You’d heard his name in passing—Riley. Simon Riley. The captain of the hockey team, built like a linebacker with a jaw made of stone and the attitude to match. Everyone knew him, even if he never gave anyone the time of day. He didn’t party, didn’t chase girls, didn’t screw around. Hockey was his entire personality. Serious. Focused. Cold. A ghost off the ice and a beast on it.

You’d never spoken to him. Why would you? Your world was sequins and music and blades that danced—not checked shoulders and broken noses.

But today, both your worlds collided.

The figure skating rink’s temp regulator had blown out. Maintenance said it’d be down for a week, maybe more. Most of the others took the week off to party and relax.

But you didn’t get days off. Not with Jeanne Stevens for a coach.

She stood at the edge of the rink, arms folded tightly over her clipboard, silver hair pulled back into a bun that looked like it had been carved out of granite. Her voice cut through the cold air like a whip.

“Again,” she barked, when your landing wasn’t perfect. “Pain builds strength. Cry about your ankle later.”

Classic Jeanne. No concern for your joints, your mental health, or the fact that your last jump had almost put you face-first into the boards. You could’ve lost a tooth and she’d still demand a triple axel.

You pushed off, skates slicing into the hockey team’s ice like razors, sweat dripping down your back despite the chill. Halfway through your program when the sound of a door slamming echoed across the rink.

Voices followed. Loud, laughing, boots clunking against concrete.

Then a sharper voice cut through: “Hey, what the—figure skaters are using our rink?”

You didn’t stop, they were two hours too early. The hockey team piled in, shoulder pads on, helmets tucked under their arms. Some of them whistled, a few leaned over the boards smirking. Most of them didn’t know the difference between a salchow and a spiral.

Simon Riley stood off to the side, stick in hand, blue eyes locked on you. He didn’t smile. Didn’t jeer. Just watched—quiet, unreadable.

Your blade hit the ice a little too hard on the next landing. Jeanne’s voice sliced in again.

“Control your weight or don’t bother showing up tomorrow!”