Page 1 of Icebound Hearts

Chapter One

KATERINA

I never thought I’d leave Russia like this. Not with my head bowed in shame. Not with my name dragged through the mud by people who once cheered for me. Not with my dreams slipping through my fingers like ice melting under the sun. But here I am—thirty thousand feet in the air, watching Moscow disappear beneath a blanket of clouds, knowing I may never call it home again. My fingers clench the armrest as turbulence rattles the plane. My skates are resting at my feet, safely tucked in their worn-out bag. It is the only part of my past I refuse to let go of. Everything else— my country, my career, my reputation—was stripped from me when my world came crashing down. The whispers. The betrayal. The shame. I push it all down, swallowing the ache in my throat as I stare out the window.

America. A fresh start. A second chance at the dream that once felt untouchable. I don’t know if I deserve it. But I do know one thing.

I’m going to take it.

When I land, my phone explodes with calls—my mother, again and again.

Ignoring her is pointless, so I give up and answer.

“I’m fine, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me.” I say, running a hand through my hair and letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I know you can take care of yourself, my love, but being so far away from you worries me.”

I groan, rubbing my temple. My dear worries more than I do; so much for having faith in me.

“Mom, Jake is here, living minutes away, so I think I’ll be fine. He is my father, even though I know you wish he never showed up. No need to worry.”

Silence. Then a scoff. Shit. Why did I have to mention my father?

“Don’t mention that man,” she snaps, her tone sharp. “After twenty-two years, he suddenly decides to be a father and show up? Where was he all these years?”

I press my fingers into my temple, closing my eyes. My heart clenches—not for my father, but for my mother. For the pain she still carries after all these years.

“Mama, I’ll be fine. I’ll call you whenever I can to reassure you. Also, I start training tonight, remember? That’s the biggest reason I took Jake’s offer—to get my gold, especially after what happened at my qualifiers.”

Silence stretches between us, but I hear her breathing on the other end—the hesitancy.

The unspoken I don’t want you near him.

“I know, my love,” she finally says. “Okay, for now, calls will have to do. FaceTime me later, please. I love you.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I love you too, Mama. Bye.”

I hang up the phone and turn toward the road. A fresh wave of unease settles in my stomach as I glance at the unfamiliar scenery outside the Uber window. I landed in Pleasant Oaks, Michigan, almost an hour ago. I’m on my way to my new home—Pleasant Oaks University. The only school in the U.S. knownfor producing the most figure skaters qualified for the Olympics—the elite.

After what happened at the last Olympics, my old coach had been exposed all over the internet. A single person revealed the monster behind the curtain in front of everyone. Me. The woman who broke me. My mother sued her, and when news broke about the torture she put her students through, my father—Jake fucking Hart—walked back into my life as if two decades of silence meant nothing. I was reluctant to be around him, but without him, my best friends Alexei, Alina, and I may never have had a second chance to compete for the USA and train under the best of the best.

Camilla Trusova. A legend. A three-time Olympic gold medalist in pair skating. And now, my new coach. I shift in my seat, my stomach twisting. I should be excited. I am excited. But beneath that excitement is something else— fear. This is my last shot. After what happened at the qualifiers, I have to prove I belong here.

The car slows in front of a three-story house. It’s modern and clean, but something already feels off. The house doesn’t look anything like how Alina described it.

“This is the house, miss,” the driver says, glancing at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, stepping out into the cool Michigan air.

I grip the handles of my two large suitcases, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. This is all I could bring to the plane. The rest of my things should arrive in a few days. I drag my luggage up the rocky path and ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door swings open, and—

Oh.

Oh.

A handsome, shirtless man stands before me, leaning casually against the frame. His damp hair falls over his eyes, his abs look straight out of a fitness magazine, and his deep blue eyes glint in amusement.

“Hi. Are you lost?” he asks, his lips twitching into a smirk. I blink. “No?” I glance at the house number, and down at the paper in my hands. It’s the same one.

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