Val's pov
You'd think a shared rink would come with boundaries.
Like, I don't know—lines? A curtain? A neon sign that said "FIGURE SKATERS THIS WAY, OVERCOMPENSATING HOCKEY BOYS THAT WAY"?
But no.
Instead, I got testosterone with skates and a stick—otherwise known as Theodore Dodge and his squad of overly loud puck chasers.
I laced my skates tighter, pulling until the leather bit into my ankle. The chill from the rink snuck under my sleeves, but I liked it. The cold was quiet. Honest. Unlike the chaotic mess happening on the other end of the ice.
"Oi, Valentina!"
His voice cut through the air like a slapshot.
Theo Dodge.
He skated backward in my direction, hair helmet-mussed, smug smile in place like he was born with it. He stopped right at the imaginary halfway point—just far enough to not be technically "on my side," but close enough to irritate me.
"You're flaring your foot too much on your loop jumps. Gonna wipe out in front of the judges and cry again?"
He said it with that signature half-laugh, half-insult tone that made me want to throw my blade guards at his face.
"Thanks for the tip, Coach Dodge," I said coolly. "Let me know when you learn how to skate without looking like a malfunctioning wind-up toy."
Behind him, Avinav barked a laugh and gave me a salute. He was the only tolerable one of the bunch. Still annoying, but at least he didn't try to mansplain my own sport to me.
Theo smirked. "Come on, Deluca. Don't pretend you don't love the attention."
I skated past him, sharp and clean, my shoulder brushing his just enough to feel the tension between us flicker like static. "When I want attention, Dodge, I'll wear something sparkly and win a medal. You wouldn't recognize either."
He let out a low whistle. "Ouch."
But he didn't follow me.
He never crossed the line. Not literally. Not yet.
I took my position near the far end of the rink, inhaling through my nose, ignoring the loud thuds and chaotic shouts behind me. I closed my eyes. The music in my head had already started.
Spins. Clean. Sharp. I needed to be perfect. Not for the judges.
Not even for myself.
For him.
My father's voice, ever-present, echoed somewhere in the dark corners of my mind.
> "Focus, Valentina. Distraction is failure. Emotions are weakness."
And God forbid I ever spoke to a boy without it becoming an interrogation.
But even as I leapt into my routine, even as the ice became my world again, I felt Theo's eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.
Maybe it was hate.
Or maybe it was something worse.