The next day, I step onto the ice, a shiver running up my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Playoffs are just weeks away, and I should be concentrating on that, on getting the Titans to the optimal condition to face their opponents.
But I can’t. My mind is a stormy sea, waves of guilt crashing against the shore of my resolve. Alex’s kiss lingers on my lips like a ghostly imprint, a forbidden memory that stirs both excitement and remorse within me. I’ve been honest with myself about my feelings for Nathan, but now, after letting Alex get so close, my heart feels splintered, caught between the comforting warmth of Nathan’s boy-next-door charm and the electrifying touch of Alex’s rugged intensity.
I push off into a slow glide, the familiar scrape of blades against ice grounding me. Here, in this frozen world, I can escape the complicated tangle of emotions waiting beyond the rink’s barrier. But even the ice can’t hold back the flood of thoughts about Nathan—how his eyes sparkled when he laughed, how his hand felt in mine. We’re just beginning to explore what could be, yet here I am, drenched in guilt for stealing a moment with someone else. It’s a treacherous slope, and I’m ill-equipped for the fall.
With every stroke, I try to carve away the unease, focusing on the routine ahead. I need to prepare for the next lesson to prove that Nathan's faith in my choreography skills isn't misplaced. I can't afford any distractions—not even from my own wayward heart.
As I reach for my bag to retrieve my music player, the door at the far end of the rink swings open, slicing through the quiet with a resounding thud. The air shifts, the temperature seems to drop even further, and I feel it—the presence of someone new. I turn, and there’s a beautiful woman coming down the ice toward me, her raven-black hair swaying like a dark wave behind her.
“Morning,” I manage, my voice surprisingly even despite the tightness in my chest.
“Morning, Lila,” she replies with a nod, her curt tone slicing through the space between us. “It is Lila, right?”
I nod. Who is this woman? “And you are?”
“Natasha. I am the captain of the Titanettes,” she says, hands on hips.
Right. Those are the dancers that perform between periods. Max and Jenna have filled me in on their squad. I’ve caught a couple practices, and they’re amazing. I think they might even be better than the Penguins dancers, and ice dancers have always been more my speed. I smile, hoping to make another friend.
“Oh. Nice to meet you. I actually used to dance in Michigan, for the—”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off, less than impressed. “And now you’re here. Look. The Titanettes have the ice now.”
"Oh ..." I frown. I'd checked the schedule, and the Titanettes were scheduled to have the ice at ten. "Is it ten already?"
“No, but ...” Her dark eyes appraise me, cold and calculating, as she takes in my stance, my gear, me. There’s an instant tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken rivalry between us. We are two choreographers, yes, but more than that—we are two women who navigate the same icy world, where grace and strength collide with ambition and desire. And nothing about this woman says “friend.” I’m more like a competitor. “I really do need to work out this new routine.”
“That’s fine! I just have to run through a few more drills. There’s enough ice for us to share! And I’ll be out of your hair before the rest of the girls get here.”
She doesn't smile, nor do I expect her to now. Instead, Natasha glides past me with the confidence of someone who knows their worth and isn't afraid to flaunt it. She's the new variable in an already volatile equation, and her arrival brings with it an undercurrent of competition that neither of us can ignore.
"Fine." Natasha sets down her own bag with a deliberate care, then turns to face me once again. "Let's hope you can keep the Titans in the playoffs long enough for us to showcase what I have planned for the pre-game shows," she says coolly, her words carrying the weight of a challenge.
"I think their chance is pretty good," I reply, refusing to give ground. With those few words, our lines are drawn. There's no mistaking it—the ice may be shared, but our ambitions are not.
I power along the ice, my blades slicing a crisp path as I push off into a gentle glide. The rink is my haven, a place where the complexities of my life with Nathan and Alex fade into the background, where the only thing that matters is the movement, the music, the dance. Yet today, Natasha’s presence casts a shadow over this sanctuary.
“Those twirls are cute, Lila, but I hope you aren’t teaching them figure skating,” Natasha’s voice cuts through the air, coated in disdain. “The last thing these guys need is to look like they’re prancing on ice. Their competitors will tear through them.”
