All Chapters of SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Samantha’s POV I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose like I could squeeze out the frustration. “Unbelievable. Of course he sends you to drag me out. Couldn’t send a manager, couldn’t knock himself, nope… he picks the one person I least want to see right now.” I said.Something flickered in Anthony’s eyes… hurt? Or maybe just tiredness. Hard to tell. “Guess I should be flattered,” he muttered, leaning casually against the doorframe, though the way his jaw flexed gave him away.“Flattered?” I scoffed. “You’re delusional if you think I’d ever…” I bit the words off before they could spiral into something I couldn’t take back.Anthony’s hand stayed firm on the door, steady and unyielding. His voice was calm, almost too calm, like he’d rehearsed it. “Sam, come on. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He muttered.I glared at him, heat rising in my chest, every nerve sparking with annoyance and something I refused to name. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”“I’m not,”

Anthony’s POVThe morning light stabbed through the thin curtains, and I groaned into my pillow. Every inch of my body felt like I’d been steamrolled, flattened, scraped clean, and then run over again for good measure.Muscles I didn’t even know existed screamed the second I tried to move. My shoulders felt like they’d been forged out of lead. My calves? On fire. Even my fingers ached. How the hell did fingers ache?Training camp wasn’t just intense, it was hell. Cole Westwood didn’t believe in “taking it easy.” No. He believed in tearing you down until you cursed every choice that had brought you to this moment, and then grinding you harder until there was nothing left but dust and willpower. He called it discipline. I called it sadism with a whistle.The fact that I wasn’t complaining like Samantha didn’t mean I loved it. Far from it. I hated every second, the endless drills, the bruises, the way my lungs burned after the ice runs. The only difference between her and me was that I

Anthony’s POV The rink smelled of cold ice and metal, sharp and sterile, like the place itself was daring me to slip. The air bit at my skin the moment I stepped inside, a slap of chill that stole the warmth right out of my lungs. My footsteps echoed too loud on the concrete, each one a reminder that I was late by Cole’s standards, even if I’d made it on time by the clock.Samantha was already there. Of course she was.She sat on the bench near the boards, lacing her boots with precise, almost violent motions, like every tug was punishment, on the laces, on herself, on me. Her jaw was clenched so tight I could practically hear her teeth grinding, and her shoulders were stiff, squared like she was gearing up for battle. She didn’t glance my way when I walked up, not even a flicker of acknowledgment.I opened my mouth, instinctively reaching for humor like it was armor. “Wow, early for once… should I be worried?” Something stupid, something to break the ice. But the words withered i

Anthony’s POVThe break room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and lemon cleaner, the kind of scent that clung to the walls no matter how many windows were cracked open. A small TV bolted in the corner was playing a rerun of some cooking competition. The chefs on screen shouted at each other over sizzling pans, but the sound was low, just enough to fill the silence, not enough to distract me.Not that anything could distract me right now.The notecard sat in front of me like a dare. Ten things I was grateful for about Samantha. Ten. I tapped the pen against the table, my knee bouncing under it. I actually thought this was going to be an easy task, but to my wildest surprise, it wasn't. How hard was it to show gratitude? I thought. Think Anthony, I muttered to myself.“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “Easy stuff first.”I pressed the pen down, scribbling the first thing that came to mind.She’s a talented skater.I stared at the words. Simple, true, but it felt… flat. Like I was pho

Anthony’s POVThe night air was crisp, cool enough that the flames licking at the dark sky felt like a warm shield. The bonfire snapped and hissed, the glow painting everything in hues of gold and orange. I shifted in my seat, the rough wood of the log creaking beneath me. Cole sat across from us, already too comfortable, his long legs stretched out toward the fire. Samantha, of course, chose the farthest possible spot from me. She angled her body away, eyes stubbornly fixed on the flames, jaw tight like she was trying to will herself invisible.I tightened my grip on the folded sheet of paper in my hand. Six things. That’s all I’d managed to write. Six lousy things. I had changed some of the things I had written and showed Samantha earlier. The words stared back at me in crooked ink, each one feeling smaller the longer I looked at them. I’d tried to make them sound real, not just filler, but even then they didn’t come close to everything tangled in my chest. How was I supposed to