The Ice Between Us

The ice cracked beneath me. A sharp, splintering sound that shot straight through my chest as I launched into the jump. The arena lights were blinding, hot against my skin, the crowd a blur of faces leaning forward in anticipation. My blades sliced the air as I spun, faster, tighter, the world narrowing to a single point…

Then everything tilted. My balance slipped. My rotation faltered. My stomach dropped. I came down at the wrong angle, my blade catching the ice with a violent scrape. Pain exploded up my leg, white‑hot and immediate. The crowd gasped, one collective inhale that echoed through the rafters as I crashed onto the ice.

My shoulder hit first Then my hip. Then my head bounced lightly against the cold surface. I slid across the rink, helpless, the overhead lights smearing into long streaks of white. My breath caught in my throat. I tried to inhale, but the cold wrapped around me like a fist, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Someone screamed my name. Skates carved toward me. Voices blurred into static. The ceiling spun. The boards spun. Everything spun.

And then, a jolt. A hiss of brakes. A voice cutting through the panic. “Miss? We’re at the station.”

My eyes flew open. The ice vanished. The arena vanished. The pain vanished. All that remained was the weak air conditioning of the bus blowing against my cheek and the thundering of my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest.

I blinked hard, forcing the lingering shards of the fall to dissolve. Outside the window, a familiar sign slid into view:

Welcome to Silver Ridge — Home of the Silver Wolves.

Home. The word felt foreign on my tongue. Passengers shuffled around me, grabbing bags and stretching stiff legs. I pulled my duffel into my lap, fingers trembling just enough to annoy me. The fall always felt too real, like my body hadn’t figured out it was over.

I stood, slinging the bag over my shoulder, and stepped off the bus into crisp early‑spring air. The station looked exactly the same: the old brick building, the flickering streetlamp, the vending machine that probably still ate quarters.

And there he was. My dad stood beside his truck, hands shoved in his coat pockets, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on me. His whole face lit up. “Lena!” He crossed the pavement in a few long strides and wrapped me in a hug that squeezed the breath right out of me. He smelled like cedar, coffee, and home.

“Hi, Dad,” I murmured into his jacket.

He pulled back, studying me with that quiet, worried look he thought he hid well. “Long trip?”

“Long enough.”

He didn’t push. He just took my bag like it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door for me. As we drove through Silver Ridge, past the diner, the high school, the frozen pond where kids still skated after school, I felt the weight of everything I’d left behind settle over me.

The rink was only a few blocks away. I didn’t look at it. Not yet. Dad glanced at me. “We’re glad you’re home, sweetheart.”

I nodded, staring out the window. “Yeah. Me too.”

But the truth sat heavy in my chest. I wasn’t just coming home to heal. I wasn’t just coming home to train. I was coming home to the ice that broke me… and to the boy who once knew me better than anyone.

The loud one. The bold one. The one I wasn’t ready to face.

Evan Hart.

And in a town as small as Silver Ridge, avoiding him would be impossible.