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."