2. victoria
TWO
victoria
I run my finger along the rough edge of the key in my pocket, the one I swiped from my dad’s spare key ring as the December winds whip my hair around.
Breaking into the Ice House Arena where my dad works? Not my proudest moment. But desperate times call for desperate measures. My two measly hours of free rental time a day aren’t cutting it—not when my competitors are out there skating circles around me with unlimited ice time.
Nationals are a little over a year away, and thanks to my rotten luck, my partner is out of commission after tearing his meniscus at the beginning of November in a bad fall. Perfect timing. No partner, no progress. But I can’t let that stop me. So here I am, sneaking into a rink, because I can’t afford to pay for more rink time, not on a skating teacher’s salary.
I slide the key into the back door where the hockey team usually enters and twist, listening for the faint click. Then I rush to turn off the security system, punching in the code like I’m Tom Cruise in the next Mission: Impossible .
When the blue light flashes, signaling success, I let out a relieved breath. The rink is mine tonight—no interruptions, no unsolicited advice, and no partner criticizing my foot placement. Just me, the ice, and my trusty Taylor Swift playlist.
Well, and the slight risk of getting caught for breaking and entering, but I double-checked the schedule. No one’s supposed to be here.
I hurry down the hall, then find the door to the rink. I tie up my skates and pop in my earbuds before starting “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” on my playlist. I warm up my legs, feeling the slow rise of the music while timing a triple axel in my head. I rise into the jump, ready to nail it, when somewhere behind me a door slams.
The noise throws off my timing and I stumble just as I lift off the ground. There’s no way to save face when you miss a jump, so I brace my hands before hitting the ice hard. When I slide to a stop on my butt, I’m already rehearsing what I’ll say when the cops arrest me.
But it’s not the police.
It’s worse.
Standing on the other side of the rink is a guy I know all too well, his ice-blue eyes locked on me with the same permanent scowl I remember from college.
Of all the rinks in all the world, he had to walk into this one.
Leo the Ego Anderson. Hair falling over his piercing blue eyes, muscular build—of course he’s only gotten better looking over time. I’ve always dreamt of this moment—of running into Leo and hoping his jaw would drop when he saw me again. Instead, he looks at me like I’m his worst nightmare.
He crosses his arms and frowns at me. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone colder than the ice under my skates.
“Hello to you, too,” I snap, brushing off the ice shavings stuck to my leggings. Heat rushes to my cheeks, my body ferociously aware of him in ways it really shouldn’t be. Especially not when he’s looking at me like I’ve personally ruined his life.
He drops his bag on the bench next to mine, his movements sharp. “No one’s supposed to be here.”
I rub the sore spot on my palm. “So?”
“So, you’re trespassing.”
I blink at him. “ I’m trespassing? What makes you think that?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Because back in college, you had a habit of swiping the coach’s keys so we could sneak into the rink.”
I’m not sure if he’s bringing it up to torture me with the memory or point out that “once a criminal, always a criminal.” Back then, sneaking into rinks wasn’t exactly about skating. It was more about playing ridiculous games, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and then Leo pulling me into his arms to kiss me. Very little actual practicing got done.
“Okay, fine,” I admit. “I stole my dad’s keys.”
I see a flicker of a smile as he slides on his skates. He might use this against me. Or maybe he’s just amused that I’m still sneaking into ice rinks.
“What are you doing here, then?” I ask. “Trying out for security guard?”
His jaw tightens. “I have a key,” he says, holding it up. “Unlike you.”
“Wow, congratulations. Want a trophy?” I tap my pocket. “Guess what? I have a key, too.”
Leo’s eyes narrow as he joins me on the ice. “How’d you get the code?”
“That’s classified information,” I say, skating a slow circle around him, like a shark sizing up its prey. “What’s your excuse?”
He sighs, and for the first time, he looks less angry and more annoyed. “On probation for ten weeks. But nobody told me I couldn’t practice on my own.”
“Benched?” I lift my eyebrows. I don’t even have to ask why. Leo’s temper has always been his weakness. “What’s your punishment?”
His gaze flicks to mine, and he hesitates. “Community service.”
I stop short. “Community service? What, are you cleaning the locker rooms?”
His frown deepens, like he’s confused by my question. “No,” he says, then changes the subject. “Why are you here?”
I shrug, trying to pretend this year hasn’t already been a huge disappointment. “My partner blew out his knee, and I’ve got a year left to prep for Nationals. At twenty-five, I’m basically geriatric in competitive skating—which means this is my last chance.”
The corner of his mouth curves. “Geriatric? So, what, you’re like a figure skating grandma now?”
