Page 74 of Like a Power Play (Greenrock University: Icebound #1)
“I want to see them,” I say, sitting up.
My mom smiles, then turns and waves them in.
Nothing could have prepared me for the parade that is the Grizzlies.
Not only do bodies flood the room, but with them comes an explosion.
Balloons bob along the ceiling. Every flower I know the name of is being carried in someone’s arms, filling the once beige, sterile room with color and soft floral scents.
Zayda has a party hat on, for some reason, and one of those paper blowers that unrolls when you put air into it.
She presses her hands into a heart shape and aims it right at me.
Bailey is the first to make it to my bed.
She pushes past everyone, her dark bangs still damp from her shower, Kiki's Delivery Service pajama pants hanging from her waist. In one hand, she’s carrying a bag of watermelon Sour Patch Kids, and in the other, a pink, vintage-looking gift bag with gold handles.
"Oh my god," she breathes, collapsing onto the edge of my bed. Her big, brown, worried eyes bore into mine. "Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay. You had us so worried. "
"I'm okay," I say coolly.
She lets out a huge exhale, her entire body relaxing as the air evacuates her lungs. "Good," she chimes. "Because I brought you this." She drops the candy on my tray, then shoves the gift bag urgently into my lap, gesturing for me to open it.
Humoring her, I reach past the crinkled eggshell tissue paper until my fingers— my bare, bent fingers —graze something smooth and rectangular. Bailey keeps rambling while I pull it out.
“It’s my new favorite book, and I need someone to talk about it with, so I nominated you,” she explains.
I turn the paperback over in my hands: a gorgeous lilac cover with an illustration of two voluptuous Victorian women, both dramatically posed, clearly on the verge of making lust-driven decisions. A grin breaks across my face as I look back up at her.
“You’re kidding!” I exclaim, and instantly regret it as a jolt of soreness branches out in my chest like bolts of lightning. I wince. Bailey catches it and flashes me an apologetic look, but doesn’t hold it for too long. She just waits for me to be ready to finish. "I’ve been dying to read this.”
“Well, you better hurry up, because I am dying to talk about it." She grins sunbeams, pulling her knees up on the bed.
Zayda and Lena barrel in next, both wearing their numbered Grizzlies hoodies and balancing paper cups of gross hospital coffee.
They nearly spill it over the end of my bed arguing about whether one of them saw Dr. Hughes in an episode of Grey's Anatomy once.
Lena hands me a bouquet of bright yellow flowers, while Zayda pops open my box of Sour Patch Kids and pops a handful into her mouth.
They talk about the game, how I looked "almost definitively dead" and tie balloons on the railing of my bed. After comes in Indie, then Faith.
As the room clamors, and my mom retreats to the cafeteria (again) because she "needs a fucking break from these monsters" (again) someone else approaches my bed.
Someone I honestly imagined would be the last person to show up.
"Hey."
Caydence stands awkwardly beside me. She’s clutching a small brown bear wearing a yellow shirt that reads Get Well Soon. Her eyes flick down to it, like she had forgotten she had it, then she places it gently among the pile of gifts crowding the edge of my bed.
"Hey," I echo.
For a long, awkward minute, she just stands there, staring at the tubes running in and out of me.
Everyone else is preoccupied. Zayda brought her PlayStation and somehow hooked up NHL 21 to the hospital TV. Honestly, it kind of feels like we’re just hanging out in the lounge back at campus. You know, if Caydence wasn't staring at me like I'm half-cyborg.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” she asks finally.
A hole not unlike the one in my chest sinks deep into the pit of my stomach. My eyes fall to my nervously fumbling hands.
“It’s… complicated. I guess I didn’t want you guys to see me as… broken or whatever.”
Admitting it feels dumb. Especially to someone like Caydence, who already excels at making you question yourself. But instead of proving my hypothesis, rather than moving on awkwardly like she never asked, she says, “We don’t think you’re broken.”
An wet ache wells in my throat, tugging at my vocal cords. She goes on.
“I was a bitch,” she states. Then pauses. “ Am . I am a bitch. I know that about myself. It’s not a secret I try to keep.”
The corners of my lips twitch slightly.
“And I’m not apologizing just because you’re all— Winter Soldier.
I’ve been meaning to say it. But—” She huffs frustratedly, though I can tell it's aimed at herself. “I seem to be incapable of doing it like a normal person. I don’t— whatever . The point is, I’m an asshole.
