Knox POV

The Mercer Training Center was not a warm place. The lobby had a lot of steel and dark concrete. The windows were tinted so the sun could not come in. There were screens all around that showed how the skaters were doing, tracking speed, heart rate, and performance metrics.

My face was on a bunch of banners hanging from the ceiling. One showed me holding a trophy; another declared me the best at speed. This place was my home. I knew every scratch on the walls and the specific grit of the ice. I even knew everyone who walked through the doors.

That is why I did not like seeing a purple bag sitting by the bench. It did not belong there.

Everly Frost was standing by the entrance. She looked small compared to the vastness of the arena. She wore a gray jacket and black pants, her hair pulled back tightly. Without her usual competition glitter, she still possessed that same defiant look that made me want to skate right at her.

I started gliding toward her. "You are in my spot, glitter girl."

Evelyn did not move. She just kept looking at me. "Gary said your dad gave me permission to skate here. This is the only place with open time in the morning."

"My dad says a lot of things," I said. "This is a place for serious skaters. You are going to get hurt."

"I survived what you did yesterday," she said. Her voice was smooth and devoid of feeling. "Just stay out of my way, Mercer. I will stay out of yours."

She stepped onto the ice and started skating. She was graceful, but I could tell she was not used to the texture of this particular sheet.

I got mad. Deciding to play some loud music, I went to the control room and blasted a heavy metal track. The volume made the figure skater jump. The heavy bass shook the glass panels around the rink, cutting off her rhythm and causing her to stumble on a sharp turn. I wanted her to know exactly who controlled this arena. She steadied herself almost immediately, pushing off with sharp, controlled strokes. That annoyed me more. Most people backed down around me, but Everly Frost refused to give me that satisfaction.

I looked at her and laughed before skating off at top speed. For forty-five minutes, I made it nearly impossible for her to train. I did not hit her, but I made sure she felt my presence every time I roared past.

When I finally stopped, she was standing still. She was covered in ice shavings and looked furious. "Are you done?"

"I am just getting started," I said. "Your music is terrible. It does not make you stronger."

"It is called art," she replied. "Something you do not understand."

She turned around and skated away. A woman in a business suit was waiting for her by the gate. It was Sarah Vance, the center's financial director.

"Miss Frost," Sarah said. "We need to talk."

Everly turned around. "What is wrong?"

"We got a message from the United Ice Federation," Sarah said. "Your grant has been revoked. You can still skate here, but it will cost you four hundred dollars an hour."

Everly looked shocked. "That is a lot of money. I do not have it." Her fingers gripped the plastic edge of the gate so tight that her knuckles turned white. I could see the panic in her eyes as she realized her entire season was about to disappear.

I laughed. "Looks like you lost your funding, glitter girl. You should go skate at the park."

Then I heard a voice behind me. "Shut your mouth, Knox."

It was my dad, Coach Arthur Mercer. He was standing on the stairs, watching us. He came down and walked up to the girl.

"The Vanguard Club did this," my father said. "They do not want you to skate. I can help you."

She looked at him. "I can find another place to skate. I do not need your help."

He just shook his head. "You do not have time. You do not have the money." He turned to me. "I do."

He pulled out a contract and slammed it onto the bench. "You are going to skate with her. You are going to help her get better, and she is going to help you with your turns."

I did not like it. My dad was dead serious, and he was determined to force the issue.

I took a step forward, my long speed blades making a loud, scraping noise on the ice. "You cannot do that. This is my time to prepare!"

"Be quiet!" my father yelled. His eyes were dangerous, and it made me freeze. He looked only at the girl. "There is something you need to know about this ice, Miss Frost. You are going to train with my son. You will start tomorrow morning. You will teach him how to move, how to balance, and how to control his body. You will help him become a better skater."

I was livid. "What?" I shouted, slamming my gloved hand against the glass wall. "Dad, no way. I do not want to take lessons from a figure skater. It is not serious!"

My father picked up his pen and held it out to Everly. He did not even look at me when he said the thing that would change everything. His voice was colder than the ice under our feet. He looked at me like he was ready to kick me out of the building permanently if I dared to say another word.

"You will do what I tell you, Knox, or I will take our family's name off your registration by five o'clock tonight. If you refuse, you will not just lose your national team slot. You will lose your chance to compete at the Olympic level before you even get started."

Everly POV

The paper on the mahogany desk smelled like ink and expensive lawyer fees. I stared at the signature line, feeling my chest tighten under my jacket.

"Sign it," Coach Mercer said, not looking up from his tablet. He sat behind the desk like a judge delivering a sentence. "Both of you. Now."

"This is a joke," Knox said. He paced back and forth in front of the leather sofa behind me, his heavy steps making the floor vibrate. "I am the best player in the country. I do not need a figure skater to teach me how to move my feet. She is a kid."

