Page 8

Iris

I arrived at Pandora's Box early, as usual. The ice glimmered under the overhead lights, a pristine sheet waiting for my blades to carve through it. I took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp, cold air mixed with the metallic scent of the rink. Today was different; today I would take my power back.

No more letting Knox Callahan get into my head. No more second-guessing myself after his taunts and his weight against me. Today, I focused on my game—my rhythm, my speed. Nothing else mattered.

I laced up my skates with determination, each pull of the laces tightening not just the leather around my feet but also the resolve in my chest. Dad's praise from last night echoed in my mind, steady and grounding.

"You’ve got what it takes, Iris. You have to want it.

" His words felt like armor. Team USA loomed in front of me like a beacon; all I had to do was reach for it.

Knox? He was just a guy—a coach. A temporary one at that. His problems were not mine to carry.

I shook off the thoughts of him standing there with that damn smirk on his face—the way he looked at me like I was some puzzle he wanted to solve but couldn't quite figure out.

I don’t care if he hates me; I told myself, tapping the toe of my skate against the ice for emphasis. I don’t care if he looks at me like that.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. There was something about Knox—his intensity, his confidence—that rattled me more than I wanted to admit.

I inhaled sharply and pushed off into a glide across the rink, feeling the familiar rush as I cut through the silence. This was where I belonged—focused, free, and in control of every move.

Today would be different; today was mine.

The rink slowly filled with the familiar chatter of my teammates as they trickled onto the ice, their laughter echoing off the walls.

Jenna shot me a bright smile but kept her distance, her skates gliding cautiously, as if she feared getting too close to whatever storm had brewed between me and Knox.

Most of them were like that today, keeping a respectful space around me.

That was fine; I needed the focus anyway. I could drown out their whispers and giggles while honing in on my own game.

Coach Callahan blew his whistle sharply, the sound cutting through the din of chatter. He called everyone to gather at center ice.

“All right, ladies! Today we’re starting with laps—easy drills to get those legs moving,” he instructed, his voice carrying authority that reminded me why he’d earned respect from all of us. “I want you to push yourselves. Let’s see some speed!”

As we began skating laps around the rink, I fell into a rhythm—the familiar sound of blades carving against ice soothing my nerves.

But then it happened; I felt him before I saw him.

Knox stepped onto the ice, his presence undeniable even among a group of girls who had trained together for years.

My heart skipped when our eyes locked for just a second—his jaw tight, brows knitted in concentration.

He looked more tense than usual, like he was barely holding something together inside him.

I wondered if he was still angry about yesterday or if this frustration stemmed from something else entirely—maybe someone else?

But just like that, I looked away first, breaking our moment. The way his gaze weighed on me unsettled my focus more than I cared to admit.

As much as I tried to play it cool—like Knox didn’t affect me—there was an undeniable power he held over me that felt impossible to shake off. So instead of dwelling on it, I pushed harder into my stride, letting my legs carry me faster while the others faded into a blur around us.

As the drills kicked off, I fell into the motions of passing and speed work. At first, everything felt fine—natural. I moved through the drills, focused on crisp passes and swift transitions. My teammates chatted as they skated, their laughter a pleasant backdrop to my thoughts.

But then there was Knox, circling the rink like a fucking predator.

His eyes tracked us, assessing every move we made.

I could almost feel the weight of his gaze as it settled on me, sending a jolt through my chest. Every time I executed a perfect pass or made a smooth turn, I found myself glancing at him, searching for any hint of approval.

Did he notice? Did he see me pushing myself?

Yet when I stumbled—a misplaced puck or a sloppy pivot—I couldn't shake the feeling that he was smirking at my mistakes, reveling in my failures like some twisted spectator at a show. I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away from him.

It didn’t matter, I told myself. He’s just here to coach.

But my pulse raced faster than it should have, each thud echoing in my ears louder than the sound of skates against ice. With each passing drill, that heartbeat drummed a reminder of what was at stake: my future with Team USA.

