—something raw and desperate, like I needed her answer more than I cared to admit.

Iris grinned, that devastating, cocky grin that always meant she was about to prove someone wrong. “Hell no,” she said, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off the weight of the world. “I’m just showing them I can take a hit.”

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding finally left my chest.

And then I laughed. Really laughed. The sound ripped through the room, shaking loose all the tension that had buried itself in my ribs. It felt like the first time in a long time that I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. She wasn’t backing down.

Not from the team. Not from me.

That hit harder than I expected—like a fist straight to the gut, but instead of pain, all I felt was her. Her fire. Her resilience. The same thing that had drawn me to her in the first place.

“I love it,” I said, unable to keep the grin off my face. That pride I always felt watching her on the ice burned even hotter now. “You’re going to show them what you’re made of.”

She tilted her chin up, a challenge in her eyes. “Damn right.”

And that’s when I realized—we could have both.

I had spent so long convincing myself we had to choose—hockey or each other. That we were doomed to ruin everything if we didn’t walk away first. But standing here, looking at her—strong, unwavering, fucking brilliant—I finally saw the truth.

We didn’t have to lose.

I reached for her hand, and the second our fingers intertwined, it was electric. The world outside my office didn’t feel like a threat anymore; it felt like something we could take on together.

We stepped out of the room together, everything still uncertain. The road ahead was messy, filled with fights we hadn’t even seen coming yet. But this? This felt like solid ground beneath my feet.

We were fighting for us.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to win.

The locker room was chaos—booming laughter, the pop of champagne bottles, the sharp scent of victory thick in the air. The team was riding the high of the win, their cheers echoing off the walls, but I barely heard any of it. My focus was locked on one thing.

Her.

Iris stood across the room, cheeks flushed, hair damp, her jersey clinging to her like a second skin. She was the center of it all, teammates clapping her on the back, toasting to her name, reveling in the fact that she had just fucking dominated.

Sure, she got ejected.

But they won.

One of those goals was hers.

And then, as if she felt me watching, she turned.

Our eyes met through the sea of bodies, the weight of everything we’d fought through crashing over me in a single, breath-stealing moment. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips—a challenge, a dare, a promise all in one.

I pushed off the wall, weaving through the celebration without hesitation. The second I reached her, she was already moving, grabbing my wrist and tugging me through the locker room until we were hidden in the narrow space behind the lockers, away from the noise, from the eyes, from the world.

Just us.

Her back hit the cold metal, and I was on her in an instant—hands gripping her waist, lips crashing against hers, all adrenaline and desperation. She tasted like champagne and triumph, and I drank her in like she was the only thing keeping me grounded.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper, as if she couldn’t get enough. I wasn’t sure I could either. The air between us was charged, heavy with everything we weren’t saying but both understood.

“Tonight’s yours,” I murmured against her lips, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, to the curve of her jaw.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t hesitate. “Ours.”

That one word sent something fierce surging through my chest—pride, possession, love, everything.

She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, something unspoken flickering in her eyes. A question. A declaration. A vow.

“There’s no me without you.”

Fuck.

I crashed my mouth against hers again, pouring every ounce of feeling into that kiss—for every late night, every fight, every time we should have fallen apart but didn’t. This wasn’t just a celebration.

This was a victory.

And as the noise of the locker room roared on behind us, I knew one thing for certain—we weren’t just winning on the ice.

We had won each other.