Page 31 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

Seventeen

Darcy

I can’t breathe.

I actually can’t breathe.

Tears stream down my face as I try, but my sinuses are clogged, a wall inside my body. No way in. No way out. My lips part, only for my breath to stall halfway down my throat, caught in a vise. I run, as fast as I can, back to the cabin, but I don’t even know if I’m running in the right direction.

I’m such an idiot. I knew this would happen.

I should’ve just told everyone—told them everything. At least then, when they stared at me, when their eyes carved through my fragile bones, I could’ve held onto a shred of dignity. A scrap of control. Control over who knows. Over what they know.

I slam my palm against the rough bark of a tree, a desperate attempt to ground myself, but the world still spins—a blur of green and shadows. Closing my eyes, I try to coax my breath into something steadier.

Then a voice calls out behind me.

“Darcy!” Peyton’s voice cuts through the air, the sound of her footsteps heavy against the ground. “Darcy, wait!”

I push off the tree, moving forward, trying to wipe away the tears, but it’s useless. It’s like trying to dam a river with a twig. The tears keep falling, each one replacing the last in an endless, unstoppable stream. I hear Peyton getting closer. I feel her body behind me.

“Darcy,” she calls again, firmer, and this time, I snap.

I whirl around, not bothering to hide the puffiness in my eyes, the salt streaking down my face.

“Just don’t , Peyton,“ I choke, turning away again and walking faster. But she’s right on my heels, her fingers brushing my shoulder.

“Darcy, that was messed up. Caydence shouldn’t have—“

“No, she shouldn’t have,” I cut in, voice breaking as I storm toward the first cabin I see. I wipe my blurry eyes and make out the number. 206.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft. Almost worried. I don’t look at her.

“Don’t pretend you care.”

I sniff, wiping the snot dripping from my nose. It’s humiliating. All of it. The diagnosis, the article, the tears. I feel like a moth trapped in a jar, wings frantically beating against the glass, desperate to escape. But with every movement, I only draw more attention to myself.

“I’m not pretending.”

Peyton’s tone is steady, firm—not harsh, not loud—just matter-of-fact, like she’s stating something irrefutable. Something you could fact-check.

I wish I could. I wish I could run every word anyone says through some system that would tell me if it’s real. If there are motives hidden beneath the surface. If she’s going to sell me out to some ESPN reporter behind my back.

208.

“Why didn’t you tell me you played for Minnesota?” Peyton presses. My feet quicken, my breath catching in my chest. God, my head feels like it’s going to explode. I climb the steps to the cabin faster, Peyton trailing right behind me.

“Because then you’d ask me why I don’t anymore.”

My hand hovers over the doorknob as she asks, “Do you not want me to?”

I twist the knob. “Wouldn’t you ask anyway?” Then I slip inside and let the door lock shut behind me.

The second my back hits the hard, twin mattress, the tears spill harder.

My temples throb like they’re being jackhammered, my skin burns, and my bones are grinding together like rusted metal scraping metal.

I clutch the pillow beside me, wrapping it around my chest as if the worn tweed can hold me together.

A puff of dust bursts out as I squeeze, causing me to choke.

For a fleeting moment, a brief, stupid moment, I think maybe I could escape this.

They know I quit Minnesota. They know I let go of my place on the Portland team.

But they don’t know why . They don’t know about the pill divider crammed into my bag, full of the little things that are supposed to make this all bearable.

They don’t know about my fingers, bent and discolored, hidden beneath my gloves.

They don’t know about the days when getting out of bed feels like being hit with a bat.

Over and over. When it feels like fire’s been set to every inch of my body, and all I want is for it to burn me all the way down to the bone so I don’t have to feel it anymore.

I could lie. I could say I chose a different path. I could say I got tired of hockey. That I was bored.

But even as the thought flits across my mind, I know it’s pointless. The second the lie would slip from my lips, they’d know. Hell, I can’t even sell it to myself.

But that doesn’t mean they get the truth. I refuse to be looked at like I’m broken.

My lungs constrict painfully. I stare at the log-paneled ceiling, watching a spider crawl across it, slow and steady, like the ache creeping up my bones. A soft knock raps on the door, Peyton’s voice filtering through the wood.

“Darcy,” she calls, quieter than before. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice so gentle, not even when it cracked in the locker room, tears streaming down her face. I clutch the pillow tighter. “Will you please let me in?”

