Aria

I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, dropping my gear bag onto the floor. Every single muscle in my body ached but my right ankle was the worst. I shifted my weight, forcing me to limp into the living room.

From the kitchen, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board stopped instantly.

"Aria? Is that you?"

My mother stepped out from behind the counter, a kitchen towel clutched in her hands.

The moment her eyes locked onto me, her posture shifted. She took in my dark expression, the tight line of my jaw.

"You're limping," she said, her voice dropping into a soft tone. "Aria, look at you. You look absolutely exhausted. What happened at the rink today?"

"Nothing happened," I muttered, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. I tried to push past her, targeting the short hallway that led to my bedroom. I just wanted to shut the door.

"It doesn't look like nothing," she insisted, moving quickly to block my path. "Did you see the medical staff? Did you check in with the administrator? I thought today was just supposed to be a light tracking session."

"It was just practice, Mom. I'm fine."

"You're not fine! You can barely walk properly!" Her voice rose. "I knew this was going to happen. I knew the second you signed those probationary papers that you were going to push yourself too hard. You don't know how to stop."

I scoffed. That's rich coming from her.

"I don't have the luxury of stopping," I said, my voice tight and flat. I finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a coldness that made her flinch. "I have until Friday to hit the academy standard. If I don't, I'm off the roster permanently. So excuse me if I don't have time to sit on the couch and drink tea."

My mother stared at me, her hands dropping to her sides. She took a slow breath, her expression shifting to a fragile kind of gentleness.

"Aria, please," she whispered, her tone turning too soothing for my liking. "I'm just trying to look out for you. I know how much you want this. But maybe.. maybe returning to the academy after three years is just too much. The pressure there, the competition... it's a different world now."

"I belong in that world," I snapped, my grip tight on the bag I was holding.

"Do you?" she asked softly, stepping even closer. "There is no shame in realizing it's too much, sweetheart. Your body has been through a traumatic injury. If you need a break, Aria. If you need to just step away from the ice for a while, you can always go stay with your father. He has that place out by the coast. It’s quiet. You could focus on your normal high school classes without all this... this madness."

The mention of my father hit me like ice water. My father had moved away the moment the medical bills started piling up, choosing his career over a broken daughter. The fact that she was suggesting him as an escape route proved how little she understood.

He had done the exact same thing Oliver did.

After the fall, Oliver had squeezed my hand and promised he would be right back. But he vanished.

When the door opened the following day, I had smiled, desperately thinking it was him coming to explain. But it was an unsmiling academy official, standing there to coldly tell me I had been replaced.

Right then, the television had flickered to the live broadcast. I watched Oliver skate out with someone else, soaking in the deafening crowd and the cheers that should have been mine.

"I am not going to my father," I said, each word dropping like a stone between us. "And I am not taking a break. If I step away now, I never get back on the ice. I'm not quitting just because it hurts."

"I'm not asking you to quit, I'm asking you to be realistic!" her voice cracked, her patience thinning by the seconds. "Look at what it's doing to you! You come home moody every single day! I can't sit here and watch you destroy yourself again!"

"Then don't look," I whispered.

She tried to touch me but I jerked my shoulder away from her touch. I spun around, ignoring the pain that shot up my ankle from the sudden movement.

"Aria! Stop! We are not done talking about this!" she yelled, her footsteps rushing after me into the corridor. "Aria, please! Just listen to me for one minute!"

I didn't answer. I reached my bedroom and swung the door shut behind me.

"Aria?" she called out again, knocking softly against the door. "Aria, answer me."

I stood still in the dim light of my room, my back pressed against the door. I stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, refusing to give her a single sound. I listened as her soft footsteps walked away.

The silence of my room descended on me, heavy and suffocating.

I slowly let myself slide down the length of the door, my sneakers dragging against the floors until I was sitting on the ground, my knees pulled tightly against my chest.

The armor I had worn all day– in front of Oliver, in front of the coach, in front of my mother– finally crumbled. A single tear spilled down my cheek. I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking silently as the exhaustion of the last twelve hours fully took over.

I sat there on the floor for what felt like hours, watching the gray evening light slowly stretch across my small bed.

Suddenly, a sharp vibration cut through the quiet.

It was my phone buzzing inside my backpack. I wiped my face quickly with the back of my hand, reaching over to pull the bag toward me. I unzipped it and pulled out my phone.

An unread notification was sitting on the lock screen. It was an official email from the Academy administration, sent directly from the registrar's office.

My stomach flipped. Coach Marcus had said I had until Friday, but my mind instantly flashed to the worst-case scenario. Has the board already met? Were they throwing me out right now?

With trembling fingers, I tapped the notification and unlocked the phone.

Subject: Schedule Revision. Elite Morning Bracket Assignment.

My breath caught in my throat. I sat up straight, my eyes scanning the dense lines of the text. I skipped past the standard academic jargon until I hit the highlighted spreadsheet at the bottom.

Student Athlete: Aria Littleton.

Status: Approved for immediate transfer to Elite Morning Ice Time (5:00 AM - 8:00 AM).

I stared at the screen, my mind spinning. I hadn't just been cleared to keep practicing; the administration had officially bumped me up from the standard bracket to the most exclusive training block in the entire facility. It was the track reserved strictly for the top-tier competitors preparing for Nationals.

For a split second, a rush of pure adrenaline hit my chest. It was exactly what I needed to hit the standard by Friday.

But then my eyes drifted to the very bottom of the document, where the daily ice-rights and captaincy assignments were listed in bold black ink.

Elite Morning Bracket Captain: Oliver Goldsmith.

Ice Authority: Mandatory Attendance. Shared Facility Access.

The phone nearly slipped from my fingers. The sudden realization hit me like a blow to the stomach, draining the warmth from my body.

The Elite Morning Bracket wasn't just a high-level training group. It was Oliver's exclusive domain.

He held the captain rights over that specific ice time, meaning he controlled the music, the rotation order, and the space. By accepting this transfer to save my scholarship, I was being forced directly into his territory.

There would be no empty rinks at 5:00 AM anymore. There would be no hiding in the shadows to protect my weak ankle. Every single morning, for three solid hours, I would be trapped on the ice with him.

I stared at his name on the glowing screen, my heart freezing over as the weight of the coming week fully settled into my chest. There was absolutely no avoiding him now.