Breaking the Ice

18| Lines Blured

Aiden

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes across the sheets as I stared up at the ceiling. My mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, mostly centered around Andrea—the way she laughed as we joked in the truck, the warmth of her smile, the ease that had started to grow between us. It all replayed like a film reel in my head, each moment more vivid than the last. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to shake off the thoughts that kept clinging, uninvited.

Things were changing between us, and I knew it. But I reminded myself of what truly mattered: the Snowpoint Winter Classic was fast approaching, and Andrea needed me to be her coach first. Whatever feelings were bubbling beneath the surface, they'd have to wait. This was about her success and her performance. I couldn't afford to be distracted.

"Focus, Aiden," I muttered, swinging my legs over the bed.

After my usual morning routine, I drove to the rink, arriving early, hoping the quiet would help me clear my head. The place was empty, the chill of the ice permeating the air, sharp and invigorating. Stepping onto the ice, I felt that familiar surge of energy as I pushed off, gliding across the smooth, untouched surface, each stroke bringing a slight rush of cold air against my skin. The rink was silent except for the crisp scrape of my blades against the ice, a sound that had always grounded me. This routine had been second nature to me for years, something ingrained—part of who I was.

Though I'd been sidelined since July, that familiar ache in my chest returned, and it wasn't just physical. Being on the ice had always been the one place where everything else faded, where I felt unstoppable. The injury had taken that away in a matter of seconds. But today, just moving over the ice, feeling its give, made me want to push a little more, to test the limits I'd been so carefully minding.

I tried not to think about it—the injury, the early-morning rehab sessions, the painstaking months of progress—but the feeling stayed with me, the drive still burning. As I carved out another clean stroke, I couldn't shake the thought that all I wanted was to be back out there for real, to lace up for something more than a warm-up before Andrea's practice. But I knew I had to push those thoughts away, for her sake. Today was about her progress, and her performance. I had to make sure she was ready, even if being on the sidelines wasn't where I wanted to be.

By the time I was finishing up, Andrea walked in, her arrival hard to miss. She moved with her usual confidence, but there was something different about her today—a certain lightness that seemed to brighten the space around her. She wore a dark olive-green sweater that fit her like it was made for her, highlighting her form just enough, paired with a loosely draped plaid scarf and fitted black jeans that tapered smoothly into her high-top sneakers.

Her hair was swept back into a sleek ponytail, but a few wisps escaped, framing her face and drawing attention to the warmth of her skin, a shade that held a soft glow, like sunlight filtered through autumn leaves. I realized, not for the first time, how her complexion had a warmth I was only now noticing more often. It was subtle, like the faint hint of gold at dusk, adding an understated richness that made her look both grounded and striking. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold outside, lending her an easy, casual elegance that made it difficult not to notice her.

I forced myself to look away, to focus on my role as her coach, but the impression lingered—Andrea was here, ready to work, but with a presence that had become impossible to ignore.

Andrea gave me a small nod before heading toward the locker rooms, her skates slung over her shoulder and her duffle bag in hand. I watched her retreating figure, the olive-green sweater and plaid scarf disappear around the corner. I turned back to the rink, breathing in the cold air, and took a few more glides over the ice, settling into the focus I needed for today's session.