I keep my back to her, focusing on the rhythm of my heart and the cold beneath me. Her words are meant to sting, to provoke a reaction, but I won’t let them. I’ve worked too hard to earn my place here, to choreograph routines that not only showcase skill but also inspire teamwork and camaraderie among the hockey players.
“Actually, Natasha, agility and grace on the ice can greatly improve their game,” I respond without missing a beat, pivoting into a series of intricate footwork. “It’s all about control. I’m sure you realize that, right?”
“Control?” She laughs, a harsh sound that echoes in the empty stands. “Darling, what you call control, I call playing it safe.”
My jaw clenches as I force myself to breathe evenly to maintain the composure that has always been my armor. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
“Safe wins games,” I retort sharply.
“Risks win hearts, Lila,” she shoots back, skating past me with a challenging glint in her eyes. “And a big enough risk will win both.”
And there it is—the crux of our conflict. Here is a woman who clearly lives for the spectacle, the drama, the flash. But I know that beneath the sparkle lies the substance; the careful choreography that makes the spectacle possible, that turns a group of individual athletes into a cohesive team.
“Look, Natasha,” I begin, turning to face her squarely. My voice rises, strong and clear, carrying across the rink. “We’re both here for the same reason—to give our audience the best show possible. I respect your work, but if we’re going to get along, you will have to respect mine as well. I was hired to do a job, and I intend to do it.”
She raises an eyebrow, sizing me up as if deciding whether I’m worth her time. The tension between us is palpable, like the charged air before a storm. It’s a standoff, a battle of wills on ice.
“Fine,” Natasha concedes with a frosty smile, “Show me what you’ve got then. Let’s see if these boys can actually learn something from your... routines.”
“Watch and learn,” I say, gathering my focus. I signal to the sound booth for my music, and as the first notes fill the rink, I launch into my routine with renewed vigor. Each jump, each spin is a word in my silent rebuttal. I am the team’s choreographer for a reason—I know how to translate the language of dance into the power plays of hockey. And I’ll prove it to Natasha, to the team, and most importantly, to myself.
The frosty air of the rink does little to cool the heat rising in my cheeks as Natasha’s dismissive gaze bores into me. “You know, Lila,” she says, her voice laced with condescension, “I’ve seen pigeons with more grace than what you’re trying to pass off. You think that’ll help them?”
“Really?” I retort, forcing myself to sound amused rather than offended. “Because from here, it looks like you’re itching to show me up. Why don’t we settle this?”
A spark of challenge flares in Natasha’s eyes. She nods sharply, and with a flick of her wrist, she signals for her own music. The rink becomes our arena, the cold, gleaming ice our battlefield.
We push off, gliding into motion as two distinct rhythms fill the space—one pulsing with the beat of my routine, the other echoing Natasha’s more flamboyant style. I execute each movement with precision, my body weaving a story of strength, agility, and control. Meanwhile, Natasha moves with a fluidity that borders on arrogance, her turns sharp enough to slice through the tension between us.
Back and forth we go, a visual symphony of competitive spirit. My jumps land with the soft thud of determination, hers with the whisper of a threat. We are two sides of the same coin, spinning in the air, waiting to see which way we'll fall.
As the final note fades, I come to a stop, breaths misting before me. Silence descends, heavy and expectant. Then, from the bleachers, a cheer erupts—Max and Jenna are on their feet, clapping hard enough to sting their palms. Relief washes over me, mingled with the sweet taste of triumph.
Natasha’s face twists into a scowl as she passes by, her skates carving angry lines into the ice. “Don’t get too comfortable, sweetheart,” she hisses, not bothering to mask the venom in her voice. “This isn’t over.” Her words hang in the chilled air as she skates off, leaving a trail of icy hostility behind her.
“Wow, Lila, that was something else,” Max exclaims as he and Jenna join me at the edge of the rink. I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
“Thanks, but I could’ve done without the drama,” I reply, wiping a stray lock of hair from my forehead. Jenna gives me a sympathetic look, her eyes full of concern. “What is her problem, anyway?”
“Be careful around her,” Jenna warns. “Natasha is trouble. She’s got the charm and the moves, but she’s like Alex—she knows how to play people. She’s left more than a few broken hearts in her wake.”
