Page 32 of Like a Power Play
“Paula.” A loud sigh tumbles from Darcy’s freckled lips, her tongue scraping across them as she dips her head into her hands. “Just—”
Coach looks back to me, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, bringing her silver whistle to her lips.
“Alright,” she says. “Get back to it, Captain.”
So I do.
Eight
Darcy
“You’re doing it again,” my mom’s voice hums softly. My eyes flick up, and I quickly tuck my clipboard against my body. I don’t want her to see what I’ve been working on. Not yet.
A frown tugs at the corners of my lips, and I lift my chin to meet her gaze. “Doing what?” Mom props a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes. I roll mine, exhaling loudly. “You’re the one who signed me up for this. Am I supposed to coach or not?”
“You’resupposedto support the team,” she says, her tone warm but firm. ThePaula Cole Specialty.She slides onto the bench beside me, the soft squeak of the cold plastic harmonizing with the slap of pucks against sticks. I turn my gaze to the rink, letting the blur of bodies and the crisp, artificial chill in the air occupy me.
“Feedback is support,” I mutter.
Mom nudges her shoulder into mine. “Darcy, you’re a student coach. And as a student coach, criticism needs to be—”
“—softer, I know,” I finish for her, sighing dramatically. Our eyes lock, and the words spill out in an irritated, defeated breath. “I’m sorry. She’s justso…” My jaw clenches, the scrape of my teeth rattling my skull. “Arrogant.”
“Oh?” Mom raises her brows, surprised at first, then softens her expression.
I search her face for any sign that she’s messing with me, but her eyes meet mine with genuine curiosity. “What? You don’t see it?”
She shrugs nonchalantly and glances back toward the ice. I follow her gaze, landing on thatstupidnumber 11.
I’d never say it out loud. Even thinking it feels like a betrayal. But Peyton’s magnetic. It’s still not the way she skated alone that morning, but somehow the rink bends around her just the same, and even the puck seems to follow her lead. Her green jersey lays flush against her body as she glides, hair in a loose bun that sways with every shift. If she wasn’t so thoughtless, if she bothered to consider what she stood to lose with those endless solo practices and dumb frat parties, she could easily land a spot on any team she wanted, given she learn how to work as aunit. But she doesn’t—so she won’t.
Mom clicks her tongue thoughtfully. “I see a lot ofyou, actually.”
An offended scoff tumbles out of me. “Really?You mean the blatant cockiness, or the obvious disregard for the rules?”
“You had that same drive, Darcy,” she answers. “Same passion.”
“I was more careful,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the rink. “I didn’t throw away my spot for a stupid party or—”
I catch myself almost exposing Peyton’s morning practices. Maybe I should. I mean, if she keeps it up, she’s going to hurt herself. Not to mention she’s breaking school policy. Still, forsome inexplicable reason, I can’t bring myself to tattle. So I just snap my jaw shut.
“Maybe,” she says. “But you had a coach as a mom. She’s got a pro player for a dad. It’s different.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes people aren’t what they seem.”
I frown, trying to make sense of it, but I can’t. “Yeah, I don’t get it.”
Mom chuckles softly, a sound warm and familiar that lightens my chest. Her fingers move toward me, brushing the curve of my cheek as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Remember the first time we flew together? When we boarded that plane to Nashville?”
I groan, already regretting where this is headed. “Mom, please. Not now.”
She’s undeterred. “You looked like you didn’t have a care in the world. You were excited, relaxed. It was like you’d done it a thousand times.”
I shift uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat. “I don’t remember.”
She smiles a little, crossing her arms. “When we landed, I asked you how you felt. Do you remember what you said?”
