COLD STEEL, BLEEDING HEARTS

Maya’s ankle snapped—sharp and ugly, like a dry branch breaking in a storm.

One moment, she was flying. The next, the world spun out from under her. The bright lights in Northwood Arena smeared into white streaks. She hit the ice hard, sliding across the frozen sheet like a rag doll, only stopping when she slammed into the boards at the rink’s edge.

The music kept playing, some cheerful violin piece that sounded like a sick joke.

Maya tried to catch her breath, but her lungs refused to work. She stared down at her left skate. Her foot bent the wrong way, twisted and wrong. Heat and pain shot up her leg, loud and relentless.

"Maya!" her coach shouted, running toward her.

Up in the stands, Maya caught sight of her mom getting to her feet. She didn’t look worried. She looked pissed off. She checked her stopwatch, shook her head, and glared. For her, this wasn’t a disaster—just a wasted performance.

Maya’s hands shook as she tried to push herself up. "I can finish," she gasped. "I just… I need to stand."

But the second she moved, the world went black. Pain swallowed her whole. She collapsed, cheek pressed against the freezing ice. Through her tears, she saw heavy black boots by the gate.

Not figure skates. Hockey skates—scarred, tough.

She looked up and saw Julian Thorne, the hockey team captain, looming against the glass. Big guy. Shoulders broad enough to block out the light. He didn’t move to help, didn’t even flinch. Just sipped water and stared at her, cold and bored.

"Get the stretcher," he said, barely looking at the medics. "The Ice Princess is done."

Two Weeks Later

Northwood Prep’s halls buzzed with whispers. Every time Maya hobbled past on her crutches, people stared.

Clack-thump. Clack-thump.

"Did you hear?" a girl hissed near the lockers. "They say she’ll never jump again. She’s on scholarship, right? If she can’t skate, she’s out by next semester."

Maya kept her head down, blonde hair hiding her face. She felt small. Weak. Before, she was the girl everyone wanted to be. Now, she was just the girl everyone pitied.

She made it to the Principal’s office and pushed inside. Principal Vance waited, the hockey coach beside him, and—of course—Julian Thorne, sprawled in a chair like he owned the place.

He had a fresh bruise on his jaw. His eyes were dark, daring anyone to cross him.

"Sit, Maya," Principal Vance said. "We have a problem. Your medical bills are high, and your skating scores are gone. To keep your scholarship, you need to join the Peer Recovery Program."

"What does that mean?" Maya asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The hockey coach stepped in. "Julian’s suspended for fighting. He’s a problem. The school wants him to help you with your therapy. He keeps you safe on the ice, you help him with grades and keep his temper in check. If either of you messes up, both of you are out."

Maya glanced at Julian. He looked like he’d rather jump out the window.

"I’m not a nurse," Julian snapped, voice rough. "I’ve got a team to lead. I don’t have time to babysit a girl scared of her own shadow."

"Then you don’t play, Thorne," Principal Vance shot back. "And Maya, you go home."

The room went quiet. Maya’s throat tightened. She needed this school. It was her only ticket out of her mother’s house.

Julian stood up, slow and deliberate, and walked over until he was right above her. He smelled like mint and cold air. He leaned down, close enough she could feel his breath.

"Fine," he muttered. "But I’m not here to be nice. If you want to stay, stop acting like you’re made of glass."

He rapped her cast with his knuckle.

"Meet me at the rink. Midnight. If you’re late, I’m gone."

The Rink – 11:59 PM

The arena felt huge and dark, like a cave. Maya waited at the edge of the ice, heart pounding so loud it hurt. Even the smell of the ice made her sick.

"You’re late," someone called.

Julian was already there, gliding across the ice in a black hoodie and jeans, no pads. He shot toward her, fast enough to make the air whistle, then stopped sharp at the gate, spraying ice over her shoes.

"Hand them over," Julian said, reaching for her crutches.

"Wait! I need those to—"

He didn’t care. He grabbed the crutches and tossed them across the floor. They clattered away.

"What are you doing?" Maya yelled, grabbing the rail for support. "I can’t stand without them!"

"Yeah, you can," Julian said. He opened the gate. "Get on the ice, Maya."

"No. I’m not ready. My leg… it’s not strong enough."

Julian stepped off the ice, closing the distance between them. He stood so close she could feel his body heat. He grabbed her arm—not to hurt her, just to keep her steady.

"Your leg's fine," he said, locking eyes with her. "It's your head that's messed up. So, what’s it going to be? You staying down, or are you getting back on the ice?"

He didn’t bother waiting for her answer. He just pulled her forward.

Maya yelped as her sneakers slid onto the ice. Everything tilted. She braced herself for the snap, the pain—she knew it was coming.

But the fall never came.

Julian caught her, hauling her straight into his chest. He was solid, unshakeable. For the first time in weeks, Maya didn’t feel like she was tumbling through space.

"I’ve got you," he whispered. This time, his voice went low and serious. "But listen to me. I didn’t get suspended just for fighting, Maya."

She looked up, barely breathing. "What are you talking about?"

Julian glanced around the empty, shadowy stadium. He looked nervous, almost like he was waiting for something to leap out at them.

"Someone loosened the screws on your skates the night you fell," he whispered. "I saw it happen. And whoever did it—they’re in this building right now."

A loud thud echoed from the dark locker room behind them.

Was the person who wrecked Maya’s life standing just a few steps away, hidden in the dark?