Minnesota, USA — Present

It was no secret that Guest and I despised each other.

Articles, posts, social media — the entire figure skating community wouldn't let me forget that moment at the Grand Prix. I'd just taken first place, and when I stood to shake her hand, she breezed past me like I was invisible. The look she threw over her shoulder said everything: Don't even think about it.

What the hell was her problem?*

I was used to good sportsmanship, and sure, not everyone practiced it, but Guest? She was something else . Those sharp glares during competitions (which I'd return with equal venom), the muttered Russian curses when she passed me in hallways, and the way tension followed us like fog — thick enough to choke on. Every competition featuring both of us became a media circus about our rivalry.

I was sitting on the bench outside the rink, lost in thought, when Alyssa's fingers snapped in front of my face.

"Hello? Earth to Glenn?"

She stared at me with furrowed brows before dropping her hand. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd fallen asleep with your eyes open."

"Just thinking," I said, leaning back against the cold metal. "And who sleeps with their eyes open?"

"You looked pretty zoned out. Heavy stuff on your mind?" She leaned against the boards, studying me.

I rolled my eyes. "Random thoughts, like I said."

Her eyebrow arched, clearly not buying it. I groaned.

"Fine. More drama with Guest. Social media won't give me a damn break."

A knowing smile spread across her face. "There we go. Finally."

"Shut up." I rubbed my temples. "She's supposedly busy with European competitions, so at least she won't be—"

Alyssa's gaze drifted past me. "Speaking of the devil."

I turned, and my stomach dropped.

There she was — Guest in all her infuriating perfection. Her red Team Russia jacket caught the fluorescent lights, patches gleaming on the sleeves. She walked with her coaches and teammates like she owned the place, that familiar confidence in every step.

Before I could say anything, Alyssa was already removing her guards. She mouthed "good luck" and glided onto the ice, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I sighed, pulling off my own guards and stepping onto the familiar cold surface. Throughout practice, I caught myself stealing glances at the Russian team. Someone kept looking back, though I couldn't tell who through the crowd of skaters.

I hadn't expected her to come all the way to Minnesota. She seemed more like a European competitions type — closer to home, familiar territory.

Practice blurred by in a haze of quads and axels.

My muscles ached pleasantly, that good kind of tired that meant I'd pushed myself. I was unlacing my skates when I noticed Guest struggling with a door, frantically waving her ID card at the sensor.

World-class figure skater, defeated by American technology.

I hesitated, then found myself walking over before I could think better of it.

"Need help with that?"

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at her frustrated expression.