Page 71 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

Thirty Seven

Peyton

M y stomach is eerily still.

I can’t remember the last time it wasn’t doing somersaults before a game, let alone the finals . Something's got to be wrong.

I stretch my arms out like a starfish basking in the sun, then bounce through a few jumping jacks, trying to rouse my body. When I stop, my arms flop back to my sides, and I press a hand over my stomach.

Still nothing. No tremors. No water. Zilch.

I'm supposed to be panicked right now. I'm supposed to be spiraling about the Sabertooths, and the media, and my dad, who is currently posted alongside the rest of my family in the stands. But I'm not. In fact, I don't think I have ever been more relaxed in my entire life.

“I swear I smell funnel cake,” Harlowe says, sticking her nose up in the air and inhaling deeply. “Why doesn’t our tunnel smell like funnel cake?”

“I think your sniffer’s broken,” Lena replies, pulling her twists into a low bun before tugging her helmet back on.

“That tracks,” Bailey chimes in, redoing her own straight ponytail. “She has long COVID.”

Beside me, Indie picks at a frayed strip of tape springing off the handle of her twig. She’s not looking at anything specific, just staring straight out ahead, blank-faced. I give the top of her helmet a light pat.

“How you feeling, Rose?”

Startled, she snaps out of it, looking up at me and offering a soft smile. "Good."

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Still nervous, but—” She shrugs. “I’m excited.”

“Good.” I smile. “That’s all that matters. You remember what we talked about? The signal?”

That's when her smile—her real smile— deepens. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her grin like that. She’s got these tiny sharp canines peeking out that make her look a little mischievous.

“I remember,” she answers, then sucks her cheek between her back teeth. “Do you have family here?”

A thousand little fireflies flutter in my stomach, and I nod. “Yeah. My parents, and my brother.” I squint, then add, “And I think his roommate? For some reason?”

I laugh a little at that, then glance over at Indie. “What about you?”

She shakes her head.

My stomach dips. I’d kind of assumed her family would be here. Oregon’s not far, and it’s the biggest game of the season. But I guess that was just me hoping.

I knock the top of her helmet again, gentler this time. “Sure you do,” I insist, grabbing her hand before she can argue. I tug her toward the edge of the tunnel until we can peek out at the stands.

The crowd’s huge, even bigger than I expected. I can barely spot an empty seat in the entire arena. And when the fans catch sight of us, the place erupts. A wave of thunderous cheers crashes over the rink, bouncing off the walls and amplifying.

Usually, that kind of sound would fill my lungs with water. All that attention, all that noise. But not anymore.

Not since Darcy.

It’s funny. Proving myself to the world got a whole lot easier when she became it.

I point to the stands, waving. “See all of those people?” I ask.

Indie nods.

“ That’s your family. They’re here for you.”

Her brows drop into a furrow, and she glances at me. “I’m pretty sure they’re here for you ,” she counters. "Or Clay Matthews."

I shake my head.“They’re here for all of us.”

I scan the stands for just a second longer. It’s probably best that I don’t locate my family. That way, I can’t feel their eyes burning into me while I skate. But just as I’m about to turn away, I spot them.

My dad’s wearing the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

If it were a convertible source of energy, it could power the stadium.

Beside him, my mom’s got a footlong hot dog in one hand, and a sign in the other that reads “Grizzlies Eat Giants.” I laugh silently to myself, then let my eyes wander further.

Avery’s next to her, headphones on, mumbling something animatedly to his roommate Adrian, who, naturally, is crocheting. I swear, they’re good at everything.

“Two minutes!” Coach calls out, snapping me out of it.

Indie peels off toward Faith, who’s motioning for help with her cage. I head past them, back toward the end of the tunnel.

Which is where I find Darcy.

She’s standing alone, completely absorbed in her clipboard, eyebrows furrowed in focus. I stroll up beside her, casually.

“Playing M.A.S.H. ?” I ask, flashing her a crooked smile.

Darcy’s brows draw together. “What?”

“ M.A.S.H., ” I repeat. “You know, the game where you figure out who you’re gonna marry, and how many kids you’re gonna have, and if you’re gonna live in a cardboard box under the freeway next to your Ferrari?”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “No kids for me,” she says. “At least, I’m not pushing the fucker out.”

I should laugh. Acknowledge what she said.