"I am twenty-two," I said, spinning around to face him. "I have more medals than your whole family put together. You are a caveman. I do not want to waste my mornings babysitting a clumsy guy who cannot even turn a corner without knocking things over."

Knox stopped pacing. He stepped into my space, his chest tense under his shirt. "Then walk away, Frost. Go find a pond. See how your ankle holds up when you hit a twig."

"Enough," the coach said. His single word was like a slap. He stood up, his silver-haired figure blocking the light from the office window. "Knox, if your name is not on that sheet by five o'clock, the federation gets the report. Your suspension becomes a permanent ban. You can forget the Olympic trials. You can forget competing."

My future trainee gripped the back of the leather sofa. His knuckles turned white, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

The older man turned to me. His blue eyes, the same shade as his son's, were cold. "Everly, if you do not sign, the security guards will throw you out in ten minutes. Your spot will go to the Vanguard Club. Choose."

The room was silent. We both knew the choice was a trap. Neither of us could afford to lose.

I grabbed the pen from the desk. My hand shook for a second before I signed my name quickly and sharply. I tossed the pen down and pushed past the athlete toward the door.

"Five o'clock tomorrow morning, Knox," his father called out behind us. "Two hours. Just the two of you on the sheet before the main academy arrives. If either of you is late, the deal is off."

***

The arena at dawn was empty and cold. The black steel beams overhead cast shadows across the ice, and the temperature was low enough to see my breath. I stood at the center circle, my skates tight, my arms crossed.

The door to the locker room opened. He walked out, his blades clicking on the mat. He did not bring his extra gear, wearing only black track pants and a grey shirt. He stepped onto the ice, his blades cutting a groove. He stopped three feet away, his chest heaving with a deep breath.

"Let us get one thing straight, glitter girl," he growled. "You do not coach me. You show me the physics; I do the drill. We do not talk outside this circle."

"Fine by me," I said, stepping back to look at his posture. "Show me your crossover. Go around the center circle at half speed."

He snorted and pushed off. At half speed, he was powerful. He built speed in two strides, his body tilting as he hit the curve. He threw his foot over his left, but his upper body was stiff.

"Stop," I called out.

Knox returned to me, scowling. "What? That was fine."

"It was loud," I said. "You are fighting the ice. Your shoulders are tense. You are top-heavy. If an international competitor hits you on that turn, you will fly into the pads."

"I have a core," he said, stepping closer.

"Then use it," I said.

I took a breath and stepped into his space. The heat from his body hit me like a wave. He was huge, and my head barely reached his collarbone. "Drop your weight," I commanded.

He stayed stiff, staring at me with cold eyes. "Make me."

I did not hesitate. I reached out and gripped his waist. The moment my fingers touched him, he stopped moving. His breath caught in his throat, and his skin was hot, his hip bones solid under my grip. I forced his hips down, pushing my palms into his sides until his knees bent.

"Keep your shoulders square," I muttered. "Your power comes from your body. If your chest is forward, your edges cannot bite."

Knox did not move. He stayed in the stance, his eyes locked on mine. The anger in his gaze had changed into something intense. "Like this?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Yes," I said. My hands lingered on his hips before I pulled them back. My skin felt buzzed, and I took a step back, needing the air to clear my head. "Now do the turn. Keep your hands behind your back. Do not let your upper body move."

He watched me for three seconds before turning. He set his feet, dropped into the position, and pushed off. The difference was immediate. The sound changed from a scrape to a hiss. His long frame glided through the curve, his balance centered.

He skated back to me, stopping fast. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Not bad, teacher."

"Do it ten times," I said, crossing my arms. "Left side only. Your left ankle is weak on the recovery."

"My ankle is fine," he said, turning to do the drill.

For the hour, the ice was our battlefield. We did not use music; the only sound was our blades and my commands. Every time he slipped into his habits, I stepped into his space, forcing his body into compliance.

By the time the clock hit seven, my ankle ached. Mercer stood at the boards, his grey shirt damp with sweat.

"Same time tomorrow, Mercer," I said, unlatching the gate. I leaned in close as I passed him, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Change your attitude. If you make my life hell during these sessions, I will make sure your father sees every mistake you make. I can ruin your national standing faster than the federation."

I started to pull away, but my blade caught a piece of ice, and I stumbled. Before I could hit the surface, his hand shot out. His fingers gripped my waist, stopping my fall and pulling me flush against his chest.

My breath was trapped. I was pinned against him, my front pressed into his torso. The heat was overwhelming. I looked up, my eyes wide, my nose inches from his throat. Knox loomed over me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with intensity. His grip on my waist tightened.

"Frost," he growled. "Play with fire. You will get burned."

