CHAPTER 2

BLADES & BREAKAWAYS

Chapter 2: Ice & Fire

Blake Sinclair's POV

I should have said no to this.

I should have fought harder, argued more, done anything to get out of this ridiculous situation.

Instead, I was now standing on the ice, watching Ryker Hayes attempt to execute something as simple as a crossover without looking like he was about to take someone's head off.

"You're stiff as a rock," I said, arms crossed as I skated in lazy circles around him. "Loosen up."

Ryker shot me a glare. "I'm plenty loose."

"Yeah? Because right now, you're moving like a refrigerator with skates."

He muttered something under his breath, probably an insult, but I couldn't hear it over the sound of him clumsily scraping across the ice.

I sighed. "Look, hockey and figure skating aren't the same. You might be fast, but footwork in figure skating is about control, not just power."

Ryker exhaled through his nose, clearly frustrated. "Yeah, well, in hockey, control comes from instinct. I don't have time to think about every little step."

I skated up beside him, barely suppressing my smirk. "And yet, here you are, struggling with the basics."

His jaw clenched. "You enjoying this?"

"A little."

He turned sharply, probably to glare at me again, except his skate caught the wrong angle, and before I could process what was happening, he was tilting dangerously backward.

I reacted without thinking.

One second, he was falling. The next, I had grabbed onto his arm, stopping him inches before he hit the ice.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

His hand had gripped onto my waist for balance, his broad frame towering over me, and suddenly, the air felt too thick. Too charged.

Ryker let out a slow breath. "Guess I owe you one."

I swallowed, ignoring the strange way my chest tightened. "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to break your neck before the actual event."

He steadied himself, muttering something under his breath, and I forced myself to look away.

This was nothing. Just a moment. That's all.

The next hour was painful.

Ryker was good on the ice-for a hockey player. He had speed, strength, and power, but when it came to the precision required for figure skating, he was struggling.

And he absolutely hated struggling.

"Your posture is off," I said as he attempted a turn.

"I'm doing the damn turn."

"Yeah, but you look like you're about to body-check the air while doing it."

Ryker groaned, running a hand down his face before skating back to the starting position.

I watched him try again, this time managing the turn without nearly toppling over, but I could see the frustration in his expression.

"You're not used to being bad at something, are you?" I asked, skating up beside him.

He exhaled sharply. "I don't have time to be bad at things."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds exhausting."

Ryker didn't respond.

I studied him for a moment. The tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was locked tight, the restless energy radiating off of him like he was fighting something more than just his lack of technique.

Before I could say anything, my knee suddenly buckled.

Pain shot through my leg, sharp and unforgiving, and I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling-

But then Ryker was there.

His hands gripped my arms, steadying me before I could hit the ice.

"Whoa," he muttered. "You good?"

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding for reasons I didn't want to think about.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, straightening up and stepping out of his hold.

His eyes flickered to my knee, skeptical. "Sure about that?"

I forced a smirk. "Worried about me, bruiser?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hardly."

But he was still watching me, like he didn't quite believe my answer.

I ignored the way my stomach twisted at that.

I wasn't used to people noticing when something was wrong.

By the end of practice, we were both exhausted, but I wasn't done yet.

I skated up to Ryker, stopping just inches away. He looked at me, wary.

"What?" he asked.

I tilted my head. "You're scared of something."

He frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms. "It's not just the ice. It's something else."

For a split second, something flashed in his expression. Something guarded. Defensive.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, turning away.

I didn't let him escape that easily.

I skated in front of him again. "You act like you're this unshakable force, like nothing fazes you. But I see it, Ryker. There's something you're afraid of."

His jaw clenched. "You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But I know what fear looks like."

He stiffened.

For a moment, we just stood there. The cold air between us, the unspoken challenge hanging in the space where words should be.

Then he exhaled, shaking his head. "You overthink too much, Sinclair."

"And you avoid too much, Hayes."

A beat of silence.

Then, to my absolute surprise, he smirked.

"Guess that makes us even," he said before skating off.

I watched him go, my pulse uneven, my thoughts tangled.

Even?

Not even close.

Because for some reason, Ryker Hayes was starting to get under my skin.

And I had no idea what to do about it.