I pushed harder, cutting through the ice with determination that bordered on desperation. The world blurred around me as I concentrated solely on skating faster, executing each drill flawlessly. If Knox had been watching before, he would have seen me now—a girl who refused to back down.

The air turned colder with each lap around the rink, but sweat clung to my skin nonetheless as I drove forward relentlessly. Every time my blades met the surface with precision and speed, I could almost imagine his eyes widening in surprise—or disappointment.

I can do this, I thought fiercely with each powerful stride. I’m not just Daddy’s favorite.

Knox’s presence became an electric current fueling my ambition and anger in equal measure. No way would I let him see me falter again; no way would I give him that satisfaction.

I skated harder still—determined to prove something—if only to myself.

Knox called us to gather along the boards, and I felt a tightness in my chest. He looked like he was ready for blood—at least, that’s how it felt when he scanned the group, his eyes flickering over us with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“Time for puck battles,” he announced, leaning on his stick, his smirk all too familiar. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I shifted my weight from one skate to the other, trying to shake off the nervous energy bubbling in my stomach. This was just another drill, but Knox's presence loomed large, tainting everything with an edge I wasn’t sure I wanted to face.

Brooke slid up beside me, her competitive fire sparking as she flashed a grin. “Ready to get knocked around?”

“Only if you can catch me,” I shot back, forcing a playful smile despite the knot tightening in my gut. We’d always played hard against each other; it was part of what made us good.

“Don’t hold back,” she challenged, her eyes glinting with mischief.

As we took our positions along the boards, I focused on the puck—on keeping it away from her as Knox blew his whistle to signal the start of the drill. My heart pounded like a drum in my ears.

The moment we clashed, Brooke came at me hard and fast. I braced myself but still felt her shoulder slam into mine with a jarring force that knocked me off balance. My skates slipped on the slick surface, and I stumbled back, catching myself just before hitting the ice.

“Nice try!” Brooke laughed as she pushed past me for the puck.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered under my breath, irritation mixing with embarrassment. It stung more than just physically.

I fought to regain my composure and dove after her, but the sting of being knocked off balance lingered like a brand on my pride. With each step forward in our tussle for control over the puck, I could hear Knox’s voice cutting through the noise—a low growl laced with challenge.

“C’mon ladies! Show me some grit!”

I pushed harder against Brooke this time; there was no way I'd let anyone see how rattled I'd become by Knox or this drill or anything else that threatened to knock me down again.

The drill escalated faster than I expected—sharp, hot—like a blade slipping under my skin. Brooke slammed into me, shoulder grinding into my ribs, and something inside me snapped. Not just irritation. Something deeper. Darker. Like everything I’d been holding back was ready to detonate.

I shoved her back—hard—sticks clashing like weapons, our skates slicing across the ice. My heart was pounding, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was from the fire crawling up my throat. Because I knew he was watching.

“Come on, Evans! You’re better than this!” His voice cut through the cold—louder than the scrape of skates, louder than the echo of my pulse in my ears. Sharp. Demanding. Like he was daring me to fail in front of everyone. Daring me to break.

Heat flared under my skin—rage or something worse, something I didn’t want to name. His voice made me burn. And I hated that.

“Harder, Evans! You want that jersey, right?” Mocking. Cocky as hell. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

My teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached, but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Because I’d see that smirk—the one that made my blood boil and my thighs clench at the same time.

Brooke shoved me again, and I snapped back—harder, faster—because I needed to hit something, and I couldn’t hit him.

Our sticks tangled, skates scraping, breath coming sharp between us.

“What’s your problem?” Brooke barked, eyes narrowing.

Him.

Always him.

“Not you,” I spat, voice low and rough.

“Then take it out on the puck!” Knox again—louder, sharper. Like he could read my fucking mind.

My knuckles tightened around my stick—white-knuckled grip, like I was holding onto my pride with both hands.

Don’t let him win.

Don’t let him see you break.

I threw myself into the puck battle again—shoulder down, body tense—but it wasn’t hockey anymore. It was war. It was me proving I was stronger than him—stronger than this pull he had over me.