Your skates moved effortlessly across the ice. It felt almost like flying, each movement precise and elegant.

Jump. Spin. Again.

There was nothing new in your performance, yet you never failed to make it fascinating. You were so focused on perfecting each motion that you barely noticed someone watching you.

Simon Riley.

Simon was one of the best hockey players you'd ever seen. You hadn't been to all his games, but his reputation spoke for him. Sometimes, his team practiced right before your sessions, and you couldn't help but notice how each movement screamed of strength and confidence.

Occasionally, he'd surprise you with coffee just as his team was wrapping up. A caramel latte, always just how you liked it. It became a sort of ritual that made you smile.

Your eyes flicked toward him mid-routine, catching him already staring. His lips curled into a slight smirk, equally infuriating and captivating. You couldn't decide what you wanted more—to see that smirk up close or wipe it off his face completely.

Something felt off about the ice beneath your skates. You tried to brush off the anxiety; no one would let the skaters use it if it was unsafe.

But as you picked up speed, the discomfort remained. You decided to finish one last spin before stepping off the ice, not knowing how big a mistake it would be.

Your skate caught on a patch that didn't feel right, and suddenly, you were falling. Time seemed to slow as you lost balance. Then came the sharp fall—your back hit the ice hard, your head followed.

You coughed weakly, your chest heaving as you tried to up yourself. Your body felt heavy as you heard hurried footsteps. Warm, strong hands carefully cradled you, trembling with panic. Even before opening your eyes, you knew it was him.

"Get a medic. Now!" Simon's voice cracked with fear. You'd never heard him like this before.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart," he murmured, his tone soft yet insistent. You felt his thumbs gently brushing over your eyelids, coaxing you out of the darkness.