Page 144 of Power Play
Mia: She needs to see you mean it loud.
Murphy: I hate how well you know us.
Mia: I ship it harder than Taylor Swift ships heartbreak into albums.
I stare at the screen for a long time before replying.
Murphy: Thanks, Mia.
Mia: Don’t screw it up. I want front row drama.
Game day.
The locker room’s electric. You’d think we were playing for the Cup the way everyone’s buzzing.
Even Coach pulls me aside.
“You got your words ready?”
I nod.
“You sure?”
“Not even remotely.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Then you’ll do fine.”
The game itself is a blur. I play like a man possessed, but not because I’m showing off. Because I’m counting minutes.
Counting heartbeats.
Counting down to her.
And then it’s time.
Post-game, lights dimmed slightly, announcer giving the cue. The crowd’s buzzing. No one knows what’s coming.
I spot her before I even reach the mic. Mia’s beside her, clearly in on it. Sophie looks wary. Defensive. But she’s watching.
She’swatching.
I take a deep breath and step up to the mic, heart banging against my ribs as if it’s trying to bail out of my chest.
“Evening, everyone,” I start, voice a little hoarse. “Thanks for sticking around. I know this is weird. I promise I’ll be quick.”
There’s a ripple of laughter, a few confused murmurs. Someone halfway up in the second-tier bellows, “LOVE YOU, MURPHY!” and I flash a grin.
But then I see her. Front row, flanked by Mia, her eyes locked on me like she’s bracing for impact. Or maybe escape.
“This isn’t about hockey,” I say, and my voice cracks despite me. “This is about someone I hurt. Someone I love.”
And just as I say it, the lights flicker and two spotlights shoot across the ice.
Enter Ollie and Jacko.
Skating. Wearing matching oversized bowties. Each holding signs that flap wildly as they circle the rink in opposite directions like a pair of drunk cupids.
Jacko’s reads in bold black ink.
