Page 35 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

I glance back at Darcy. A hint of a smile tugs at her freckled lips, and she gives me a subtle nod.

“Oh,” I reply.

When we’ve made it to the top, we gaze out at the endless rows of trees and snow-capped mountains. The midday sun bathes the forest below, golden rays streaking through the forest. It’s absolutely beautiful.

So beautiful, in fact, that nothing should spoil it. But then Caydence steps right in front of me, and I’m instantly proven wrong. She glances over her shoulder, eyeing me up and down judgingly, before turning back to the view.

“You figure out why yet?” she asks smugly.

I shoot her an annoyed look. “Why what?”

She rolls her eyes with exaggerated flair, letting out a huff as she turns fully to face me.

“Why little miss coach’s daughter over there dropped her spot on a pro league.

” She juts her chin toward Darcy, who’s lazily curled up in a hammock, her long hair catching in the breeze as she scribbles on her clipboard.

I watch her, for just a beat too long, before looking back to Caydence. “Why do you give a shit?”

Caydence quirks an eyebrow, her lips curving into an amused challenge. “Don’t you? I figured you of all people would be digging for answers.” Her gaze drifts from my scuffed sneakers up to my eyes, and it nearly makes me shudder. “Or maybe you’re too busy digging for other things. ”

My brows drop, nose scrunching in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs all innocently, and I might not be the sharpest blade on the ice, but I’m smart enough not to fall for it. “Nothing. Just, I’ve noticed the way you two look at each other. And I saw your arm hooked in hers the night of—”

I cut her off before she can say more, taking a step forward and lowering my voice so that nobody overhears.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Cay,” I shoot, my patience thinning.

“I see what you’re doing here. And it’s not going to work.

If you’re too blind to see that Darcy and I can hardly stand each other, then—”

Caydence tilts her head, that condescending expression creeping across her face. “You two sure talk a lot for people who can’t stand each other.”

“She’s the student coach; I’m the team captain. We don’t really have a choice.” I start to turn away, but then stop, spinning back around to get the last word. “And for the record? I can’t stand you , and yet here we are.”

Then, I storm off.

Mean? Probably. Immature? Definitely. Regret it? Not for a second.

As captain, I’m supposed to carry myself with a certain level of maturity. I set an example for the rest of the team. But I also have a responsibility to keep my players in check, and Caydence has a way of skating the line just to see how far she can push it.

The idea that something’s going on between Darcy and me?

Laughable. I mean sure, whatever happened—or as she so delicately pointed out, didn’t happen —in the locker room was confusing.

And yeah, I was maybe slightly tempted to kiss her last night when she looked down at me with those dangerous emerald eyes.

But just yesterday morning, I was genuinely worried she’d kill me.

And okay, now that I know she was almost in the PWHL, her advice might actually carry some credibility, but that doesn’t change the fact that she still drives me absolutely insane.

She’s still the same bossy, annoying Darcy. Only now, she has more reason to be.

I pass Indie, gently patting Mr. Bubbles on the head, then Harlowe, who’s picking pine needles and leaves out of Bailey’s hair. I frown as I walk by, stopping to call out, “What the hell happened to you guys?”

Bailey scowls, shooting a look at Harlowe that’s sharp as knives, then back at me. I direct my question toward Harlowe instead.

“What the hell did you do?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest like a parent. Harlowe presses her lips together in a tight, sheepish line.

“Nothing.”

Bailey’s eyes narrow, and she spins to face her. “ Bullshit! You—”

I don’t stick around for the drama. They might be my monkeys, but right now, I’m not in the mood to run the circus. Instead, I turn and head toward Darcy. I’ve left her alone for most of this hike. Time to annoy her a little.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask, watching that little crease form at the center of her brows. It's my favorite thing about bothering Darcy—how that crease deepens every time. Sure, I love the pouty lips and her sarcastic comebacks, but that divot, the freckle that vanishes into it?

God, it's hypnotic.

Darcy doesn't even look up. She just keeps writing, adjusting her clipboard slightly to catch the light.

"What does it look like, Icarus?" she drawls, not breaking her focus.

I trace the inside of my cheek with my tongue, fighting the grin creeping up on me. When she calls me that damn nickname, everything gets foggy. I hate how that word sounds, I really do, but the way she says it... Yeah, it’s starting to stick.

"What are you always doing with this thing?” I ask, reaching for the clipboard. She quickly pulls it away, tucking it against her chest as always.

“I fail to see how that concerns you,” she replies, shooting me a narrowed look.

My expression twists into a mock, and I stick a finger up in the air, bobbing my head around as I repeat the sentence in a grating, high-pitched voice. “I fAiL tO sEe hOw tHaT cOnCeR—”

A dull pain radiates in my arm as she smacks the clipboard against it teasingly. “Oh, shut up.”

She’s trying to fight it, those coral lips threatening to smile. She rolls her eyes, the motion exaggerated like she’s so over me , and then lifts her clipboard back up, positioning herself to the side to block my view.

“I’m gonna get a hold of that thing one way or another,” I say, crossing my arms. “I mean, seriously. What could be on there that is so confidential? What, a hit list? Nuclear launch codes?”

