Aria
The sharp crack of Oliver hitting the ice brought a wave of satisfaction to my chest.
I stood over him, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. For a second, I hoped the fall had shattered his ridiculous pride. I wanted him to look humiliated. I wanted him to yell.
Instead, Oliver threw his head back and laughed.
He didn't look affected at all. He lay there on his back for a moment, not bothered by the freezing surface. He stared up at the ceiling lights as the low chuckle died down in his throat.
The sound of his laughter hit me like a punch. It instantly dragged a memory out from the dark corners of my mind.
Three years ago, he used to laugh exactly like that after a hard practice, pulling me down onto the ice beside him, telling me we were going to conquer the world together.
My mind flashed back to the hospital.
Tears blurred my vision as my shattered ankle throbbed. Oliver leaned in, brushing away the moisture with his thumb before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
"The doctor needs a quick word. I will be back," he murmured.
He set his phone on the table and stepped out.
The door clicked shut and the screen lit up at the same time.
Sloane’s text flashed across the glass: “The board approved the switch. Thanks for making the right call for our future, partner. Good, riddance. Let's leave the dead weight behind. ”
Right above it sat Oliver’s unsent draft to his coach: "I don't know how to tell her it's over..."
I squeezed my hands into fists, forcing the memory back down. That girl was dead.
Oliver planted his palms on the ice and pushed himself up.
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, gliding forward to bridge the distance I had just put between us.
He didn't brush the shaved ice off his pants. He just kept coming until his shadow covered me, invading my space until I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
"You really haven't changed, have you?" he murmured, dropping his voice. The teasing edge returned to his eyes, sharp and mocking. "Still throwing tantrums when things don't go your way."
"Go to hell, Oliver," I spat, refusing to take a step back. "Go back to your girlfriend and stay out of my ice time."
He didn't deny having another girl now. He just smirked, leaning in closer until I could see the dark gold flecks in his eyes.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Aria," he whispered. "Besides, if I'm a good boy and stay away, who’s going to catch you when you break? Because let's be honest, you're one bad landing away from another hospital bed."
"I don't need your help."
"No?" His gaze dropped to my right leg, which was trembling slightly against the cold. "You look terrified,” he stepped closer. “Tell me, are you going to choke on the ice again like you did back then? Are you going to let everyone down the second the pressure gets too high?"
My blood ran cold. The cruelty in his voice was a sharp contrast to the flirty smirk on his face.
I opened my mouth to scream at him, my knuckles turning white as I prepared to hit him again, but a loud static burst cut through the air.
"Aria. My office. Now."
The Head Coach’s voice boomed over the rink intercom, harsh and distorted.
Oliver stepped back, the dark intensity vanishing as he gave me a lazy, two-finger salute. "Duty calls, baby. Try not to cry in front of him."
Baby.
But I didn't answer. I turned on his heel and skated toward the exit gate, my right ankle giving a sharp throb with every push against the ice.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the administrative office. The head Coach, Marcus sat behind his desk, staring intently at his PC monitor.
He didn't look up immediately. He just kept scrolling through the digital medical charts and the therapy reports from my three-year break. The silence in the room was suffocating. But I did not say anything.
"Your metrics from this morning's tracking are inconsistent, Aria," Marcus said, finally turning his attention away from the computer screen.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "The board approved your probationary return because of your past record, but this academy is a business. We cannot afford liabilities, Aria."
"I am not a liability, Coach," I said, my voice tight. I sat up straighter in the leather chair, trying to hide the fact that I was deliberately keeping my right foot off the floor to ease the pressure. "I just need time. I'm landing them faster."
"Your execution is reckless," Marcus countered, his eyes drilling into mine. "You are favoring your left side. You are hesitating before your takeoffs. If you drop a jump during the upcoming qualifiers, you risk permanent damage. The medical staff is highly concerned about the state of that ankle."
"I can do it," I insisted, the words tearing out of my throat with a fierce, desperate edge. I couldn't let him do this. I couldn't let them bench me before I even had a chance to compete. "I've spent three years doing grueling rehab just to stand back on a blade. I am not breaking. I won't let this injury define me."
Marcus looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"You have until the end of the week to show me a flawless short program, Aria. If your scores don't hit the academy standard by Friday, your funding is revoked and your spot on the roster goes to the alternate bracket." He waved his hand toward the door, dismissing me. "Watch yourself. You are skating on very thin ice."
I stood up, giving a stiff nod before turning to walk out.
I sighed deeply as the glass door clicked shut behind me. The sudden rush of quiet in the hallway made the adrenaline fade from my system. The fierce confidence I had forced into my voice evaporated, leaving only a hollow, sinking feeling deep in my chest.
I leaned against the wall, the cold metal lockers pressing into my back as I looked down at my trembling hands. My ankle throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. It was a reminder of what I had lost.
I stared down at my fingers. I was suddenly gripped by a wave of exhaustion. I wondered when my past was finally going to stop holding me down.
