I freeze just long enough for Peyton to wriggle into the seat. She huffs, and a stray lock of her soft brown hair puffs up before settling back against her cheek.
“Sorry!” she calls out, grinning. “My foot got stuck.”
Everyone glances around, before turning back to their seats.
“I am going to kill you,” I mutter, catching my mom’s eye. She quirks an eyebrow but just turns back to the front and flops into her seat.
Peyton leans in, a minty scent brushing against my cheek.
“Only if you can be my last meal,” she says with a smirk.
I elbow her. “Knock it off.”
“Oh, relax. Nobody heard that.”
I shoot her a look, and she raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Her hand slips into her pocket, pulls out her phone, and she starts unwinding her earbuds. I watch her for a moment, waiting. Finally, she looks back up at me.
“What?” she asks innocently.
I frown, eyeing the empty rows of seats. “Why are you sitting here?”
“Oh, there’s a reason for that,” she says, holding up a finger. I wait. She doesn’t continue. I sigh and raise a pressing eyebrow.
“Well?”
Suddenly, she snaps her fingers as if remembering something important. “Right!” Her knees nudge mine as she turns fully toward me. “So, I had an idea.”
I lean back, crossing my arms, and biting back a smile. “Oh? This should be good. It’s not often you have one of those.”
Her eyes narrow, studying me for a moment before responding, “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “I’ll figure it out later.” She pulls out her phone, taps at it for a moment, and then looks back up at me, amber eyes glowing. “Anyway, I was thinking about your AIHL—”
“The Australian Ice Hockey League?”
“Your Autoimmune Hockey League.”
I groan, my head rolling back against the seat as the bus lurches into motion. “I told you to let this go.”
She doesn’t budge. In fact, she scoots in a little closer. “I know, I know. But hear me out.”
I turn to face her fully, cutting her off. “Peyton, this was a joke. A side project. Something to keep me busy. It’s not going to happen. I don’t have the resources.”
Sunbeams illuminate her eyes, shades of gold and bronze melting into a swirling pool as she stares up at me. Those full lips pull into an electric grin, and she beams.
“What if you did?”
I can feel it, the deep valley forming between my brows. My lips press into a confused line. “Yeah, okay. Not to be a complete cynic, but…howexactly would that happen?”
“You know how scouts from the Sabertooths always recruit from the final round of the LNHL championship?”
I nod slowly, still confused. The Sabertooths are one of the top teams in the PWHL. They also happen to be the direct rivals of the Portland Porcupines, the team I was signed to before I got diagnosed. Having their eyes on you is a big deal. Especially for a team who hasn’t won the LNHL finals in years—a team still chasing its first shot at the Women’s Frozen Four.
Peyton continues. “I want them to pick me in the draft this year. But they only take the best.” She pauses and her eyes flick down. “The best of the best.”
I wait, expecting her to elaborate, but she doesn’t, so I ask, “What does that have to do with me? Or myimaginaryleague?”
