Chapter 9: Uninvited Thoughts
912 Words
Anya's POV
We were back home from the Wilders', and Jace's words seemed to amplify in my head the more I tried to ignore them.
"You're beautiful."
The words were a grenade lodged in my ribcage, ticking louder with every heartbeat. I glared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, the new layers of my hair mocking me. Soft, the stylist had called them. Framing your face.
Pathetic.
I splashed cold water on my cheeks, but it didn't erase the memory of Jace's gaze dragging over my dress, the way his voice had dropped to a rough murmur. Like he meant it.
"Nyet," I hissed, twisting the faucet until it shrieked. Hockey players didn't mean things.
They chirped, they smirked, they collected notches on their sticks.
Yet here I was, 3:47 AM, wide awake and itching to sprint until my lungs burned anything to outrun the phantom heat of his hands on my waist.
Jace's POV
Jesus f*ck*ng Christ.
I'd seen Anastasiya Volkova exactly three times:
1. At the rink, glaring daggers through the glass.
2. In my car, flipping me off like I'd personally offended her ancestors.
3. Tonight.
Tonight.
The moment she'd stepped into the foyer, that emerald dress clinging to her like liquid, her hair braided but with those damn wispy pieces escaping I'd forgotten how to breathe. Nikolai had elbowed me so hard I'd coughed up my whiskey.
"Eyes off, Wilder."
If only it were that easy.
Then the rink. *God*, the rink. She'd been all fire and fragility, her body trembling but her chin high. And when she'd stumbled when I'd caught her, her hips pressed against mine, her breath hitching, I'd said it without thinking.
You're beautiful.
Not pretty, not hot. Beautiful. Like the goddamn sunrise after an all-night bender.
Now, back in my room, I chucked my phone onto the bed. Nikolai's last text glared up at me:
Stop asking about her. It's weird.
I wasn't asking. I was... gathering intel. A captain scouting the competition.
Liar.
The truth? I'd memorized the way her pulse jumped in her throat when she was pissed. The way she'd hissed "I hate you" through clenched teeth, like she was trying to convince herself.
And the worst part?
I wanted her to say it again.
Anya's POV
The ice cream parlor was blissfully empty. "Double fudge, extra sprinkles," I told the cashier. Comfort food for a crisis.
"Anya?"
I turned. Mateo. The Starbucks guy, now holding two waffle cones. His grin was unfairly bright for 11 AM.
"You do eat sugar," he said, nodding at my order. "I was starting to think you were a robot."
I scowled. "Robots don't sprain ankles."
"Ouch." He slid into the booth across from me. "So, you're really starting at Linden next month?"
I stiffened. "How did you"
"School paper. They're doing a feature on 'notable transfers.' He rolled his eyes. "Mostly hockey recruits. But Nikolai's sister? That's headline news."
I stabbed my spoon into the ice cream. "I'm not a headline."
"Tell that to Jace Wilder."
My head snapped up. "What?"
Mateo blinked. "Uh... he's team captain? You've met him, right?"
Oh. Not what I'd feared. I forced a shrug. "Briefly."
"Well, he's got this thing about new students skating on the pond behind campus. Acts like he owns the ice." Mateo leaned in. "But between us? It's the best spot for freestyle. Thin ice, no coaches breathing down your neck."
A pond. Real ice. My fingers twitched around the spoon.
"I'm there most evenings," he added casually. "If you ever want to..."
No. Too risky. Too soon.
But my traitorous mouth said, "What time?"
Jace's POV
My phone buzzed. A text from Coach:Scrimmage at 7. Don't be late.
I ignored it, scrolling back to the photo I'd taken at dinner Anya bathed in candlelight, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. I'd snapped it like a stalker, half-hoping Nikolai would tackle me just so I'd have an excuse to punch something.
The doorbell rang.
"Wilder!" Nikolai's voice boomed through the house. "We're going to"
I shoved my phone under the pillow as he barged in, already in his gear.
"the rink. Now. You're buying me lunch first." He tossed a hockey stick at my head. "And wipe that stupid look off your face."
"What look?"
"The one you get when you're thinking about" He froze. Narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Were you just smiling at your phone?"
Shit. "Trade offers."
"Bullshit." He lunged for the pillow.
I body-checked him into the wall. "Scrimmage, remember? Move your ass.
He groaned but let it drop. For now.
Anya's POV
My phone buzzed as I left the parlor. A new DM from an unknown account.
Unknown:Missed you at Nationals. Let's catch up. 😘
Attached: A photo of Anton, his arm around Irina... in front of my old rink in Moscow.
The caption:
"Some things don't change."
Ice cream soured in my stomach.
That sly b*tch. I hated that I felt jealous. For the first time, I allowed myself to feel the pain of betrayal not just the pain of being unable to skate.
Maybe it was my fault. I'd been too focused on my career to maintain a relationship. I hadn't even noticed when it slipped through my fingers.
If Anton wasn't meant to be mine, then he simply wasn't. If there was any compensation, my body might be too weak to skate but my brain and heart still knew how to skate without fail.
- Writer
