Page 154 of Power Play
“Perfect.”
We hang up, and I stare at the phone for a second longer, heart aching in a way that feels manageable.
Like grief in remission and maybe, possibly, hope.
I don’t text Murphy.
I don’t need to.
He sent me a photo earlier, one of the memes. The one where I’m mid-shove and someone added comic book-style “WHAM!” text above it. His message just saidHero arc unlocked.
I didn’t reply but I saved it.
Because he saw me. Not just in the moment. Not just in the headline. But themeunderneath all of it. The girl who shows up, even when it’s hard. Who still believes in people, even when sheshouldn’t. Who chooses love, not because it’s easy, but because it’s worth the risk.
And maybe he’s finally learning how to do the same.
The rest of the day unfolds in fragments. I do laundry. I clean the kitchen. I re-watch three episodes ofThe Bearand cry a little at a scene that isn’t even sad. My body feels like a balloon that’s been too full for too long, deflated, but still stretched thin.
Around three, a delivery arrives. A small white box with my name in Murphy’s handwriting.
Inside is a roll of glitter tape, a toy Zamboni, and a note.
No more speeches. No more stunts. Just me, here, trying. Every day.
You don’t owe me anything. But I’m not going anywhere.
It’s stupid and sweet and small in the best way.
No promises.
Just presence.
I tape the note to the fridge.
Not because I’ve forgiven him. But because I might.
Eventually.
That night, I finally call him.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, curling into the corner of my couch. “So, um, I got your package.”
“You didn’t throw it out?”
“Nope.”
“That’s progress.”
I sigh and contemplate my next move. “Murphy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
