Chapter 3 Forced Partners

Aurora's POV

I stared at Coach Rivera like she had lost her mind.

“Me and him?” I pointed at Julian. “No. Absolutely not.”

Julian crossed his arms, looking just as annoyed as I felt. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to agree with Pointe Shoes on this one. I’m not doing pairs. I’ve got my own program to focus on for nationals.”

Coach Rivera didn’t even blink. She just stood there with her arms folded, staring at both of us like we were two difficult kids.

“Listen,” she said firmly. “I’m not asking. The rink is months away from shutting down if we don’t bring in some real results. Sponsors love pairs skating, especially mixed teams with chemistry. You two are the most advanced skaters we have right now.”

I shook my head so hard my ponytail whipped my face. “Coach, I’m not even a real skater. I’m a ballerina who can barely stand up straight on this ice. And Julian…” I glanced at him. “He’s got a reputation. I’ve seen the girls. I’m not trying to be another one on his list.”

Julian raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into that irritating smirk again. “Wow. You’ve been keeping tabs on me, Rory? Didn’t know I was that interesting to you.”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “My brother has told me enough stories. You’re trouble, and I don’t need any more problems in my life right now.”

A few other skaters had gathered near the boards, watching our conversation like it was free entertainment. A girl with bright pink hair and another younger guy whispered to each other before stepping forward.

“Come on, Julian,” the pink-haired girl said. “We all know you’re good enough. And Rory… you move differently. Like, really graceful. It could work.”

“Yeah,” the guy added. “If the rink closes, we lose everything. This is our home.”

I felt a twist in my stomach. Looking around, I saw little kids still practicing in the corner, laughing like they had no idea their favorite place might disappear. This wasn’t just about me.

Coach Rivera softened her voice a little. “Four months. That’s all I’m asking. Train together, compete in the Northeast Regional Mixed Pairs, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something else out. But right now… you two are our best shot.”

Julian ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a long sigh. He looked at me for a few seconds, his dark eyes studying my face. For once, the cocky smile was gone.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But I’m not babysitting. If we do this, you keep up. No special treatment.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but the hopeful faces around me made the words die in my throat.

“…Okay,” I muttered. “But only until my ankle heals properly.”

Julian’s smirk returned full force. He skated a lazy circle around me. “Try to keep up, Sinclair.”

Our first paired practice started the very next morning at 5:30 AM.

The rink was freezing and almost empty. Just me, Julian, and Coach Rivera watching from the side. My ankle was throbbing from yesterday, but I didn’t complain. I refused to look weak in front of him.

“Alright,” Coach said. “Start with basic holds and a simple lift. Nothing crazy. Get used to each other’s timing.”

Julian skated over to me. Up close, he smelled like fresh soap and cold air. He placed one hand on my waist and the other under my arm, getting into position for the lift.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to ignore how warm his hands felt through my thin practice top.

He lifted me.

For half a second, it was okay. Then my balance shifted wrong because of my bad ankle. I tilted sideways. Julian tried to adjust, but I slipped and crashed into his chest. We both stumbled. He almost dropped me completely before catching me right before we both hit the ice.

“Shit, Rory!” he grunted, holding me against him. Our faces were inches apart. I could feel his heartbeat racing against mine.

My cheeks burned as I pushed away from him. “Maybe don’t hold me like I’m a sack of potatoes!”

“Maybe don’t wiggle like a scared cat!” he shot back. But there was a small laugh in his voice. “You’re supposed to trust me. That’s how pairs works.”

“Trust you?” I laughed bitterly. “I’ve seen you switch girls faster than you change your skates.”

Julian’s expression changed. For a moment he looked almost… hurt? But it disappeared quickly.

“You don’t know anything about me, Rory,” he said quietly. “Not really.”

We tried the lift again. And again. And again.

Each time was a disaster. Either I tensed up too much or he lifted too fast. At one point I elbowed him in the ribs by accident when I panicked mid-air.

“Ow! Watch the sharp bones, ballerina,” he groaned, rubbing his side.

“Stop calling me ballerina like it’s an insult,” I fired back.

We kept going for almost an hour. Sweating. Arguing. Falling. But slowly, we started getting a tiny bit better. During one successful lift, I was up in the air, his hands steady on my waist, and for a second everything felt… right. The cold air on my face. The smooth glide. His strong hold.

My stupid heart started racing for a completely different reason.

I hated it.

By the time we finished, it was almost 6:30 AM. My body ached, especially my ankle, but I felt more alive than I had since the accident.

We walked out of the rink together in silence. The early morning Brooklyn streets were still quiet, the sky just starting to turn pink.

I was pulling my hoodie on when I heard a familiar voice.

“What the hell are you doing with my sister, Reyes?”

My head snapped up.

Marcus was standing right outside the rink entrance, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. His face was dark with anger. He must’ve come to pick me up and seen us walking out together.

Julian stopped beside me. He didn’t look scared — if anything, he looked tired.

“Relax, man,” Julian said, raising his hands. “It’s not what you think.”

Marcus stepped closer, glaring at his best friend. “I told you to stay away from her. She’s been through enough already. She doesn’t need you messing with her head on top of everything else.”

I stepped between them. “Marcus, stop. It’s not like that. Coach forced us to partner for a competition. It’s for the rink.”

Marcus didn’t even look at me. His eyes stayed locked on Julian.

“I know you, Jules. You don’t do relationships. You do flings. And if you treat my little sister like one of your rink girls, I swear I’ll beat your ass.”

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut.

Julian’s jaw tightened. He glanced at me for a second, then back at Marcus.

“I got it,” he said quietly. “Message received.”

But as he walked away toward his car, I caught him looking back at me once.