And I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell us. ”
I try to fight the smile pulling at my mouth, only because I know it’ll make this already-awkward moment so much worse . I avert my gaze, toying with the seam of my blanket.
“Thanks,” I manage. Then add, “You know, I’m something of a bitch myself.”
Caydence lets out an airy laugh. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
Now, it's my turn to laugh.
"Did you drop a Bucky Barnes reference while apologizing to me?" I ask after a moment.
Her face goes beet red. "Uh… yeah. I guess I did."
"Huh." I nod, considering it. "I think I'm going to make a mandatory element of any future apologies I receive from anyone."
After a few minutes of discussing the moral nuances of Buchanan James Barnes, Caydence pulls away to battle Bailey on the PlayStation.
As my eyes survey the room, I find myself searching for one player in particular.
Someone with a stellar wolf cut, and amber eyes.
Someone who was the first to make me feel like this.
Accepted.
My eyes quickly sweep the room in anticipation, like I can will her into existence if I just look hard enough.
Left, right, nothing. Again. Left, right, nothing.
So I slow down, forcing my gaze to drag across every inch of the room. I count each ceiling tile, one by one, until I’m sure not a single corner has gone unseen.
Still, I don't see her.
That is, until I look back at the door one last time.
There, standing in the wooden frame, is Peyton. She's got Mr. Bubbles beside her, saddled in his green "therapy dog" vest. In her arms, she's carrying a wicker basket the size of him. And suddenly, it all floods back.
The Sabertooths. The words "I love you". The Narnia reference.
Oh my god.
You know they’re only in love in the movie?
Really?
To be fair, there’s no official guidebook on how to respond to sudden love confessions.
Though, I’d assume the correct thing to do if the feelings are reciprocated would be say it back.
Or kiss her. Or do anything other than point out the discrepancies between movie adaptations and the original literature, then pass out.
But I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. The second she looked at me, I realized I was done for. Telling myself I couldn’t trust her was like telling a fish not to swim. Telling myself not to love her was like telling myself not to breathe.
I like having options. Different books for different moods, new dinners every night.
But loving her? I had no say in that. And for the first time, I don’t want one.
Peyton makes me feel like I can do anything. The anger, the grief, they don’t disappear. Some days they’re stronger than others. But even more, I have hope. I have drive, and passion. And that’s something I never thought I’d get back.
But I don’t just love Peyton for how she makes me feel.
I love her for who she is.
I love that she remembers the details about people.
That she shows up for the ones who have no one.
That she abducted a neglected puppy on the sidewalk, and that she took a punch to protect the most vulnerable member of the team.
That she dances and sings to music, no matter who is watching, and paints her body green for Halloween.
I love that she texts her brother twice a day, even though he rarely responds, and I love that she knew exactly how to get me back onto the ice after only knowing me for a few weeks.
I love every fucking thing about her.
And I said “You know they’re only in love in the movie?”
Only a second after our eyes lock, everyone else in the room realizes she’s here. Not because of the usual cheering that erupts around her, but because the whole room falls silent.
Except for Bailey.
“Dude, what the frick?” she blurts, turning toward Caydence. “You can’t just stop in the middle of a—”
Caydence elbows her in the ribs, enticing a scowl out of her. Then she nods toward Peyton and me with a pointed glance.
“Welp,” Harlowe announces, pulling herself to her feet and clapping her hands once. “I’m hungry. Who’s coming?”
Bailey squints. “But we literally just —”
“Dude,” Zayda cuts in, tone dry.
Bailey sighs as Harlowe loops an arm through hers and starts ushering her toward the door.
“Come on, Princess,” Harlowe urges, tugging Bailey past my bed. As she gets close, she leans in and mutters, “Pro tip: don’t roll on top of your tubes. If they kink, it sends an emergency signal to the nurse and stirs up all kinds of shit.”
Slightly thrown by the oddly specific piece of advice, I manage a quiet, “Thanks,” as she herds Bailey toward the door.
The rest of the team trickles out behind them, tossing waves and salutes in my direction, a few of them bumping Peyton’s fist or ruffling Mister’s head on their way out. Once the door clicks shut behind the last one, Peyton turns to me with a concerned smile.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worry evident in her tone.
I theatrically gesture to the tubes connected to me. “What, these old things?” I swish a dismissive hand. “Please. It’s a cakewalk compared to dealing with you.”