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STARLA

The world fell away as I launched into my triple axel. Three and a half rotations in the air, my body a tight pencil spinning through space. For that suspended moment, there was nothing but the whistle of cold air against my face, the perfect control of every muscle. Then my blade struck the ice with a satisfying slice, and I extended my free leg behind me in a flawless landing.

Perfection.

My lungs burned from exertion as I transitioned into a camel spin, my body parallel to the ice, one leg extended straight behind me. I held the position with practiced precision, counting silently in my head. One, two, three... The familiar rhythm of my routine was as comforting as it was demanding.

"Beautiful extension, Starla!" Coach Vivian called from the boards. "Now into the step sequence!"

I flowed into the intricate footwork that had taken months to master, each edge clean, each turn exact. The Denver Olympic Training Center's massive arena was empty except for Vivian and me, our early morning sessions a sacred ritual I'd maintained for years. The ice was freshly resurfaced, gleaming under the harsh lights, offering the perfect canvas for my art.

This was my sanctuary. My battlefield. My everything.

When I finally struck my ending pose—right arm extended toward the ceiling, left arm wrapped around my waist, chin lifted in defiance—sweat trickled down my spine despite the frigid air.

"Time?" I called out, barely winded.

"Four minutes, twelve seconds," Vivian replied, checking her stopwatch. "Two seconds faster than yesterday."

I frowned, skating toward her. "That's too fast. The music won't match if I rush it."

Vivian Brandenburg, former Olympic silver medalist and the most demanding coach in the country, regarded me with narrowed eyes. At sixty-two, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun, she still carried herself with the posture of a champion. "Then control your tempo. Every element was technically perfect, but you're still skating like you're being chased."

"I am being chased," I replied. "By everyone who wants Olympic gold as badly as I do."

A rare smile tugged at her thin lips. "And that's why you'll win. But first…" She handed me a towel and my water bottle. "We need to discuss something."

I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, dreading her tone. Vivian only used that voice when she was about to throw a wrench into my meticulously planned schedule. "What is it?"

"The Colorado Sports Foundation is hosting a charity exhibition next month. It's for their youth sports programs."

I took a long sip of water. "And you volunteered me."

It wasn't a question. These charity events were part of the deal—good publicity, good for sponsors, good for the Olympic committee to see me supporting community initiatives. I'd done dozens before.

"Yes, but this one's different." Vivian tapped something on her tablet and turned it toward me. "It's a paired exhibition. They're matching figure skaters with different types of athletes for unique performances."

I skimmed the information, my heart sinking. "Paired? With whom? I don't have time to train with a hockey player who can barely skate backwards, Vivian. Olympic qualifiers are in six months."

"It's not a hockey player."

Something in her voice made me look up sharply. "Then who?"

"Gunnar Hayes."

The name hit me like a physical blow. I nearly dropped my water bottle. "The speed skater? Blaze Hayes? Are you kidding me?"

"He's exceptionally talented…"

"He's a disaster waiting to happen!" I cut her off, something I rarely did with Vivian. "I've seen him compete. He's reckless, impulsive, completely unpredictable. Half the time I think he's making up his strategy as he goes along."

"Which is why this pairing will be interesting," Vivian said calmly. "Your precision and his...energy...will create something unique."

I stared at her in disbelief. "This is a joke, right? Please tell me you're joking."

"The event organizers specifically requested you two as the headliners. Both your brothers support the foundation, so it makes sense."

My jaw clenched. Of course Logan was involved. My older brother, the golden boy of the McKenzie family, newly appointed head coach of the Denver Warlords, always managing to complicate my life even when he was trying to help.

"It's going to affect my training schedule," I protested.

"I've already worked it in. Two hours a day with Hayes, five with me. The exhibition is in four weeks. Barely a blip in your calendar."

Fifty-six hours of my life wasted on a publicity stunt with a man who'd once been penalized for skating so recklessly he'd crashed into a referee. Perfect.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Vivian's expression softened fractionally. "But this isn't just for show, Starla. The Olympic committee members will be attending. It's a chance to showcase your versatility, to prove you can adapt to different styles. That matters to them."

I sighed, knowing when I was beaten. "Fine. When do I meet him?"

"Tomorrow, 8 am, at the Denver Ice Arena. I've already booked the ice time."