Everly POV

"Lower," I barked. My skates dug into the line. "Your weight is still in your chest, Mercer. Drop your hips another inch."

The speed skater groaned, his thigh muscles shaking under his training pants. He was in a squat, holding an edge glide around the center circle. Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing onto the ice. He had been holding the position for three minutes.

"My legs are on fire," he said, jaw clamped shut as he struggled to keep his body straight.

"Good," I said, skating backward ahead of him. "That fire means you are using your core. Figure skating is not theater, Knox. It is tough. Welcome to my world."

He gritted his teeth, his blue eyes flashing with exhaustion and pride. He did not quit. For four days, I had pushed him to his limits, stripping away his speed track shortcuts and forcing him into flexibility circuits and deep edge-work. He was left huffing and drenched.

The arrogant bad boy of track was learning to stay balanced on a quarter-inch of steel; it required more than force.

My student stood up from the glide, his breath coming in gasps. He leaned over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. "Are you trying to kill me before the combine?"

"I am trying to fix you," I said, checking the arena clock. We had twenty minutes left. "Now we switch. I need to work on my axel. You are going to be my harness."

Knox straightened up, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked at the leather strap and pulley system. "How does this work?"

"You hold the anchor rope," I said, strapping the leather belt around my waist. "When I launch, you pull up on the line. You absorb part of my weight. It keeps me from hurting my ankle. You have to match my speed. Stay three feet behind my shoulder. Catch me if I tilt."

He took the rope from my hands, his large fingers wrapping tight around it. He did not mock me. He looked at the belt, then at my ankle, his expression sober. "You trust me not to drop you?"

"I do not have a choice," I said, my voice dropping. "The sectionals are in five weeks. I need my triple back. Hold the line."

He nodded, face turning serious. The cocky smile vanished, replaced by pure intensity.

We pushed off together, building speed down the rink. He tracked my movements, his speed blades hissing in a rhythm behind my right shoulder. The tension on the rope was firm.

I turned forward, deep on my outside edge. This was the take-off. The wind whipped past my face, and the old panic flared in my chest.

I launched into the air. One turn. Two turns. Three.

The air rushed past. My body tilted. My balance was gone. I was coming down sideways, about to land on my bad ankle.

"Knox!" I gasped.

Before my blade could smash into the ice, the hockey player surged forward. His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me out of the air. His torso slammed against my back, absorbing my momentum.

We skated out the speed together. He held me tight and did not let go. His hands were locked around my waist, his grip firm.

"I have you," he whispered, his breath brushing against my neck. "Stay still."

I leaned into him, exhausted. I could feel his heart beating against my shoulder blades. He was steady.

My protector looked down at my ankle, seeing the scar. His fingers tightened gently on my waist. He looked at me, and for the first time, he did not see an obstacle. He saw the warrior underneath the ice queen mask.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Only when I miss," I whispered, my voice trembling.

The proximity felt dangerous. The tension between us shifted, the air thick with awareness.

The arena door clicked loudly. The moment was shattered. His hands dropped from my waist, and we turned toward the entrance tunnel.

The TV camera lights flooded the hallway. Reporters stepped onto the ice. Hunter Cross walked in, my former pairs partner and ex-fiancé. He wore his custom gold Vanguard Club team jacket. His blond hair was perfect, his lips set in a smirk.

My main rival walked beside him, her sharp face lit up with a grin.

"Ah, look, the cameras are already rolling," the skater said, his voice echoing through the arena. "I told you we would find her here, Ava. Training in the dark like a ghost."

I froze. My hands clenched into fists. The pain in my ankle was forgotten, replaced by humiliation and anger.

The main reporter stepped forward. "Hunter, Ava, we are live in three minutes. Is it true you are doing your segment here at the Mercer Center today?"

"That is right," my ex-fiancé said. He stepped onto the ice, looking around the arena with disgust. "The Vanguard Club wanted to show the media where our old talent ended up. We heard Everly was reduced to begging for scraps after the injury."

The woman giggled, an annoying sound. "We just wanted to wish her luck. Even if she does not have a partner, or funding, or a proper routine anymore."

The golden boy walked closer, stopping ten feet away from me. The cameras focused on my face.

"Let us be honest, Everly," he said, his voice loud. "You should have stayed retired. You look pathetic here trying to play catch-up. You are holding onto a dream that died the day your bone snapped. Why do you not save yourself the embarrassment at sectionals and just drop out now?"

The humiliation was a physical weight. The reporters scribbled on their pads, the camera lenses tracking my every breath.

Suddenly, Knox stepped in front of me. His huge frame shielded my body completely from the lenses. He slammed his speed skates into the ice, the metal scraping a sharp warning.

The hockey player looked down at the man who broke my heart, his blue eyes frozen with rage.

"Who the hell let this garbage onto my ice?" he growled.