“Speaking of playing people...” Max trails off, exchanging a glance with Jenna before continuing. “You know about her and Nathan, right?”
Getting the feeling like I’ve been left out of a big topic of conversation, I look between the two of them. “No. What?”
“That’s the reason she’s probably not the friendliest to you. She probably saw you two together,” Max says.
I frown. Does she have a claim on Nathan, the way she tried to claim the ice? “Does she like him?”
The two of them exchange a look, drawing out explanations to the point that I’m not sure I want to know. It sounds bad.
“It’s more than that. She and Nathan grew up in Michigan together. Childhood sweethearts. They’re practically royalty up there, the two of them, and now they’re royalty in the hockey world. He got her the job down here. It’s like they were bred to be together—everyone expects them to end up married, even though they both act like the idea repulses them,” Jenna says in a conspiratorial whisper.
Max nods. “I expect it’s only a matter of time before they do tie the knot.”
Their words hit me like a slapshot to the chest. Practically engaged? Could Nathan really be entangled in something so archaic, so predetermined? And if that’s true, what does that make me—a mere distraction, a blip on his path to a seemingly unavoidable future?
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I manage to say, keeping any sign of my internal turmoil hidden. But inside, doubt begins to swirl like snow caught in the wind. Nathan’s smiles, the gentle brush of his fingers against mine—it all seemed so sincere. Was he just playing me? Am I the appetizer to the main course, the bit of fun until he gets serious? Alex might be a cocky jerk, but at least he’s not pretending to be something he isn’t.
As Max and Jenna skate off to continue their practice, I’m left standing alone, a sentinel amidst the echoes of blades and uncertainty. Nathan Chase, the boy with the easy next-door charm, the one I thought was so open and sweet, might just be the biggest villain in the story of my life.
This isn’t over.
That’s what Natasha had said. And she’s right. It’s not. Not now that my heart feels like it’s ping-ponging all over the place.
As the last echoes of Natasha’s threat fade into the chill air, I glide over the ice, my thoughts a tangled web of confusion and doubt. The cold seeps through my layers, but it’s nothing compared to the icy unease that clutches at my heart. What Max and Jenna had said about Natasha and Nathan—it can’t be true, can it?
I’ve seen the way Nathan looks at me, felt the warmth of his smile—it’s genuine, isn’t it? But now, the possibility of his engagement to Natasha casts everything in a different light. Is there an unseen force propelling him towards a future he doesn’t want, or is he a willing participant in this predestined pairing? My mind races as I try to reconcile the Nathan I know with this new information.
“Forget about it, Lila,” I mutter to myself, as I stop near the center of the rink to catch my breath. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push away the distracting thoughts and concentrate on the choreography I need to perfect. But as I envision the steps, the image of Nathan’s face keeps interrupting the sequence, each time followed by Natasha’s smug expression.
I reopen my eyes, staring blankly at the reflections on the ice. The other skaters continue their practice around me, oblivious to the turmoil in my head. They are ghosts flitting on the edges of my vision while I stand anchored in the eye of a storm.
“Get it together, Lila,” I scold myself, feeling my resolve harden. This is my sanctuary, and I refuse to let anyone—Natasha, Nathan, or otherwise—invade it with their drama. With renewed determination, I push off and start to skate again, focusing on the fluidity of my movements, on the feeling of the air against my skin, on anything but the maelstrom of emotions churning inside me.
As the practice session comes to an end, I remain on the ice for a few extra laps, using the physical exhaustion to drown out my mental fatigue. Eventually, though, I have to admit that it’s time to leave the rink behind and face reality.
In the quiet of the changing room, I sit on the bench and pull off my skates, my fingers working on autopilot. Nathan’s charm, his easy laughter, the subtle touch of his hand—all of it flashes through my memory. Was it all just a façade? A way to pass the time until he fulfills his family’s expectations?
“Ridiculous,” I whisper to the empty room. Even if Nathan and Natasha are bound by some unspoken agreement, that doesn’t explain why he’d seek me out, why he’d make me feel... special. There has to be more to it—a reason that goes beyond obligation or tradition.
But as I pack up my gear and head for the exit, I can’t shake the nagging question that lingers in the humid air: If Nathan and Natasha are basically engaged to one another, then why was he flirting with me?