Page 44 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

My dad shifts on the other end of the phone, his voice soft but steady. “Good. I’d love to make it out to the tournament, but—” I brace myself. “I know it would be better for you if I didn’t.”

My throat tightens, and I blink hard, trying to fight the sting in my eyes. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry. I promise, when I’m in the pros, you can come to every game you want.”

I can hear the small, knowing chuckle in his voice. “Okay, Peanut.” He pauses, his tone softening. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

I feel it then, the ache in my chest. The water rising, the curdling of my stomach. I swallow repetitively hoping the saliva will push it down. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, I know, Dad.”

“Okay, good. Because…” He falters, taking his time to choose his words. “Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’re still a rockstar. And I have no doubt that you’ll make it to the pros if it’s what you choose. But just—just know that. Okay?”

The tears come without warning, burning my eyes, but I swipe them away as quickly as I can.

"Okay, Dad." My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t hear how unsure I am right now. How inadequate. How small. “Hey. I’ve—I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay? ”

I slip my phone into my pocket, trying to make out the combination on my locker through my blurry tears.

"Okay,” he says. “Love you, Peanut.”

I sniff. “Love you too, Dad.”

Three monotonous beeps signal the end of the call, just as I pry my locker open. I pull out my earbud, sucking in a shaky breath as my eyes, then my lungs, begin to overflow.

“Peyton?”

I spin around. My pulse should spike when my eyes land on Darcy. When they journey down that flowy head of red hair, and dart to each freckle scattered on her cheeks. But it doesn’t.

Instead, it steadies.

Slower.

And slower.

Until I think it may stop.

She’s standing across the locker room, brows weaved in concern, hands gripping a stack of little paper cards. Quickly, I swipe at my cheeks, sucking in a shaky breath.

“Hey,” I say coolly. Or, I try at least, but let’s be honest, I’m not fooling anyone. Especially not her. She takes a step closer to me, head tilting to the side. “What are you doing here? Practice ended forever ago.”

Her gaze snaps to the cards in her hand, and she waves them in a gesture. “Compliment cards,” she explains. “I figured I better do some damage control after reigning terror the past few weeks.”

A soft chuckle slips out of me, and I wipe another tear. I know Darcy sees it. I watch her pupils trace it down my cheek just before it absorbs into my sleeve. But she doesn’t say anything. And I’m grateful for that.

“I don’t think you’ve been reigning terror,” I say, my voice stuffy from crying. Darcy deadpans, and I let out another laugh. “Okay, maybe a little bit, but only toward the people who deserve it. You were good today. Great, actually.”

And she was.

I hadn't seen Darcy so engaged at a practice before. Then again, maybe she’s been paying more attention than I realized.

She wasn’t just giving corrections today.

She was actually encouraging people. Indie’s face lit up when Darcy complimented her stickhandling.

And Harlowe practically glowed when she called her a "brick wall”, which would be a really solid insult if she wasn’t a goalie.

She even gave me a nod for my slapshot, which, honestly, was about the only thing I nailed today. I was too far in my head to get anything else right.

A soft smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses one leg over the bench, collapsing down on it. I don’t know if it’s an invitation, but I sit on the one across from her anyway.

“So…” She trails off. My gaze flicks around the room. To the ceiling. The floors. The showers. Anywhere but her eyes.

“So…”

“...Are you okay?”

I nod, probably more than is necessary, forcing out a stiff, awkward laugh.

“Yeah, no, I’m good. I’m...” I rake a hand through my sweat-drenched hair, exhaling a heavy breath.

I don’t know why I say what I do next. Maybe it’s because she trusted me with the truth at the resort.

Maybe it’s what happened before we left.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Either way, it slips out before I can stop it.

“When you were at Minnesota did you—did you ever feel like you were playing for someone else?”

Her eyes catch mine, and she shakes her head. My stomach sinks lower, and I simply nod in response.

“Do you feel like that?” she asks softly. “Like you’re playing for someone else?”

“No,” I answer quickly, but it feels like a lie.

And for some inexplicable reason, lying to Darcy doesn’t feel like an option.

So I elaborate. “Well, not entirely. Don’t get me wrong, I love hockey.

I mean…” I chuckle nervously, sucking the inside of my cheek between my teeth.

“There is nothing else in the world that I love more.

But sometimes… It's a lot of pressure. To be a certain kind of player.”

Darcy’s eyes stay locked on me. She doesn’t usually stare. I’ve noticed that, after a moment, her gaze tends to drop, like she’s trying to avoid being seen too clearly. She probably thinks if she doesn’t hold someone’s attention for too long, they won’t notice the things she’d rather keep hidden.

But there’s a flaw in that logic.

Because from the moment I first saw her, I haven’t wanted to look at anything else.