Of course she had. Vivian never left anything to chance, a trait I'd inherited from years under her tutelage. I'd built my entire life around control, precision, and meticulous planning. Now I was supposed to share the ice with Gunnar "Blaze" Hayes, a man whose entire reputation was built on doing the exact opposite.

I'd seen him compete once, during last year's World Championships. While most speed skaters calculated every move, conserving energy for strategic moments, Hayes skated like a force of nature—wild, untamed, pushing boundaries that shouldn't be pushed. He'd won gold, but his method was chaotic, almost violent. The antithesis of everything I stood for on the ice.

"It's one month," Vivian reminded me as I slipped my blade guards on. "Think of it as an exercise in adaptability."

I forced a tight smile. "Right… Adaptability ."

After gathering my things, I headed for the locker room to change. My phone buzzed in my bag just as I was pulling off my skates—Logan calling. Speak of the devil.

"Let me guess," I answered, "you already know about the charity event."

Logan's deep chuckle came through the speaker. "Good morning to you too, sis. And yes, I might have put in a good word for you with the organizers."

"Did you also suggest pairing me with Blaze Hayes?" I asked accusingly.

"Actually, no. That was their idea. But it's brilliant, isn't it? Fire and ice."

I rolled my eyes. "Spare me the marketing taglines."

"Come on, Star, it'll be good for you. Break up the monotony of your training a bit."

"I like monotony," I insisted. "Monotony means consistency. Consistency means gold medals."

"It also means you haven't had a social life since you were fifteen," he pointed out. "When was the last time you went on a date? Or even had a conversation with someone who doesn't skate?"

I ignored the question. "Does Emberleigh know you're calling to lecture me about my social life?"

"She's actually the one who reminded me to call. She's covering the charity event for her network. Thought you might want a heads-up."

Great. Not only would I be forced to skate with a human tornado, but my brother's girlfriend would be documenting the whole disaster on camera. Emberleigh Quinn was one of the best sports reporters in Denver—professional, insightful, and unfortunately for me, dating my brother and therefore privy to all the McKenzie family drama.

"Remind her no backstage interviews," I said firmly.

"I'll try, but you know Em. When she's on the job, she's relentless." The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Logan had fallen hard for Emberleigh, and I had to admit, they were good together. She'd brought out a softer side of my brother I hadn't seen since before his injury had ended his hockey career.

"Fine. I'll deal with it." I sighed, standing to pull on my leggings. "But seriously, Logan, this Hayes guy isn't just unconventional. He's practically feral on the ice. How am I supposed to create a coherent program with someone who probably doesn't even know what a choreography plan is?"

"Maybe that's the point," Logan said thoughtfully. "You're all about control and precision. He's all instinct and power. You might learn something from each other."

"The only thing I'm going to learn is patience," I muttered. "Lots and lots of patience."

Logan laughed again. "That's the spirit. Listen, I've gotta run…team meeting in five. Just give him a chance, okay…For me?"

"For the Olympic committee," I corrected. "Not for you."

"Whatever works. Love you, sis."

"Love you too," I said automatically before hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in my street clothes—slim black pants, a gray cashmere sweater, and ankle boots—with my hair released from its tight bun to fall in loose mousy-blonde waves down my back. As I reached for my skate bag, I paused, frowning.

It wasn't where I'd left it. I always placed it on the bench to my right, zipped and ready to go. Now it sat on the floor, slightly open, as if someone had rummaged through it.

A flutter of unease passed through me. I checked inside—skates, guards, towel, extra laces, all there. Nothing missing. I must have been more distracted by Vivian's news than I'd realized.

I zipped it carefully and slung it over my shoulder, shaking off the strange feeling. I had bigger problems to worry about. Like how to survive four weeks of skating with Gunnar Hayes without strangling him—or worse, ruining my Olympic preparation in the process.

As I pushed through the exit doors into the crisp January air, I mentally recalculated my schedule. Two hours with Hayes every day meant less time for strength training. I'd have to condense my evening workouts, maybe cut fifteen minutes from my yoga routine. Every minute counted in an Olympic year, and I'd been planning this season down to the second since I'd narrowly missed qualifying for the last Games.

No distractions, I reminded myself. Hayes was a temporary inconvenience, nothing more. I'd do the charity event, smile for the cameras, and get back to what really mattered.

What I didn't know then—couldn't have known—was that Gunnar ‘Blaze’ Hayes would prove to be far more than an inconvenience. He would become the most beautiful disruption my carefully controlled life had ever known.

And the most dangerous.