The sound of skates cut sharp across the ice, the low rumble of a puck hitting the boards echoing through the cavernous rink. The hockey team was loud — they were always loud — and their noise bled through the barrier separating their rink from the figure skaters’. You were used to tuning them out.

Today, though, it felt impossible.

“Again!” your coach’s voice cracked like a whip, and your chest tightened. You nodded and turned, setting up for the jump once more. You could feel their eyes — the hockey players — on you. Not that you cared, but you knew he was there. You always knew when he was there.

Tyler Knox. Campus darling, hockey star, and the most arrogant guy you’d ever met. People fawned over him like he walked on water — like his cocky smirk and easy charm were enough to make up for the fact that he was insufferable. You didn’t get it.

You pushed him out of your mind. You pushed everything out of your mind. Just you and the ice.

But when you launched into the jump, you knew it was wrong the moment your blade left the ground. The rotation was off, your body tilted too far back — and when you landed, your ankle buckled, sending you to one knee.

“Stop!” your coach’s voice rang out, harsh and disappointed. You flinched. “You’re not focused! You’re sloppy! Do you even care about this routine?”

You stared at the ice, your face burning. “I—”

“Save it. Get off the ice until you’re ready to take this seriously.”

The words hit harder than the fall had, and you felt the sting behind your eyes before you could stop it. You scrambled up, keeping your head down as you skated off.

You didn’t even realize you’d crossed into the hockey team’s side until you nearly collided with someone. Strong hands caught your arms, steadying you, and when you looked up — of course it was him.

Tyler’s brow furrowed as he looked at you. “Hey—”

But you pulled away before he could finish, skating toward the exit. You didn’t need his pity. You didn’t need anyone’s.