Page 131 of Power Play
Mia tilts her head. “Then maybe it’s not about the photos. Maybe it’s about the trust.”
“Exactly,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “He didn’t cheat. But he also didn’t choose me. Not fast enough. And now I’m the one left looking like the fool.”
“You’re not a fool, Soph.”
“Then why do I feel like one?”
That silence again. Mia doesn’t rush to fill it. Instead, she waits, calm and steady, while I unravel one thread at a time.
“I miss him,” I admit finally, voice barely audible. “Not just the coupley stuff. The everyday stuff. The dumb memes he used to send. The way he’d hog the duvet and pretend not to. The way he’d look at me like I was it.”
Mia’s smile is soft now. “You were it. Probably still are.”
“Well, he should’ve thought about that before letting Tabloid Girl hang off his neck.”
She nods. “Fair.”
I lean back against the cushions, dragging a hand down my face. “God, I’m tired. Of being angry. Of pretending I’m not hurt. Of missing him when I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t pretend,” she says gently. “Feel what you feel. Sort through it. And when you’re ready, maybe listen to one of those voice notes.”
I look at her. “You’re way too wise for someone who once asked if penguins have knees.”
She grins. “They do, by the way.”
We fall into a quiet rhythm after that. The wine flows, the snacks dwindle, and the latest dating show unfolds on the screen like a human trainwreck.
Eventually, Mia gathers her things and hugs me goodbye at the door.
“You know where I’ll be tomorrow night,” she says. “If you change your mind.”
I smirk. “I’ll be here. Avoiding emotional whiplash and watching Netflix in peace.”
But even as I say it, something inside me flickers. The part of me that still isn’t sure. That still wonders.
And later, alone in bed, with the TV humming in the background and my phone glowing beside me, I finally scroll to the most recent voice note from Murphy.
I don’t press play.
But I don’t delete it either.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
MURPHY
The rink’s empty when I get there.
No puck smacks. No shouts. Just the soft hum of the overhead lights and the echo of my skates as I take a slow lap around the boards. It’s early. Earlier than I need to be. But sleep’s still hit-or-miss, and I figure if I’m going to lie awake going mad, I might as well do it with a stick in my hands and sweat on my back.
Jonno’s not due for another hour, but I know he’ll clock I’ve been here. He always does. Probably thinks I’m trying to impress him or earn back gold stars or whatever. But it’s not that.
It’s Sophie.
It’s always Sophie.
I think about her first thing when I wake up and last thing before I pass out again. And every hour in between. Her voice. Her face. The way she looked at me through that cracked door with her heart already halfway packed.
I’ve lost girls before. Left them, been left, ghosted and ghosted back. But this? This feels as though I’m bleeding from the inside out.
