“‘There are currently no details as to what led this rising star to burnout,’” she cuts me off, pressing on.
I freeze.
I hate that I freeze. I hate that I didn’t immediately make Caydence shut up. I hate that I listened to every word she said like it was my business, and I hate more that I care. A sharp pain pierces my chest.Why didn’t Darcy tell me?
But then, why would she?
She’s made her disdain for me clear. But wouldn’t that be all the more reason? She could’ve used her experience against me. The Portland Porcupines?The PWHL?That’s every hockey player’sdream.
And it was in the palm of her hand.
“This isn’t yours to share, Caydence,” I warn, but she just shrugs, flipping to the next line. I stand up.
“Stop,”I say, my frustration palpable. Caydence rolls her eyes.
“There’s a picture!” She gasps, leaning in to show us the screen.
And god, why do I look?
I don’t owe Darcy anything. This is public record. It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal. Still, it feels wrong. Iknowit’s wrong. If Darcy didn’t tell me, if she didn’t flaunt it in my face, there’s a damn good reason.
Despite my typically unwavering northeast moral compass, my eyes betray me, flicking toward the screen.
The photo is of Darcy, her ivy eyes narrowed, her grip on her stick tight. The timer in the background reads one second left on the clock.
I read the caption below it.
Darcy Cole, 21, starting center for the Minnesota Mavericks, scoring the winning goal for the WCHA tournament and sending her team to the Women’s Frozen Four.
I blink, reading it again.Starting center?
What the hell?
“Here I was thinking she was just the Coach’s daughter,” Caydence chirps, and I want to yank her ponytail and hear every strand of hair snap off her pin-sized head.
“Put it away, Caydence,” I demand.
She looks up at me, one eyebrow raised. “What? Touched a nerve? You know, I saw you two walking downtown a few we—”
Before I can snap, Indie speaks up, her voice soft but warning. “Guys?” She points behind us. I turn, my heart dissolving into the acidic pit of my stomach.
There, standing in the flickering firelight, is Darcy. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, face pale against the warmth of the flames.
Shit.
I jump to my feet, turning to her.“Darcy, I—”
But she just turns and walks away, fast, her back to me. I whip around to Caydence, nostrils flaring.
“You’re such a fuckingdicksometimes,” I snap. She feigns innocence, her eyes wide with fake surprise. I don’t care. I turn on my heel, rushing after Darcy.
Seventeen
Darcy
I can’t breathe.
Iactuallycan’t breathe.
