“Ayers, Jones,” my mom calls, tossing her head at Harlowe and Caydence. “Room 206. Cunningham, Brady—”
“Dammit,” Bailey mutters, low enough that only I catch it.
“Room 207. Clarke, Cole—” I freeze, looking at Peyton, whose eyes snap to mine like she’s been electrocuted. Mom clears her throat.“DarcyCole, Room 208.”
Every drop of blood in my face evacuates. My pulse is pounding so loudly I can barely hear my mom continuing to call names.
Shedidn’t.
Shewouldn’t.
My mind races, replaying every word, everytouchfrom Peyton and I’s last conversation. The way her gaze cut through me like daggers, how her eyes welled with tears, how her breath felt so close to mine, how her hand gripped my jacket.
Peyton and I haven’t even been able to tolerate each other during practice. How the hell are we supposed to survive a weekend sharing aroom?
My breath catches in my throat, and I force myself to swallow it down, trying to ignore the rising panic in my chest. Peyton’s gaze stays glued to mine, and for a split second, I see the same disbelief mirrored in her eyes. Thishasto be a joke. Abadone.
My momdoeshave a dark sense of humor.
But she just keeps calling out names. I’m barely hearing any of it, plotting a way out. There’s no way we can survive this. She has to know that, right?
When she finishes broadcasting assignments, and the team begins to spill out of the lobby, I march right up to her, nostrils flaring.
“You’re joking, right? I’m staying with you?” I manage to keep my voice steady, but inside, I’m anything but calm.
She looks at me like I’m any other team member. “No, Darcy. I’m not joking.”
I open my mouth to argue, my brain scrambling for something to convince her to change her mind. But she cuts me off before I can speak.
“Clearly, there’s a rift here. You two have the weekend to fix it, or you’ll lose your job, and she’ll lose her title” she says.
I pull back, brows furrowing, heart sinking. “But if I lose my job, I won’t graduate on time.”
Her gaze settles on me, softening just slightly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But this has gone on long enough.”
Heat floods my chest as I stare at her in disbelief. She pats my shoulder with a quiet finality, then strolls away.
I just stand there. Contemplating.
I could do it. Plenty of people don’t have college degrees. My dad never graduated, and he turned out to be a great… stay-at-home father.
Oh god. I donotwant to be a mom.
No, no, I could do something else. Plumbers make good money… though I have a strong sensitivity to human fluids. Okay, scratch that. A realtor? What do I care about houses? I’ll never afford one. A mechanic? A pilot?
My gaze flicks to Peyton. She’s watching me with an indecipherable expression. Something in her eyes sends a hot jolt through my body, and I hate it.
I hate that when I look at her, every memory of me in Minnesota floods back.
No matter how badly I want to quit, I can’t. It’s like trying to stop my heart from beating. Trying to stop my lungs from breathing. Quitting is foreign to me. I’ve never been able to do it. Not until the doctors told me I had to, and even then, I fought. Persistence is woven into my DNA—so fundamental that to erase it would take rewiring my entire brain.
I could walk away from the ice. Hell, I could run. But I’d just keep running in circles, always ending up right back where I started. It’s why I’m still here. Why I still have that damn clipboard.
I snatch my bag off the floor, and without another word, storm off toward Cabin 208, cursing myself. My stupid DNA.
Sixteen
Peyton