Darcy’s gaze flicks to mine, then back down to the page.

I continue. “If it’s a hit list, am I at least at the top?”

“If it was,” she says, not breaking her focus. “You would be.”

I grin triumphantly, which seems to catch her eye, because her gaze breaks away and she looks at me, confused.

“You want to be at the top of my hit list?”

I shrug. “It means you thought about me.”

“I don’t even—” She shakes her head, sticking a hand up. “You know not all attention is good attention, right?”

“Depends on who you get it from.” My gaze narrows, fixing onto her chest. I frown, pointing at it. “ Ew . What the hell?”

Darcy’s red brows drop, and just as her head tips down to look at the imaginary spot on her shirt, I swipe the clipboard from her grasp. Her grip around it tightens, but the plastic slips through her gloves like butter, and she lets out a frustrated grunt of effort.

“I cannot believe you fell for that again.” I laugh, taking a hefty step back. Darcy’s brows furrow, and she lunges forward, but the hammock begins to tilt, sucking her back down. I look at the clipboard.

Jeesh. It’s a mess.

“You know, I thought you were all organized and shit, but…” I flip through the pages, studying the nearly indecipherable scribbles. “This is kind of a wreck.”

“Yeah, I know,” she shoots, finally prying herself from the hammock. I keep stepping back, sticks cracking beneath my feet as I analyze the pages. She storms toward me, and whew she looks angry.

“Give it back, Peyton,” she says, sticking her hand out. I nod, hitching a shoulder as I read.

“I will, I will, just give me a minute.” My eyes finally catch a legible paragraph.

Shorter periods with more breaks. Drills shouldn’t change too much. Specialized skates and medical alert bracelets monitored by coaches/medical staff. Less contact a—

“Hey, I was reading that!” I frown as Darcy rips the clipboard out of my hand. She holds it over her head, which is totally cheating if you ask me.

“It’s not done yet,” she snaps, spinning back toward the hammock.

Shit.

I speed after her. “No, it’s great,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound very convincing. Mostly because I’m not entirely sure what I read. But I’m sure it was good, whatever it is.

She rolls her eyes, dropping backwards into the hammock. “You don’t even know what it is.”

I pause, letting out a sheepish laugh. “Okay, no, not exactly, but I would like to.”

She stares up at me, and as much as I like the fact that she towers over me, I’m enjoying this view of her. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why?”

Always the “why” with this woman.

“Because it sounded interesting and it’s clearly important to you,” I answer honestly. She looks pissed. In my defense, I really did think it was going to be practice notes and drill strategies. I thought she was just being stubborn.

She looks up at me, jaw tight, emerald eyes simmering. But then they drop, and she lets out a sigh. Her eyes flit around the trees. Everyone else is busy talking or complaining. She looks back at me.

“It’s… I had this idea,” she says, her voice low. “You know how they have disabled hockey programs? For wheelchair users and amputees and stuff?”

I nod, stepping closer to hear her better. She continues.

“Well, I got to thinking, right when I took this job, about how I could get back on the ice.” She pauses.

It’s a long pause, and for a moment, I don’t know if she’s going to finish.

But then, she does. “What it would take for someone who deals with the same symptoms as me to keep playing. And I came up with an idea. Autoimmune Hockey.”

Her eyes lock with mine, and I think this is the part where I’m supposed to say something, but no words come out. She lets out a diminishing laugh.

“Yeah, it’s dumb, I know,” she starts, but I reach out and grab her hand.

“It’s not,” I say quickly, and she looks at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m messing with her. I’m not, of course. I don’t fully understand what Autoimmune Hockey means, but just the idea of her being passionate about the game enough to plan an entire league is impressive.

It makes my heart flip.

“Tell me more.”

She hesitates at first, but after a moment, her gaze catches on her clipboard.

She smiles, briefly, then continues. “We’d make the periods shorter,” she explains.

“Fifteen minutes instead of twenty. Less contact—” Her eyes catch mine, and I flash a sheepish grin.

“To avoid serious injuries. Specialized equipment, vital monitors…” She trails off.

And I just grin like an idiot.

“You’ve really thought a lot about this,” I say, surprised for some reason. I shouldn’t be. Darcy thinks a lot about everything. It’s what drives me crazy about her. But it’s also something I admire.

She nods. “Yeah. It’ll probably never happen but—”

“Don’t manifest failure.” I frown. Her eyes roll, then fall back onto the clipboard. She begins dissecting it, and I decide to let her.

“Alright,” I say, pushing off the tree. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Finally, ” she mutters, but there’s an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Something about it makes my heart skip. I take a step back, and then another, watching as she falls back into it.

I like the way she tilts them to get the right lighting. I like the way her free hand gently pushes off the tree to keep the hammock rocking. I like the way she grins as she reads whatever words lie upon the page.

I take another step, then, just before I turn away, I throw one last comment over my shoulder.

"Would it be a bad time to mention your mom didn’t tell me you had to come on this hike?"

Darcy’s face shifts, her lips parting in betrayal. Her green eyes narrow as I keep walking, turning my back to her.

“Peyton Clarke, I can’t fucking stand you!”

I grin. “Darcy Cole,” I quip. “I think I can live with that.”