Love On Thin Ice

NATALIA'S POV

The slow, steady beeping of a life-support machine filled the room. It was the only sound I could hear clearly. Everything else felt distant and distorted, like scattered voices coming through a broken radio.

I slowly opened my eyes. At first, everything was a blur. A figure stood beside me. A doctor in a white coat, a stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. He was staring down at me, his expression unreadable.

I blinked several times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. My vision was still hazy, but little by little, the room began to come into focus.

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my entire body, forcing a small groan from my lips.

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice weak and unclear.

“Oh! You’re awake, Natalia,” the doctor sounded shocked. “You're in the hospital. You were brought in after a severe accident at the ice rink.” The Doctor replied.

“Wait, what?” My heart started pounding. I pushed myself up despite the pain, gripping the bedsheet as I struggled to sit upright. My body felt so heavy. But then I looked down and froze. Both of my legs were covered in thick bandages. I tried to move them, but they wouldn’t respond. I tried again, my breathing becoming heavier. Nothing. I stared at my legs in disbelief, panic slowly taking over me.

“Why can’t I move my legs?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Natalia. I tried everything I could." The doctor’s voice went soft, almost hesitant. "But the good thing is, you're alive. That's what's important. The city of Los Angeles almost lost you. Our golden girl—"

"You’re not answering me, Doctor." I snapped, cutting in. My voice rising as panic and anger took over. "What happened to my legs?"

The doctor fell silent. For a few seconds, he just stood there, staring at me. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he was trying to find the right words.

“Natalia, the damage to your legs is extensive. Even with rehabilitation, you won't be able to return to competitive skating.”

I stared at him, let out a quick smirk that sounded like a chuckle. "What did you say?"

My voice cracked. Tears immediately filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks and dripping from my chin.

"Until when?" I whispered, desperately hoping I had misunderstood him. "How long, doctor?"

The doctor looked away. "Forever." He replied.

The word hit me harder than any injury ever could.

"No..." I shook my head, my breathing becoming uneven. "That's not possible doctor, no. Ice skating is my life-"

"Your bones are badly damaged," he interrupted gently. "You hit your legs against the wall of the rink with so much force that several bones were fractured. Some of the damage is severe."

I stared at him in disbelief, waiting for him to tell me he was joking.

He didn't. He wasn't joking. It was real. This is real. Is my life over? I thought.

"As a matter of fact, you may need crutches for the rest of your life." The doctor continued. "You won't be allowed to run, move too quickly, or put too much pressure on your legs. And skating..." He paused, his voice dropping. "You can never skate again."

My chest tightened.

"No!." I shook my head harder, tears pouring freely now. "No, you're wrong. You have to be wrong. I've spent twenty years of my life ice skating." I cried, collapsing back to the bed with my hands on my face.

"I'm sorry, Natalia." The doctor sympathised. He turned and walked out, leaving the door to close quietly behind him.

I sat there frozen, staring at nothing. Ice skating was everything to me. It wasn't just something I did. It was who I was. My signature And now, in a matter of minutes, it has been taken away from me forever.

The months that followed were a blur of surgeries, rehabilitation, sleepless nights, and newspaper headlines announcing the end of my career. When everyone else moved on, I had to find a way to live with the life I'd been left with.

That's how I ended up at the publishing company.

On the break room TV, I watched my stepsister land a perfect triple jump. My signature move. The exact jump I was doing the night I crashed into the rink wall. She smiled at the cameras and bowed, soaking up the applause that used to be mine. I could swear she was responsible for my accident. She and her mother had stolen everything from me. My father, my popularity, my dreams, even my legs. And every day, I tried not to let the failure of my new life drag me back into the past. But somehow, it only got worse.

* * *

“Natalia!”

My boss screamed my name from her office as she stormed toward me, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her name was Linda. She was a no-nonsense woman who barely smiled. Her deep, booming voice could echo through every corner of the building.

“Where are the reports on your sister’s ice-skating performance? The ones you were supposed to write and submit for review before publishing?” she demanded.

“Uh... um, I—” I stammered, rubbing the back of my head as I struggled to find an answer.

“You're fired. Clear your desk.” Linda said.

My mouth fell open instantly. Linda turned and marched back toward her office without another word.

