Chapter 8

The moment I stepped out of the car, a familiar voice cut through the cold air.

“Bitchyyy!”

I barely had time to react before a long-blonde-haired, cute menace came running full speed toward me. Sierra crashed into me like a missile, wrapping her arms around my neck as we both stumbled back. I burst into laughter, holding her tightly as years of distance melted away in that one hug.

It had been fucking years. Years of silence. Years of avoidance. Years of pretending I wasn’t running from the life I once loved.

“I missed you,” she murmured, pulling back to scan my face like she was afraid I’d disappear again.

I smiled, but guilt sat heavy in my chest.

I’d avoided her for so long because I knew how angry she’d be. I quit ice hockey without a proper goodbye. Walked away from the rink, the team, and the title she never let me forget—the Ice Queen. Sierra used to scream at me for abandoning the ice like it was a crime punishable by death.

But now I was back.

Back to reclaim my crown.

Back to reclaim my pride.

Back to reclaim my sanity.

“Come on,” Sierra said, grabbing my hand. “Let me get you inside. The team is going to lose their minds when they see you.”

For the first time in a long while, warmth spread through my chest—not from the weather, but from feeling wanted. Loved.

“I’m excited to see them too,” I said honestly.

We walked toward the training ground, our footsteps crunching softly against the frost-covered pavement. The closer we got, the colder the air became—sharp, biting, familiar. The kind of cold that sinks into your bones and wakes something dormant inside you.

The rink doors opened, and the blast of icy air hit my face.

Inside, players were already on the ice, skates slicing clean lines across the surface. The sharp scrape, glide, stop echoed through the arena. Some practiced slap shots, pucks slamming hard against the boards. Others laughed, crashing into each other during mock drills, their breath visible beneath their helmets.

The smell of ice, metal, and adrenaline filled my lungs.

My heart clenched.

Memories flooded in—early mornings, bruised knees, burning lungs, the roar of the crowd, the feel of the stick perfectly balanced in my hands. For a second, my vision blurred.

I almost cried.

But I locked it down.

I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and reminded myself who I was.

I wasn’t the girl who ran anymore.

I was the Queen of Ice.

And this—this rink, this cold, this chaos—was my life now.

“Here they are!” Sierra said, pointing toward a group gathered near the bench, tightening their laces and pulling on helmets, preparing to step onto the ice.

I took a deep breath.

Old fears behind me.

New beginnings ahead.

I noticed the movement before I saw her.

Someone broke away from the group by the bench and ran toward me, skates clutched in her hands, excitement written all over her face. I narrowed my eyes, trying to place her—and then recognition hit me.

“Sara?”

She crashed into me, arms wrapping around my waist like she’d been holding it in for years. I staggered back slightly, laughing as she squeezed me tight and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

“Ice Queen, I missed you!” she said breathlessly. “I never thought I’d see you again!”

My chest tightened at her words.

“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked softly. “How are you?”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, that familiar blush spreading across her face. She laughed nervously and ran her fingers through her hair, just like she used to whenever she was shy or overwhelmed.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” she admitted. “I was already sad.”

I rubbed her arms gently, grounding both of us.

Yes, I had disappointed them. I knew that. I disappeared without explanations, without closure. I left behind people who believed in me, people I had taught, trained, pushed. Sara was one of them. I taught her how to hold a stick properly, how to balance on skates, how to fall and get back up without fear.

But not again.

I wouldn’t run this time.

Sierra led me toward the rest of the group. Some faces were new—sharp eyes, confident stances, players who hadn’t known me then. Others were familiar, older, carrying the same expressions I remembered: respect, curiosity, and a hint of resentment.

Those who recognized me greeted me warmly, some with smiles, some with quiet nods. I caught fragments of whispers, my name passing from mouth to mouth like a rumor reborn.

Sierra clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone,” she announced. “This is the Ice Queen. She’s the one who’s going to lead the game. She’ll also be the one training you all from now on.”

Murmurs rippled through the group. Most nodded in agreement. A few looked impressed. A few looked unsure.

And then—

“Well, I’ve heard stories about her.”

The voice was sharp. High-pitched. Confident.

I raised my eyebrows slightly and turned toward the sound.

A girl stepped forward from the crowd, arms crossed, skates slung over her shoulder. She had that look—talented and aware of it. The kind of player who hated sharing the spotlight.

“She can’t just disappear and reappear again,” the girl continued. “Only to take a place she didn’t work for.”

The rink fell silent.

Every eye shifted between her and me, waiting.

I didn’t flinch.

Instead, I took a slow step forward, meeting her gaze head-on. My heart pounded, but my posture remained steady. Calm. Controlled.

“I didn’t take anyone’s place,” I said evenly. “I earned mine.”

The cold air bit into my skin, but I welcomed it.

“If you think I don’t belong here,” I continued, voice firm, “then prove it on the ice.”

A pause.

Then I smiled—slow, dangerous, familiar.

“Because I didn’t come back to talk. I came back to play.”