Nothing about him looked wasted. Every edge landed precisely where it needed to. Every movement seemed deliberate, as though he’d decided exactly how much energy to spend and refused to use a fraction more.
God, that looked exhausting.
I should have been paying attention to my own practice. Instead, I watched another lap.
Then recognition clicked into place.
Worlds. I’d seen him skate last season.
“Focus, Dean.”
Mark Winton’s voice cut straight through the distraction.
I looked away from the pairs team and pushed into another pass, forcing my attention back toward the sequence in front of me.
“Your landing timing’s off,” Mark called from the boards.
I circled back toward him. “It wasn’t that bad.”
He arched his eyebrows. “It was noticeable.”
I stopped near the barrier with a sigh. “You always this encouraging before sunrise?”
“Only when you’re pretending not to feel your own mistakes. Don’t chase distractions.”
Okay. Direct hit.
I rested my forearms against the top of the boards. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m allowed. I’m the coach, remember? And I repeat, you’re distracted.”
“I’m fine.”
Mark studied me for a second with the kind of patience that made lying feel increasingly pointless.
“That’s why I’m mentioning it now. You usually recover faster.”
I held his gaze a second longer before looking away toward the ice again.
The pair had separated temporarily during drills. Then I recalled the blond guy’s name. Luka Davorin. He stood near center ice while his partner spoke to him. Even from this distance, there was something unyielding about the way he moved, as though he never quite relaxed into anything.
Like someone had wound him too tight.
“Again,” Mark said.
I pushed away from the boards. This run felt cleaner, sharper, my body settling back into rhythm now that I’d recognized the distraction instead of pretending it wasn’t there.
Apparently my brain had other ideas.
As I landed the final jump, my attention slid back to Luka.
Which was irritating. I didn’t even know the guy.
The locker roomfelt overheated after the rink, but the showers alone justified staying at the arena instead of dragging ourselves back to the Village.
I dropped onto the bench and started unlacing my skates while Ethan collapsed beside me dramatically enough to suggest grave injury.
“So.”
