Thin Ice

chapter 5

Clare’s POV

Clare didn’t wait to watch him leave. Adrian Peterson had a way of walking into a room and lighting a match to her nerves, then leaving like the fire wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t just his arrogance, or the fact that he skated like a god and acted like a ghost. It was everything about him. The air around him felt like it needed permission to breathe.

Still, when she heard his footsteps echoing down the hallway, part of her tensed automatically. Clare would have been long gone by now, but she was waiting for Bishop.

She kept her eyes fixed on her phone, pretending to scroll through her updated schedule, maybe he would ignore her like always.

Except, it wasn’t Adrian.

“Wow,” a familiar voice drawled behind her. “Didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

She turned slowly, already knowing who it was.

Brian Pierre.

Polished. Smirking. Every inch the wannabe golden boy, now skating with Sasha Lin as though Clare had been a placeholder in his story.

He folded his arms and tilted his head toward the rink. “Skating with Peterson now? Really? I get it. You’re mad I left. But teaming up with him to get under my skin? A little dramatic, don’t you think?” he said.

Her jaw clenched. “This has nothing to do with you.” She fired, barely holding herself together.

He scoffed. “Sure it doesn’t. Come on, Clare. This is business. I made the best choice for my career. There’s no way I would have gone Pro skating with you. You should’ve seen it coming. I can’t be stuck with you forever, I needed someone better.” He said.

She knew that Sasha Lin was better than her and ranked higher, but she had at least expected Brian to finish the season with her, rather than abandon her a day before Nationals qualifiers.

She felt the heat rise in her chest, but he wasn’t done.

“Here’s a tip,” Brian added, stepping closer, lowering his voice just enough.

“Don’t get too comfortable. Adrian Peterson doesn’t care who’s skating beside him as long as they don’t slow him down. You’re not a partner to him, you’re a replacement. Celeste will be back, and when she is, you’ll be right back where you started.” He told her.

Clare’s fingers curled around her phone, tight enough that her knuckles ached. She looked him straight in the eye.

It wasn’t news to her that Celeste would be back, everyone knew that. But until then, Clare intended to make the most of her absence and this opportunity.

She would push harder, skate better, and seize every spotlight. If this was her window, she’d break through it. She’d make damn sure Brian regretted ever rejecting and abandoning her.

“Good,” she said quietly. “Then I’ve got until then to make you regret ever leaving me. I’m Adrian Peterson’s partner, you should know what that means, don’t you? It means I’m f*****g skating with the best!” she spat.

Brian’s smug expression faltered just for a second. He gave a humorless laugh and shook his head.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, confident, self-assured, completely certain that he still lived rent-free in her mind.

Clare stared after him, every inch of her vibrating with fury. He had tossed her aside like she was nothing, and now he thought she was trying to win some petty revenge game?

No. She wasn’t trying to prove anything to him at first. But now?

She was going to bury him.

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to turn away from the hallway where Brian had disappeared. But then she heard footsteps again, steady and unhurried.

Her spine tensed.

For a second, she thought Brian had come back for round two, ready to throw another smug comment over his shoulder.

But no. This wasn’t Brian.

The air changed.

His presence moved like static into the atmosphere, curling around her like invisible wires pulling tight. She could feel it before he even spoke, like the room took a breath and waited for him to fill it.

Adrian.

Of course.

“Still fuming?” His voice was all smooth edge and amusement. “You know your face might freeze like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever take a day off from being insufferable?” Clare mumbled.

Adrian laughed, soft, quiet, infuriating. “It’s part of the package.” He said with a shrug.

She turned her head then, finally meeting his eyes. “Do you ever think before you talk? Or do the words just fall out and hope they land well?” she asked.

He tilted his head, unfazed. “I was just trying to make conversation.” Adrian muttered.

“You don’t try anything. You assume. You walk in, act like you’re doing me some favor by skating with me, like I begged to be here.”

He didn’t flinch, but something in his face tightened, just a flicker that disappeared almost instantly. She noticed it then: his eyes. That deep emerald green, sharp and striking. He wasn’t wearing his contact lenses anymore.

Why had he worn them during the performance but taken them out now?

For a second, the question hovered on her lips, but she let it go. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t her place to ask. Not yet. There were boundaries between them, lines drawn in ice and history, and she wasn’t sure which ones she was ready to cross.

“I didn’t ask for this either, Crawley. Again, don’t flatter yourself.” He muttered.

She folded her arms, biting back the million things she wanted to say. He’d always had this talent of getting under her skin with a few words, making her feel small even when she knew she wasn’t. She hated how fast her blood boiled around him.

He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and grumbled. “See you tomorrow.”

She said nothing. Just stared as he walked away like the argument hadn’t touched him at all.

Clare lingered for a few minutes, half-expecting to feel better after venting, but instead, she felt heavier. Frustrated.

When the text from Bishop came in, she made her way outside the arena and down the sidewalk, turning toward the nearby café where Bishop had parked.

That’s when she heard it: a loud screech of tires.

Her head snapped toward the street, eyes locking onto a sleek red Ferrari stopped at the intersection just beyond the arena’s exit. Horns blared behind it, sharp and frantic. A car had swerved at the last second to avoid a collision, and someone shouted.

But the Ferrari didn’t move.

Her eyes narrowed as she peered through the dim light, and despite the shadows, she recognized the figure behind the wheel. The rays from the oncoming car’s headlights lit up the Ferrari’s interior just enough to confirm what her gut already knew.

Adrian.

She recognized the car too, he was the kind of guy who drove something sleek and expensive enough to park guilt in the glove compartment.

But the way he was sitting there, unmoving, didn’t feel right.

Without thinking, she sprinted across the pavement toward the driver’s side. She banged her hand against the window, her breath coming in short puffs. “Adrian!”

There was no response for a few seconds, then he turned his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite register who she was, like he wasn’t seeing her.

Something was wrong, this wasn’t the Adrian she knew, the one who would tease her at every turn. The one who had just walked out on her in the hallway just now. He turned down his window and blinked at her.

“Adrian!” she repeated in a loud voice. “What the hell are you doing? Move your car!”

He blinked. Several times. Then said, hoarsely, “Clare?”

Her pulse quickened. “Yes, it’s me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she rushed, already scanning his body to be sure. A lot of things ran through her mind. What the hell would happen to her career if he was hurt.

He was quiet for a beat too long, scaring her.

“I… I can’t see,” he finally said.