Page 112 of Power Play
They don’t lie. Not with the way she’s leaning into him like she owns him. Not with the way his mouth is curved in something that could almost be a smile.
Another wave crashes over me. Hot, ugly.
“I’m such a mug,” I croak. “Like, full-on tragic heroine. All I’m missing is rain on a windowpane and a bottle of wine to cry into.”
“I brought pastries,” Mia offers, reaching into her bag. “No wine, but I’ve got a croissant the size of your emotional damage.”
Somehow, that almost makes me laugh. Almost. I take the pastry. Because what else can I do?
My phone buzzes on the coffee table and I stare at it as if it’s about to explode. “What if it’s him?” I whisper.
Mia doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. I swipe to unlock it. It’s a message from Murphy.
Just one word.
“Sophie”
No punctuation. No explanation. Just my name.
And it breaks me.
Because for the first time, I don’t know what it means. Doesn’t sound like an apology. Doesn’t sound like regret. It sounds as though he’s trying to remind me who I am.
And right now? I don’t even know that anymore.
I clutch the blanket tighter around me, some threadbare shield against the full-body ache building in my chest. Mia says something soft and comforting, but it doesn’t land. My brain has left the chat.
Because suddenly, it hits me like a freight train.
“We’re supposed to be moving in together next month,” I say, voice flat, like I’ve just remembered I left the oven on.
Mia stills. I feel her eyes on me.
I blink at nothing. “Not in a ‘what if’ way. Not in a ‘maybe one day’ hypothetical, Pinterest board sort of way. In a literal, real-life, lease-signed, flat-deposit-paid, I’ve-already-ordered-the-bloody-throw-pillows kind of way.”
My voice rises, cracking on the edges now. “I bought coasters, Mia.Coasters.For us. Because he drinks his stupid protein shakes and leaves rings on furniture and I thought it was cute. I thought that was something I could live with. That I wanted to live with.”
I stand up without meaning to, pacing now because sitting still feels dangerous. Like I’ll disintegrate if I stop moving.
“We made plans. We talked about how we’d split the bills and who gets control of the Spotify queue and how he’d do mornings because I’m a goblin until ten. We joked about getting a bloody joint account for toilet paper and takeaway.”
My throat tightens. “And I was genuinely excited. Like a bloodyidiot. I cleared out half my wardrobe for him. I picked a paint colour for the living room that matches his stupid eyes.”
That’s when I crack.
The tears come hot and sudden, streaming down my cheeks as the dam bursts. “I thought this was it. I thought he was it.”
Mia is beside me in an instant, arms around me before I can collapse.
I let her hold me, sobbing into her shoulder, clutching her like she’s the only solid thing in a world that’s just crumbled beneath my feet.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
MURPHY
The smell of sweat, rubber, and adrenaline clings to the rink like it always does. The buzz of skates carving ice, coaches shouting, pucks slapping off boards, it should calm me. Should settle me into the rhythm I’ve known since I was five.
Instead, there’s a tension in the air that coils tighter the second Dylan strides toward me, jaw clenched, phone in hand.
