Thin Ice

chapter 2

Clare’s POV

Frostbrook University Arena was nothing short of legendary. The pristine white complex gleamed under the afternoon sun, towering like a fortress of ice royalty.

The top teams trained here, and they were the best of the best. Clare had only skated here once, years ago, for a friendly competition with one of Frostbrook’s junior teams during her first year.

Even then, she had felt like an outsider who couldn’t level up to their excellence and standard. They were that good.

Now, stepping through the main doors with Bishop by her side, it felt even more surreal.

They were greeted by a sharply dressed man with a headset and a clipboard, clearly someone from the university’s coaching team.

“Mr. Bishop? Ms. Crawley? Right this way,” he said without so much as sparing them a glance.

They followed the man as he led them down a glass corridor overlooking the rink, where another pair was practicing, their blades slicing effortlessly across the ice.

Clare couldn’t look for too long. It hurt. She wanted to be out there.

They stopped outside an office marked “Executive Room, Private.” The man knocked once before opening it slowly and peeking inside.

“Mr. Storm is not inside yet, but you can wait in here. He’ll be joining you shortly,” the man told them without a care in the world before walking in the opposite direction.

Clare sighed at the lack of hospitality and stepped inside. The office was modern and cold, with minimalist furniture and a giant window overlooking the ice. There was only one chair, so she stayed standing while Bishop chose to sit.

They waited.

Five minutes turned into fifteen.

Then twenty.

At one point, Bishop stood up from the chair and paced the length of the office.

Clare crossed her arms, her nerves tightening with each tick of the clock as they waited.

She wondered why they were being kept waiting for so long. Already fed up after thirty minutes, she scoffed.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she mumbled. “Maybe they found someone else.”

Bishop opened his mouth to say something, but then the door opened.

And her world stopped.

Adrian Peterson walked in, effortlessly composed, dressed in his black and silver training clothes like the Ice King he was.

Behind him trailed another man, taller and a bit older, whose face made it clear that he’d rather be anywhere else than in a room with them, trying to save her career.

The room shrank.

Her breath caught.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t happening.

Adrian Peterson. Three-time world champion. Media darling. The nation’s heartthrob. Heartbreaker on and off the ice. And the man who had kissed her once eight years ago before shattering her with one careless comment.

He stopped a few steps inside, glancing at her with unreadable eyes. There was no warmth, or recognition. As if she were a stranger to him.

“Bishop! It’s been a long while,” the man behind Adrian said, crossing over to exchange a brief handshake with her agent.

“Yeah, Landon. This is Clare Crawley, the skater I told you about,” Bishop said simply, his tone flat as he gestured toward her.

Landon looked at her briefly and sighed. “There’s not much to know about her online,” he started to say, but she tuned him out.

When Bishop had told her they were going to Frostbrook University to meet with them, she had expected another skater, not Adrian Peterson.

Out of all the eight pairs they had, it had to be him.

Clare’s legs moved before her mind did. “I can’t do this,” she snapped, spinning toward the door.

“Clare!” Bishop called after her, chasing her into the hallway.

She turned on him, fire flashing through her chest. “You didn’t tell me it was him,” she shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of shock and fury.

Her hands trembled at her sides, balled into fists she could barely control. “You let me walk into that room blind!” she added.

Bishop stopped, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t know until five minutes ago. His agent kept it quiet until I texted. I swear,” he muttered.

“You still should’ve warned me,” she snapped. “Of all the damn skaters on the planet, him? You knew what happened, Bishop. You knew.”

He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think it’d matter anymore. That was years ago. I thought maybe you could handle it,” he said quietly.

She laughed bitterly. “Handle it? You’re asking me to team up with the guy who humiliated me in front of a full rink and acted like I didn’t exist afterward. I kissed him, Bishop. I was fifteen, and he made me believe I was something… I don’t know… real to him. Then he ghosted me like I was some rookie crush,” Clare spat.

Bishop looked away, his jaw clenched.

“This isn’t some professional pairing,” she continued, her voice low and sharp. “It’s personal. You’ve just thrown me into a fire I thought I’d already survived.”

“Clare…” He stepped toward her, gentler now. “You don’t have to like it. But you do have to decide. Because, like I said, you need this, and it is a temporary opening.”

“I can’t skate with him, Bishop. I won’t.”

“You promised,” he said firmly. “You said you’d go all in. And I put my reputation on the line for you. Your words, Clare.”

Was he trying to guilt-trip her? She had made that promise without knowing who it was. Now she did.

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

“I get it. You have history. But you’re not here for friendship or romance. You’re here because you want to stay in the game. Your past with Adrian Peterson doesn’t matter. This is an opportunity, Clare. You blink, someone else takes it,” Bishop reminded her.

Her lips trembled. “I don’t trust him,” she mumbled, already losing her case.

He shrugged. “You don’t have to trust him. You just have to skate.”

His voice softened.

“Clare… he’s Adrian Peterson. Even one month with him could change your whole career. Could give you a guaranteed pass to Olympics. People train their whole lives for a tenth of the exposure he brings.”

She bit her lower lip and looked away.

“This is temporary until you can find a permanent fix. He doesn’t have to like you. You don’t have to like him either. But he can give you the spotlight you’ve been chasing since you were twelve. Are you really going to throw that away?” Bishop said, staring straight into her eyes.

Silence.

She stood there, breathing hard, staring past him as the sting of her past collided with the uncertainty of her future.

And the worst part?

He was right.

She hated him for being right again.

After a long moment, she nodded, and they walked back into the office.

Adrian stood by the window, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, the late afternoon light casting a sharp line across his jaw. He still looked as handsome and arrogant as a f*****g Greek god.

He spoke without turning, his tone smooth and filled with quiet authority, the kind that didn’t need volume to dominate a room.

“If you’re not quick on your feet, don’t waste my time. I’m not here to train anyone.”

Clare froze in the doorway, the heat rising in her chest like a slow burn.

“This is also temporary. I heard that you’re looking for a permanent partner, so we can help each other for now,” he added, still facing the glass. “You leave once Celeste is back. That’s the deal.”

Then, finally, he turned to her. His eyes met hers, cool and expressionless, as if he were seeing a stranger.

No flicker of recognition.

No hint of their past.

Just ice.

Didn’t he remember her at all? Clare thought.

“I’m not looking for a partner,” Adrian said flatly. “I’m looking for a stand-in.”

And in that moment, every bruise to her pride felt fresh again.

Then, without another word, he walked out, leaving her frozen in place.

Clare stared at the door long after it shut, her heart pounding in the echo of silence. Maybe she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Or maybe…

The biggest leap.