Page 72 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)

She better start soon, because every single one of our teammates funnels off the bench, pouring onto the ice, cheering and screaming and shaking her so hard I fear she might get whiplash.

Finally, after a moment, the biggest smile I’ve ever seen breaks across her red, splotchy face, and she lets out an excited scream.

One that randomly cues me in to who might have screamed when the lights went out in the training room.

“Holy fuck!” she yells, grinning wildly. “Did you see that? I can’t believe I did that!”

I let out a clipped, surprised laugh, mouth stretched wide as I glance over at Bailey and Harlowe. They both blink in shocked unison.

“I didn’t know she knew cuss words!” Harlowe yells, beaming.

Bailey shakes her head. “Me neither!”

The rest of the game is the best I’ve ever played, and I didn’t score once.

Instead, I racked up five assists, helping bring our total score to seven. The Giants only managed four.

I know that’s not usually what the Sabertooths pay attention to. They like flash. They like stats and stars and scorers with recognizable names.

But I don’t care.

Because this has never felt more like a team. And I’ve never felt more like a captain.

What follows is a whirlwind of press interviews and locker room shenanigans.

Faith carried Indie around on her shoulders for a solid twenty minutes while Indie screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

Which, in D1 hockey terms isn't too far off.

Zayda and Caydence already began theorizing who we might go up against in the NCAA playoffs.

Harlowe vanished completely. I still don't know where she went.

Meanwhile, Bailey had already made her way over to my family, wedged between my mom and dad like she's one of their own, and devoured the cold hot dog Avery refused to touch because the concession worker "scratched his ass, I swear to god. " His words.

I weave through the throng of bodies, the scent of extortionately priced concessions and dank hockey stench filling the arena. People pat me on the back, and even tug at my sleeves as I push through, but I ignore them. I’m looking for one person. Well, two if you count Harlowe.

My thighs stick together from the heat when I push myself up onto my toes, muscles still buzzing, fingers threading through my damp, salty hair.

I scan the tops of a thousand heads, but none come up as that sleek, bright, fiery mane.

That is, until I turn toward the bench. There, leaning against the short gate, chatting with the ref, is Darcy.

That fluttering in my chest returns, slipping right beneath my collarbone, wrapping itself around the base of my throat, tickling. I try to clear my throat, but the feeling is insistent, like it knows something’s about to change.

I’ve only felt it once before.

The first time I ever stepped onto the ice.

This is that moment. One of those moments in life that, no matter how much time passes, you’ll always remember, because it became a fundamental part of you.

This is the moment I know I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t spend another second swallowing words or hiding behind semi-mean banter.

I need to say it.

All of it.

The full, messy truth.

I keep slipping past bodies, faster now, more intent in every step. My heart hammers loud enough to drown out the noise of celebration, my hands trembling and sweating like the guilty on trial.

Then, just as I’m about to close the distance, about to call out her name, a woman steps directly into my path and stops me cold.

“Excuse me,” she begins, her voice sharp and authoritative.

Thinking she’s one of my dad’s fans, I glance back over my shoulder and gesture vaguely. “He’s… um, over there.”

But the woman doesn’t avert her eyes from mine. She just smiles. “That’s nice. But I’m actually here to talk to you.”

She pulls a business card from the pocket of her tailored slate-gray blazer and holds it out to me.

Confused, I take it, noting her perfectly manicured nails.

Her white-blonde hair is cut into a precise bob that grazes her jawline, and her lipstick is the exact shade of red that my jaw bled when I got punched by that Giants player at the beginning of the season.

“I’m Sally,” she introduces. “Head recruiter for the Sabertooths. I’d like a moment of your time to talk about your plans after graduation.”

Furrowing my brows, I study the business card gripped between my fingers, flipping it over to verify the information. The glossy paper feels slick beneath my fingertips as I trace the famous Sabertooths logo.

The Sabertooths… want me? Even after last summer’s draft silence? Even after I spent the whole game setting up goals instead of scoring?

“We’ve always admired your father’s career, and it’s clear you’ve got that same talent. Even though you didn’t score tonight, your stats show you play with real intensity, and you definitely know how to find the net. We’ve got some of the biggest names in the league on our roster—”

My stomach drops, and I suddenly feel cold and alert, like someone just doused me in ice water.

“Solace, Wang, Lexington. You belong with them. We have a—”

“Sorry,” I cut in with an awkward, almost annoyed laugh. I shake my head, the next words coming out a little clipped. “Do you have my coach’s contact info?”

Sally blinks, clearly not used to being interrupted. She hesitates, then gives me a slightly disapproving, “…yes?”

I flash a tight smile and shove the card into my pocket, the edges crumpling under my grip. “Awesome. I actually have to go do something, so—” I pat her shoulder and push past.

Turning, I jog toward Darcy, not waiting for Sally’s reaction. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if her jaw hit the floor.

Was this a career-altering decision? Probably.

But listening to her drone on about the “big names” and wanting to see my name—my dad’s name, really—up there with them made one thing in my mind clear: I don’t give a damn about the Sabertooths. They can take their overdue draft papers and shove them up their—

“Was that Sally Rosenfield?” Darcy’s eyes go wide, her rosy brows nearly touching her hairline.

I’m panting pathetically, which I’ll blame on the ten feet I jogged, and not on the fact that my heart might burst out of my chest.