“Go away.” I sniff, the words catching in my throat.

There’s a hollow feeling in my chest, like something has been ripped out from deep inside, leaving an empty space.

Peyton has a nice voice. It’s low and smooth, like black marble, the polished cool of it scrubbing goosebumps down my body.

It’s a shame that every time I hear it, that hole in my chest seems to expand. “Just… go away.”

Peyton calls again, louder this time. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “You can take as long as you need, but just so you know—I’m sweaty, and covered in soot. The longer I sit out here, the worse it’s gonna smell when I finally come in.”

She’s trying to be funny. I hate that the urge to laugh almost gets the better of me. “I just want to be alone.”

Peyton pauses. I hear some shuffling on the other side, then a heavy thud. My head tilts curiously, but I don’t say anything. Finally, she asks, “Can we be alone together?”

I sniff, shaking my head at her ridiculousness. God, she’s stubborn. I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear, “I’m still not letting you in.”

More shuffling.

“Okay.”

I don’t know how long I’m there, staring at the ceiling until my eyes dry up, the hole in my chest swallowing me up.

I must have drifted off, because when I blink awake, the sun has finished setting, and the cabin is dark.

My body aches as I sit up, stretching, and immediately I’m hit with a pounding headache, a reminder that I cried out every ounce of water in my body.

I reach for my water bottle on the nightstand.

Empty.

Getting up with a groan, I slip my slides on and grab my phone for a flashlight so I can head to the water station. I reach for the doorknob, unlocking it and pulling it open.

It’s so dark, I nearly trip over Peyton when I step out. She’s sitting cross-legged directly in front of the door. Her gaze snaps up the instant I open it.

“Hey,” she says softly, a smile pulling at the edges of her lips as she jumps to her feet. I stare at her, disoriented.

“Have you…” I trail off. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

She shrugs, all nonchalant. “I don’t know, I don’t have my phone.” Her eyes flick upward, like she’s doing some quick mental math. “I think you stopped talking to me about an hour ago?”

I blink, my head tipping to the left. “You waited out here for an hour?”

She smiles. “I would’ve waited all night.”

My stomach flips. Not the usual tightness, not the mild flutter of nerves.

No, it soars , tumbling over itself, spiraling until I’m afraid it might never find its way back down.

I glance down at her arms, pulled up into her sleeves to shield her from the cold, just like the night of the party.

Guilt tugs at my chest. I left her out here to freeze to death.

“Is the fire still going?” I ask. She nods, which only feeds my confusion. “Why didn’t you go sit by the fire? Stay warm?”

She swallows, her cheek sucking in between her back teeth the way she always does. I don’t know why I like it when she does that. “I wanted to be alone with you.” She pauses, then her eyes widen. “Alone together. Wait—“

A soft laugh slips out of me, but it sends a sharp ache through my skull. I wince. Her gaze drops to my water bottle, then back to me.

“Going to the water station?” she asks. I nod, the movement a struggle. She hesitates before asking again, “Can I come with you?”

Her eyes lock onto mine, those bronze flecks swirling in them, her pupils dilating as she studies me. It’s no wonder Peyton is the way she is. With those eyes, I don’t know if anyone has ever been able to tell her no.

I sigh, tossing my head in a painful jolt for her to join me.

A smile breaks across her face, those cute little creases framing the edges of her lips.

I pull the cabin door closed behind me with a click , and Peyton waits for me to step down the stairs first. She doesn’t say a word as she follows behind me, she just trails along, bobbing her head like a lost puppy

When we reach the water pump, I find myself staring at the metal handle, raising an apprehensive brow. Peyton reaches out first, grabbing it confidently before holding her hand out, silently asking for my water bottle.

“I can pump my own water, Peyton.” I frown, reaching for the handle. She lets go immediately, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Whatever you say, Ms. Possible.”

A grin tugs at the corner of my lips despite myself, and I quickly let my hair fall over my cheek to hide it. Unscrewing the cap of my water bottle, I hold it beneath the faucet and start to pump. My wrists cramp, but I try not to show it. “Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep calling you Icarus.”

She shoots me a disapproving look. “See, that’s not fair. Everyone likes Kim Possible. She’s every ten-year-old’s crush. Icarus sounds like the disease Bailey’s fish died from.”

A laugh bursts out of me and I quickly bite my lips to stifle it. It’s no use. It spills out again, louder this time.