Page 117 of Power Play
“You’re everything,” he says hoarsely. “You’re it for me. I messed up, but please don’t throw us away.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. “You already did.”
I step back and shut the door.
This time, he doesn’t knock again.
He just stands there.
Holding the pieces of us in a plastic bag.
Mia finds me in the kitchen a few minutes later, sitting on the cold tiles with my back against the cupboard doors, the sink dripping steadily in the background. My arms are wrapped around my knees, and I don’t even realise I’m crying until she crouches beside me and wipes a tear off my cheek.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Breathe.”
“I can’t,” I say, and my voice breaks completely. “I can’t believe this is happening. We were planning our life.”
Mia pulls me into a hug, and I collapse into her. I sob like I haven’t since I was a kid, loud and broken and gasping.
“I loved him,” I say into her shoulder. “God, Mia, Ilovehim. And I hate that I still do.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “I know, Soph.”
“We picked out a bloody sofa together. I was going to surprise him with prints of his stupid away-game photos for the hallway. I thought we were solid.”
“You were,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean you have to accept less than you deserve.”
“I didn’t even care about the fame stuff,” I whisper. “The parties, the photos. I just wantedhim. But maybe he doesn’t know how to just be someone’s person.”
Mia doesn’t say anything for a while. She just holds me and lets me fall apart.
Eventually, the sobs slow, and I’m left with a headache and a hollow space in my chest where hope used to live.
“I hate that the worst part isn’t losing him,” I say. “It’s losing the version of him I thought I knew.”
Mia hugs me tighter. “That’s the part that hurts the most.”
And for the first time since the photos surfaced, I let myself fall apart properly.
I let myself mourn us.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
MURPHY
Idon’t remember the drive home.
Not really. But I remember the bin bag. The sound of it sliding off my passenger seat and hitting the floor when I took a turn too hard. I remember the traffic light that wouldn’t change. I remember Sophie’s face. The way she looked at me like she didn’t recognise who I was anymore.
I get into the flat and lock the door behind me. I don’t turn the lights on. Just head straight for the kitchen, grab the nearest six-pack from the fridge, and crack one open without even thinking.
The silence is worse than I thought it would be.
Her mug’s still by the sink. That stupid yellow one with the chipped handle that she never let me throw away. There’s a cardigan of hers on the back of the sofa. And her godawful monster feet slippers by the door. Like she might still walk in and step into them any second.
But she won’t.
Because I ruined it.