“Because of your dad?” she asks hesitantly.

I nod.

We just sit there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. But it doesn’t feel like it’s pulling us apart. In fact, though we haven’t moved, it feels like the space between us has shrunk. After a beat, she lets out a soft, “Huh.”

I glance up. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she says, shaking her head. "It's just weird."

My brows furrow, and I tilt my head. "What is?"

She smiles. "I want you to keep talking."

Against my will, the corners of my lips slowly draw up, and when our eyes lock, a smile breaks across her face too. I clear my throat, taking a steadying, preparing breath.

“I was four when my dad quit the NHL,” I begin, and Darcy shifts forward in her seat, looking at me attentively.

I take another breath. “My brother had been struggling for a few years by then, but when he finally got diagnosed with autism, my dad decided it was time to focus on us. You know, be there for us, and help my mom.”

I pause, watching Darcy’s expression drop, and I shake my head before she gets the wrong idea.

“Don’t feel bad or anything, trust me. Avery is—” I laugh, running a hand through my hair.

“He’s fucking fine. He’s doing better than I am, that’s for sure.

But one of his sensory things is that he really hates the cold.

My dad tried for years to get him on the ice, and it just never worked out.

He liked lacrosse for some reason? My mom played it in college, so I guess it makes sense, but.

.. it broke my dad’s heart. I knew he wanted a kid to follow in his footsteps, so… I did.

“And I wanted to, not just for him, but for me. I loved watching the reruns of his games on the television. I loved admiring all his trophies in the living room. I loved hockey the moment I stepped on the ice. But sometimes I feel like, if I don’t make it as big as my dad did, if my career doesn’t skyrocket to that same degree… ” I trail off.

“You’ll be letting him down,” Darcy finishes. I nod.

“Yeah.”

When I look up, those ivy eyes are locked on me. The corners of Darcy’s lips curl subtly, and she gives me a gentle nod.

“That makes sense,” she says, then leans forward, eyes intent. “But it’s not your responsibility to let your dad live through you.”

“I know,” I lie. I take a moment to breathe. Then another. “Do you think if I got recruited to the Sabertooths, it would be because I’m a Clarke?”

Darcy’s the only person I would ever ask, because she’s the only one that I know will tell me the truth. She sits up, studying me carefully. Finally, after a moment, she answers.

“I think the name gives you a head start,” she admits, and my stomach begins to curdle.

My lungs begin to drown. There’s nothing more I want than to play for the Sabertooths, because that’s where every prodigy goes.

But I only want to play for them if I deserve it.

She continues. “But without the stats to back it up, it would just be another name.”

“Do you think I have them?” I ask. “The stats?”

Darcy’s eyes meet mine, and a teasing smile tugs at her lips. “Is Peyton Clarke asking me if I think she’s good enough to play for the Sabertooths?”

“Yes.”

She shifts a little. I don’t know if I’m truly ready to hear her answer. But I know I want to be. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and she levels me with an honest gaze.

“Objectively,” she starts. “Your stats are great.”

I nod, sensing the omission. “And subjectively?”

A brief smile flickers across her face, then falters.

“ Subjectively , your stats are great. But I think you focus too much on them. You spend so much energy trying to prove that you deserve to be here, instead of just being here.” My throat tightens, but I nod, a silent beg for her to continue.

To give me what I’ve needed all my life:

The truth.

“You don’t have to score the most points or do the most tricks or play the roughest to deserve a spot on the team. You just need to play as part of it.”

I swallow once. Twice. The ache in my throat doesn’t go away, but for some strange reason, I don’t want it to. It’s like what Darcy said hurt, but it was a kind of pain that I needed. Like popping a joint back into place.

“Thanks,” I say, pushing off the bench. I slip my bag over my shoulder, and when I look up, she’s right in front of me. I can smell her perfume. Feel her heat. Her hand stretches out, and I glance down at the little orange card. I look back up at her.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “I’ll help you, if you help me.”

A smile breaks across my face, and I take the card. “Thank you,” I say again. Darcy just nods, turning toward the door. Before she steps through, she spins back to face me.

“But if you cross me, Icarus,” she says, her brows lifting as she points a finger. “I will end you.”

I don’t tell Darcy that being killed by her would be my life’s greatest honor. Instead, I raise my hand to my brow, saluting. “Copy that, Kimmy.”

She rolls her eyes. It’s not until she walks out the door that I look down at the card in my hand. My fingertips graze the sharp edge of the cardstock as my eyes scan the message scrawled across it.

Icarus Your dedication, though obnoxious at times, is unmatched. I envy you, not just because you get to play the game, but for the way you play it. I’m sorry for how things started. Thank you for reminding me of what I love, and how I can be better. Kim Possible