Do anything other than stare at her like I've just turned to stone, but I can't. All I can do is marvel. Because the way the overhead lights catch in her hair, and that little disappearing freckle between her brows when she’s focused, and the ASSISTANT COACH patch embroidered on her tightly-fitting jacket…

When her eyes finally flick up from the clipboard, everything inside me stirs to life.

Pounding.

Shaking.

Ah. There it is.

I clear my throat, trying to steady it. I thought I didn’t have pre-game nerves this time. I was feeling good. Confident. So why the hell am I suddenly vibrating?

“As for marriage,” she continues, glancing back at her clipboard, “that’s a possibility. But I’d never buy a Ferrari.” Those freckled lips pull into a perfect smile. That golden septum ring catches the light. And god, I can’t hold it in anymore.

“Alright it’s game time! Let’s go!” Coach calls, her voice cutting between us.

I want to reach for Darcy. I want to grab her by the collar and kiss her stupid.

I want to tell her that since the day she barged into my life, everything’s changed, undeniably and irreversibly, for the better.

I want to tell her I don’t care about Ferraris or the Sabertooths or all the kids she doesn’t want. I just want her.

I want to tell her I love her.

But when Queen of the Night starts blaring through the arena speakers, and the entire team surges forward, I know it's not the time.

Now isn’t about me.

It’s about us. About the team.

And dammit, I’m going to lead us to victory.

I sprint as fast as I can in my skates, weaving my way to the front. Coach always likes me to step on the ice first. I never really understood why until now. I glance behind me briefly, looking at my team, giving them a sharp nod.

“Alright fuckers,” I grin. “Let’s do this.”

We flood onto the ice. I don’t let myself look at Darcy, even though I want to. I stay focused, chatting with the ref, rallying near the bench, keeping my head where it needs to be.

I just keep repeating it:

I deserve to be here.

I deserve to be here.

I deserve to be here.

By the time the lineup’s called and I glide into position for the face off, I’ve said it enough times that I believe it.

My fingers tighten around the multi-colored tape, a grin pulling at the corner of my lips as I square my shoulders. My eyes flick down, just for a second.

And that's when I see it.

There, just below the grip, something catches my eyes: little black squiggles bleeding into the fiberglass.

I squint, tilting my head to get a better angle, which is when I realize:

These aren't meaningless squiggles. They're letters. Words.

Scrawled just beneath the handle tape, in unmistakably familiar handwriting are the words:

Mind the sun, Icarus.

A quiet laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head, glancing back up at Clay. They're watching me, brows knitted, eyes blazing.

“What’s so funny?” they ask.

Before I can answer, the ref blows the whistle, and the puck drops.

My hands move before my brain even processes it, stick grappling messily for the puck. But Clay was distracted by my chuckling, their movements much messier than mine, and I’m able to wrestle it, darting toward the other end of the ice.

The rink feels the same beneath my feet. The cold air feels the same against my face. But I don’t hear the loud roar of the crowd as I barrel forward, dodging one of the Giants' defense-women. I don’t hear my own either. I just hear Darcy’s.

You deserve to be here.

I’m not far from the net. I could carry it the whole way, take it in myself, dodge the other defender, and set up a shot. It would impress my dad. It would impress the media. And it sure as hell would impress the Sabertooths recruiters.

But out of the corner of my eye, I see her.

Indie’s blazing in like a bat out of hell, grinning wildly, eyes ablaze. There’s a slight lean in her posture, her stick angled, her body ready.

For a second, everything slows. My skates. The puck. My breath. I lock eyes with her.

She gives me a sharp nod.

I don’t consider taking the shot for another second. I wind back, powder flying behind me as I fake the puck to Bailey, then hit it in Indie’s direction, the rubber gliding across the ice right into her clutches.

It’s like a goddamn movie, the way those sharp little canines conquer her face as she flies forward.

How the Giants are just now figuring out that Bailey doesn’t have the puck.

How the goalie is positioned right in the center of the net, where she shouldn’t be.

And how Indie pulls her stick back with her top hand, thrusts it in with the bottom, and sends the puck hurtling through the air, smacking into the net with a snapshot, causing it to ripple.

I’ve been playing hockey my whole life. And it could be the acoustics, but I’ve never heard a crowd scream this loud for a rookie. Indie slowly turns to face me, her jaw slack, eyes wide, like she’s still processing what just happened.