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.

Knox POV

Hunter did not back down. He fixed his gold Vanguard jacket and gave me a fake smile, like the ones they show on the news. He looked at my chest under my track jacket, then at the tape on my wrists.

"Knox Mercer," he said, sounding like a robot. "The short-track guy. I did not know you liked broken figure skaters."

"You have ten seconds to get those skates off our ice," I said, taking a step closer to him. "Before I show you what a short-track guy does to people who get in his way."

The camera crew moved around, trying to get a shot. The red lights on the cameras flashed, capturing every second of our standoff.

Behind me, I heard Everly take a breath. Her fingers touched my jacket, then quickly pulled away. She was stiff, her jaw tight as she looked at the man who ruined her career. She did not look confident like she usually did; she looked small and scared, swallowed up by her past.

I could feel her shaking against my back, her chest rising and falling in frantic breaths. The raw terror radiating from her frame hit me like a physical blow, waking up a fire deep in my chest. I could not stand seeing her look so broken in front of these parasites. It made me feel something protective, an intense urge to smash his cameras and break his jaw.

Ava stood next to Hunter, looking at Everly with a smile. "Hunter is telling the truth, Mercer. The people in charge know it. The judges know it. Everly will never win a medal alone. She has a bad ankle, no team, and no way to win on her own. She needs help."

"Needs help," I repeated, not liking the sound of it coming from her mouth.

I looked at the golden boy. He stood up straight, trying to look tall, but he did not look strong. I stood in front of him, confident and in charge, completely blocking his view of her.

"You must be blind," I said, loud and clear.

The reporter held the microphone close, his eyes wide with excitement.

"What did you say?" Hunter asked, his face red with anger.

"Everly did not lose her partner when you left," I said. "She got rid of someone who was holding her back. Look at how she skates. Look at how she spins. She is a better athlete than you will ever be, Cross. You did not leave her because she was not good. You left her because you could not keep up with her."

He looked like I had hit him. His smile was gone, replaced by a dark look. He took a step closer to me, his chest out.

"You do not know anything about figure skating, short-track," the skater said, his voice low and angry. "It is about hard work and trusting each other. Everly is not a partner. Look at her ankle. If she falls, it will break. Ava is a partner. She is the future of figure skating. We will win a medal together while you watch from the sidelines."

I felt Everly stiffen behind me. Her fingers were still on my back, digging into my jacket. She was shaking, not with fear, but with pure anger. His mean words were making it hard for her to breathe, suffocating her there on the ice. I hated it. I hated him for doing this to her in public, dragging her pain out for the media to see.

He was exposing her trauma just to look big for the television crew. I wanted to step forward and erase that arrogant, mocking look from his face permanently.

Ava crossed her arms, her diamond rings shining under the lights. "Let it go, Hunter. Some people just do not know when to quit. Everly can keep skating here if she wants. It will not change the fact that she will not be allowed to compete."

My jaw was tight. My head hurts. These people did not just want to win; they wanted to destroy her spirit and make sure she never skated competitively again. They wanted her to give up, to hide in the dark and never show her face on the ice again.

Hunter took a breath, his hands tight in his pockets. He sneered at me. "You do not know anything about figure skating, Mercer. Everly is done. She has no chance of winning without a partner. She is all alone."

"She is not alone," I said.

The room went quiet, like something had broken.

Hunter laughed, his hand on her arm. "Oh, please. Who is going to help her? You? This is a speed-skating track facility. You do not even have the proper equipment for her to train."

Hunter smiled, looking directly at the camera. "Who are you to her, Mercer? Just her landlord? You think your dad's money can get her into the competition?"

I felt a surge of anger. I looked at the camera, then at his smug face. He thought he had won. He thought he could come into my home, insult my trainer, and leave without a problem. He thought he could break her down on television.

I was going to take that smile off his face in front of the country right now. I was going to change her future with one sentence. I did not care about the consequences. They wanted to break her on television, but I was about to shock every single person watching.

I did not look back at Everly. I did not ask her if it was okay.

I reached behind me, put my hand firmly around her waist, and pulled her close.

She gasped, her hands on my ribs. She did not pull away. Her heart was beating fast against my side, her warmth seeping through my shirt. Her small frame fit perfectly against mine, anchoring me to the spot. I gripped her tight, letting her know I had her.

I looked at the camera, then at his suddenly pale face.

"I am the guy who is taking her to the Olympics," I said, the words feeling strange but heavy in my mouth.

"Now get off our ice."