“Yes,” I answer, still catching my breath. My gaze wanders helplessly over her, those emerald eyes, strawberry hair, the slender curve of her nose, the freckles scattered across her cheeks, her soft, gloved hands. I’m erratic: my breathing, my thoughts, everything.

“Was she—I mean, did she… say anything?”

“I don’t want to live in California,” I blurt.

Darcy’s brows fall in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t want to live in California. It barely rains there. It’s too far from Bailey and Harlowe. And my brother. I don’t like the heat. And pine trees are way prettier than palm trees.”

She blinks. “Okay, you’re losing me.”

I shake my head, pushing forward. “I didn’t know it before, but I realize now, that the only reason I wanted to be recruited by the Sabertooths was to prove something.”

“That doesn’t make any sense," she says skeptically. "It’s been your dream since the team started. You told me that.”

I nod. “I thought it was. But then it wasn’t anymore.

I mean, have you seen their roster? It’s full of people like me.

Kids with pro parents, kids from legacy programs who got scouted at eighteen.

I don’t want to be another second-gen athlete coasting off a name.

I just want to be me.” I pause. “They said it themselves. They only want me because of my name.”

Darcy gives me a soft, sympathetic look. “Peyton, I'm sorry. They—”

“Wait.” I cut her off, breathing hard. Her emerald eyes lock with mine, and I blow out a shaky breath, trying to remember the script I practiced in my head.

I think I might throw up.

“I’m not done. You don’t have to say anything,” I say, holding her gaze. “Just listen. Okay?”

Still slightly puzzled, she nods. “Okay.”

I clear my throat and inhale again, letting my lungs take in as much air as possible.

Just say it , I think.

“The first time you opened your mouth, I wanted to stab myself in the eardrums.”

What? That wasn’t in the script!

Darcy looks at me, her brows drawing together. “…Okay?” she says hesitantly. Frantically, I shake my head.

“Hold on, hold on,” I falter, sticking my hands up. “I’m not done.”

She tilts her head, quirking a brow, but waits for me to continue. I suck in a breath.

I guess we’re freestyling.

“I wanted to stab myself in the eardrums because I was angry, and defensive, and insecure, and I didn’t want to listen to anything you had to say. I thought you were just another voice in the noise, tipping me over the edge.”

My throat constricts, but I swallow back the lump forming in the base of it.

“I’ve spent my entire life drowning in voices.

In magazines, and gossip, and my own damn head, telling me who I should be and what I should want.

I got so tired of listening to them. Tired of believing them, but I couldn’t help myself. And then—”

I pause, flicking my gaze from one of her eyes to the other, wondering if it’s just the light—or if one of them is a slightly lighter shade of green than the other.

“And then you showed up. And even when I fought you on it, even when I made an absolute fool of myself, you helped me anyway. You showed me what a waste it is to be stuck in my head when there’s a whole world out there.

And sure, I still have my doubts. Anyone would.

But the difference is, I don’t listen for them anymore.

Not the magazines. Not myself. I just listen for you . ”

A thick, glossy coat forms over Darcy’s eyes, the light reflecting a golden ring in the puddle.

She sniffs, bottom lip trembling. I don’t know if this is my cue to stop, or to keep going.

If she’s crying because being with me sounds like the worst possible ending of M.A.S.H.

, or if it’s because, this whole time, she’s felt it too.

So I don’t stop. In fact, I think I get louder.

“I love you, Darcy,” I announce. “Like, complete, total, Caspian-Susan in love and I know that wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and frankly I’m not sorry. Because even if I didn’t fall in love with you, I would love you anyway. For everything that you are.”

I take a breath, and when Darcy blinks, the tears trickle down her perfect, porcelain cheeks.

“And you’ve been hurt, and I get that. But I’m not asking you to do anything you aren’t ready for.

You just deserve to know that you’re loved.

And, god—” I laugh. “I kept telling myself I didn’t have time to love you, but the truth is, I’ve loved you in every minute we’ve ever had.

And even if I didn’t have time,” I breathe, “I’d invent time for you.

I’d go minor, or even beer league. I’d build a quantum machine— whatever it takes.

I’d rather have nothing with you, than have everything without you. ”

Darcy’s a puddle now, or maybe a river. Tears are steaming down both sides of her cheeks, but her lips are pulled into a bright, quivering smile. She lets out a stuffy laugh, swiping at her eyes, the salty drops absorbing into her gloves.

“You know they’re only in love in the movie, right?” she chokes out in a chuckling sob. I grin, shaking my head.

“No,” I admit, a short laughing slipping out. “I didn’t know that.”

Her hand reaches out, caressing my cheek. Those soft, teary eyes search mine, freckled lips parting to speak. But just as she opens her mouth, her chest collapsed.

It’s an agonizing, wet sound caught in the back of her throat, and dragged down, down, down. Her jade-toned eyes go wide, an unfocused glaze pooling over them. She blinks once, then again, then faster and faster like she's trying to get them to work while she sucks in ragged, shaky breaths.

I barely react in time when her knees suddenly buckle. I lunge, wrapping my arms around her just as she crumples into me, all of her weight pressing against my body.

“Darcy?” My voice comes out high and desperate. “Darcy, hey—look at me.”

She doesn’t move. Her head lolls forward, breath ragged, eyes shut.

“Help!” My voice rips from my throat, louder than I’ve ever heard myself scream. “Somebody help!”