“Come on, Linda. I'm sorry. You can't do this. You can't fire me.”

"Well, I just did" She replied coldly.

"Linda, wait! Please. I called out, grabbing my cane off the desk. I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain in my legs, and limped after her as fast as I could.

She spun around and glared at me as she settled into her office desk.

“I've worked for this company for six years, Linda,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “If anything, I should be getting promoted, not fired-”

“Promoted?” Linda cut in, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “For what, exactly? All you do is come to work and sleep. For the past three years, you haven't given me a single proper report. Not even the ones about your own sister.”

“It's more complicated than you think, Linda.”

“Then give me one good reason I shouldn't fire you.” Linda folded her arms, staring at me.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was I supposed to say? That I couldn't write about my stepsister because every time I saw her on the ice, I remembered the life I'd lost? That watching her skate felt like watching someone else live the life that was stolen from me? How was I supposed to write a good article about my worst enemy when I could barely stand to look at her?

“Just give me one more chance, Linda. Please.” I begged. “I can write an article about anyone else. It doesn’t have to be my sister.”

“Listen to me, Natalia Brooks.” Linda’s voice was firm. “I hired you six years ago because you claimed you knew everything there was to know about sports. And time and time again, you proved yourself. But lately, I have no idea what’s going on with you.”

She paused, her expression hardening.

“This is a sports publishing company. We rely on famous athletes to make sales, and right now, if you want to keep your job, you need to write an article about Daniel Prescott.”

“Daniel who?” I asked, genuinely confused.

Linda shot me a warning glare.

“You have six months to complete this project. If you don’t, hand in your badge and clear your desk. Now, get out.”

I stood there for a moment, completely stunned.

Then I slowly turned and walked back to my desk, feeling like all the energy had been drained out of me.

“What?” Christopher exclaimed the moment I told him what Linda had said.

“Daniel Prescott?” Christopher stared at me as if I'd just asked who the president was. “You seriously don't know who he is?”

“Should I?”

“He's the Prescott heir. The hockey player. His family owns half the sports businesses in this city.”

“And apparently every woman in Los Angeles is in love with him. He's so dreamy. Honestly, I think he's the most handsome man in the city.”

Christopher rolled his eyes. “The point is, nobody gets close to Daniel Prescott. Not journalists. Not fans. Nobody. Look, if I were you, I’d just give up,” he said. “Linda knows this is impossible. She’s probably just looking for an excuse to fire you.”

I leaned back in my chair and let out a tired sigh.

“Thanks for the tip, guys, but I can handle it from here.”

I took a stroll to the Prescott Hockey Arena to begin the publication Linda had assigned me. Luckily, when I got there, I found the hockey players rehearsing on the rink.

With my walking stick in hand, I slowly made my way toward the stands and managed to find a seat. But just as I was about to sit down, something struck me hard on the head.

A sharp thud sent me stumbling forward, and I almost lost my balance.

I looked down and saw a hockey puck lying on the floor. I picked it up, rubbing the spot on my head where it had hit me.

"It—it must have..." I stammered, staring toward the team on the rink.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted me."Hey, stranger!"

I turned around, and there he was. Daniel Prescott.

It was my first time seeing him in person since Christopher had shown me his picture via the internet.

"Stranger?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. I was the one who hit you with the puck. It was a mistake." Daniel was slightly out of breath as he approached me.

"A mistake?" I snapped. "You apologized, so that's supposed to make everything okay? You hit someone in the head and expect me to just overlook it because you're some rich, popular athlete the whole city adores?"

"I said I'm sorry, okay. It was a mistake." he barked, his expression hardening. "Do you have a problem with me? Have we met before?"

"Sorry isn't enough. You should be more mindful of how you play. You can't just swing a puck around without caring who might get hurt."

"Okay, that's enough." His voice turned cold. "Get out of my arena, or I'll have security throw you out."

I stared at him in disbelief. For a moment, I couldn't even find the words to respond.

Then I felt the eyes of everyone around us. People were staring, whispering, watching as though I were the one who had caused the scene.

Humiliation burned through me. I tightened my grip around my walking stick and glared at Daniel with every ounce of disgust I could muster. But before I could say another word, his security team approached and escorted me out of the arena.

That was the day my hatred for Daniel Prescott began.