Thin Ice

chapter 4

Clare’s POV

They moved into their positions, and the music started. It was a classical remix, sharp violins with layered percussion. Fast, dramatic, difficult. Perfect for Adrian’s bold style.

She did her best to keep up, to meet his momentum. But every time she matched his movement, he changed it. Every time she found the rhythm, he pushed faster.

Halfway through the sequence, he grabbed her for the first lift and spun them hard before lowering her abruptly. The landing was sloppy, and her foot scraped the ice. She winced.

Adrian skated back, unimpressed. “You’re going to need to adjust your center of gravity. I can’t do all the work.” He muttered.

Clare skated forward and got in his face. “Maybe if you stopped changing the counts mid-routine, I f*****g wouldn’t be improvising every five seconds! What the f**k is wrong with you!” she fired.

His voice dropped cold. “Then don’t improvise. Learn faster.” He retorted.

The next lift was worse. His timing was off, his grip too rough. When he set her down, she stumbled slightly and glared at him.

Clare narrowed her eyes, irritation rising, but then something caught her attention. Adrian wasn’t just frustrated. He looked… disoriented.

He blinked several times, eyes squinting against the overhead lights like they were too bright. His jaw clenched, but his gaze didn’t quite settle. It was like he was trying to focus, trying to see her, and failing.

“You’re impossible,” she snapped.

Adrian didn’t even blink as he turned to face her. “And you’re slow.” He retorted.

Clare threw her arms up. “Why did you even agree to this if you were just going to treat me like garbage?” she mumbled. She was not expecting him to hear her, but he did.

He skated close, eyes narrowing. “Because I’d rather skate with someone I don’t like than miss a competition. Don’t flatter yourself.” He told her.

Her heart punched against her ribs. The sting of his words went deeper than she wanted to admit.

But before she could answer, the door opened again, and another photographer appeared. Landon stepped in behind him, giving them a tight nod.

“They want a few practice shots,” he said low. “Just pretend that we’re not here.”

Adrian hummed and turned to Clare. His expression shifted instantly, professional, neutral, charming. He extended a hand. “From the lift?”

Clare swallowed the anger rising in her throat and placed her hand in his.

They skated again, performing a polished piece of the routine for the cameras. This time, their bodies moved in perfect harmony, no matter how tense the silence between them. They lifted, spun, dipped. The cameras clicked. Smiles were forced. Words unsaid.

After twenty minutes, the photographers left.

As soon as the door closed, Adrian released her and skated a few feet away.

“Be ready for tonight,” he said without looking back.

“That’s it?” she asked, her voice clipped.

He paused at the rink’s edge, then turned back to face her.

“I don’t have time to coddle you, Crawley. We both know this isn’t permanent. Do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.” She sassed.

He tilted his head. “I’m not reminding you. I’m protecting you. Don’t get comfortable.” He said.

And with that, he stepped off the ice and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the center of the rink, breathless and burning.

If this was their idea of rehearsal; forty minutes of smiling for the cameras, ten of bickering like toddlers, and a desperate ten trying to find their rhythm and not trip over each other, then they were probably doomed before they even stepped onto the rink.

Hell, why not skip Nationals and head straight for public humiliation?

The arena buzzed with energy that night. Lights danced along the walls. Music played faintly through the speakers. Fans filled the seats in coats and scarves, clutching programs and holding Frostbrook university signs.

It was totally different from the way it was that morning and might she add overwhelming.

Clare adjusted the straps on her costume, exhaling slowly as Bishop handed her a water bottle.

“You’ve got this,” he said.

She nodded, jaw tight. Nerves coiled in her stomach, sharp and relentless.

She knew that Frostbrook Arena always sold out their tickets during a figure skating performance, but it had been a long time since this many people had shown up to watch her skate… scratch that, they weren’t here for her at all.

The stands were packed to the brim, spilling over with noise and excitement, and if the sea of “Adrian’s” banners and chants were anything to go by, she was just the girl standing next to the main event.

Adrian appeared beside her, already in position, expression unreadable as usual. No pep talk. No eye contact. Just cold precision.

They waited by the edge of the rink as the announcer called their names.

“Next up, Adrian Peterson and Clare Crawley!”

A loud round of applause erupted. Clare blinked, surprised. For a new pairing, the crowd was surprisingly excited. Of course, it had nothing to do with her.

They stepped onto the ice.

The lights dimmed.

The music started.

But just before they took their opening position, her eyes caught a glimpse of something unexpected, the faint shimmer of a contact lens in Adrian’s eye. He was wearing them.

That alone startled her more than the crowd. He never wore them during rehearsal and as far as she knew. It meant he needed full vision for this performance. It meant he was all in.

And suddenly, so was she.

Something changed then.

From the first movement, their bodies clicked. The rhythm was sharp, dangerous, elegant. Adrian’s strength matched Clare’s grace. Every step, every glide, every lift felt like a statement. She forgot the cameras. Forgot the past. Forgot the pain.

She flew.

Their blades carved poetry into the ice, slicing through tension and years of silence. The routine moved through its peak; speed, precision, power, twisting into delicate footwork that demanded nothing short of trust.

He caught her in a backward lift, spun her with a force that stole her breath, then grounded them both with a sweep that made the audience gasp.

She could feel the applause building in their rhythm, like the audience had already decided this wasn’t just good, it was unforgettable.

When he lifted her into the final spin, the world blurred. She trusted him, just for that second. And he didn’t let her fall.

The music ended. Silence.

Then, thunderous applause.

Clare landed with both feet on the ground, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her heart swelled, not just with adrenaline but something sweeter.

Pride. Hope.

Adrian nodded politely to the crowd, skated them off the ice, then stepped away before she could speak.

She turned to him, smiling. “That went…” she started, but he sharply cut her off.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re not staying.”

And just like that, he walked off again.

Leaving her in the tunnel.

Staring after him.