“Watch it,” I warn. “I can still beat you on turns and jumps any day.”
He lets out a low laugh, the sound maddeningly familiar. “Sure you can.”
What I don’t say is that it’s not my skills holding me back—it’s my head. Falling during competitions has become a nightmare for me over the past few years, and it’s sucked the joy right out of skating. I miss what it used to feel like, back when I loved gliding across the ice without the weight of expectations.
Leo shrugs, looking like he has no plans to leave me in peace. “Well, Grandma, if you’re done with your sob story, don’t let me stop you. I’m just here for a quiet practice.”
“ You’re here for a quiet practice?” I repeat, incredulous. “On my ice?”
He looks up. “Last I checked, it’s your dad’s ice.”
I stop on center ice. “If we’re going to share the ice tonight, I think we should do it civilly.”
Leo glides toward me with an easy confidence that still makes my stomach flip. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can finally see the stormy blue of his eyes. My breath catches. Why does he still have this effect on me?
He props his stick on the center line and looks me over. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll split the rink—half-and-half.”
“You’re willing to compromise?” I arch a brow. “That’s new.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve changed a lot since we knew each other.” He keeps his eyes pinned on me.
Changed how? I don’t ask, because I doubt he’d answer honestly. We haven’t talked in years. Not since I sent that final, ugly text.
He grips his stick, his knuckles whitening against the tape. “If we agree to share the rink tonight, then nobody loses.”
“You think I only care about winning?”
“Well, you’ve been glaring at me like I’m here to ruin your life. So, yeah, I think compromise isn’t the worst idea.” He turns away, scraping the end of his stick between us—a clear dividing line. “I’ll take this side. And when we leave...” He locks eyes with me. “It’s like it never happened.”
I nod once, trying to pretend he’s not flustering me. “As long as you keep your puck on your side.”
I hold his gaze a second too long before I force myself to focus on the ice. My heart is beating fast, and I hate that he still has this effect on me.
Without warning, more lights flicker on overhead. “Victoria, what are you doing here?” My dad stands in the entryway, looking at me in shock.
I freeze as my voice sticks in my throat. We’re so busted.
Dad looks over at Leo, and his face shifts to relief. “Oh... I didn’t realize you were with your new partner.”
My face snaps to Leo’s. “Wait . . . what?”
Dad frowns. “You didn’t tell her yet?”
“What are you talking about?” I demand, my voice rising.
“You haven’t been able to find a skating partner,” Dad explains. “So I arranged one for you.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Leo Anderson?” I scoff. “Oh, heck no. Leo is most definitely not my new skating partner.”
Leo leans lazily against his stick, smirking like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this bomb on me.
“This will not work,” I declare, skating toward the bench. “Even if hell froze over, I wouldn’t skate on it with Leo Anderson.”
Leo arches an eyebrow, his mouth twitching, like he finds this amusing. Of course he does.
Dad holds up a hand to stop me from leaving. “I realize this is not ideal.”
I let out a laugh. “Understatement of the year.”
“But you can’t work by yourself,” he says. “You need someone to practice with until Ben gets better.”
“Him?” I say, pointing at Leo, trying to keep my voice under control. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”
Dad knows we dated in college. How could he forget how disastrously it ended? My parents never thought Leo was good enough for me. So why, of all people, would he pick him now ?
“Do you have another option?” Dad asks, eyebrows raised. He knows full well I don’t.
Every competitive pairs skater in the region is partnered up. I can’t exactly borrow some junior league skater who’s still learning algebra without it looking extremely awkward.
But that still doesn’t answer the question of why Leo agreed to it.
I turn to Dad. “What did you do to get him to agree— bribe him?”
Leo crosses his arms. “No, Victoria. You’re my community service project.” His mouth tilts up.
Oh, great. Glad my comeback attempt is everyone’s favorite punchline.
I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not.” I skate off the ice, not looking at either of them. “Anyone but him.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Leo watching me, arms still folded, probably gloating over this arrangement.
I yank off my skates at the bench, practically throwing them into my bag. “I’m not some charity project, no matter how desperate I appear.”
Dad sighs. “I’m not paying your coach to sit around. You need a partner, and Leo needs hours. What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal? I want to scream. I’ll have to work closely with Leo. Every. Freaking. Day. I can’t do that, no matter how convenient this is for my dad.
“The answer is no,” I fire back, storming away from the rink. “Sharing the ice for a night is one thing. But skating with him? Completely unacceptable.”
“Victoria!” Dad calls after me.
I stop in the door, turning back. “He’s a hockey player . I’d rather hang up my skates for good than let Leo Anderson put his hands on me again.”