Page 157 of Power Play
“I know.”
“I need to know you’re the guy who shows up when there’s nothing dramatic going on. When it’s boring and messy and I’ve had a bad day and need someone to remind me not to set my emails on fire.”
“I want to be that guy.”
“Then be him.”
I nod.
She gets out of the car but leans back in before closing the door. “Thanks for the loaf. And the ride. And…” Her eyes meet mine. “For not rushing this.”
“I’m in no rush,” I say. “I’ll wait.”
She closes the door gently. No kiss. No promises. Just a look that says maybe. A softmaybethat feels more real than any yes ever has.
And that’s when I know.
This, what we’re doing now, isn’t about winning.
It’s about choosing each other, every day, without the scoreboard.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
SOPHIE
It starts with a text from Mia.
Mia: Tell him before you combust. Or I will. With interpretive dance.
And honestly, that’s what tips me over.
Not the thousand TikTok’s of Murphy’s “I love you, don’t fuck it up” speech.
Not the photos of me mid-slap, arm cocked as if I’m avenging a fallen nation.
Not the memes of Murphy looking as though he’s about to sob into a glitter cannon.
No, it’s Mia threatening modern dance.
So here I am, stupid early on a Tuesday morning, standing outside a mostly empty rink with two takeaway coffees in one hand and a greasy paper bag full of pastries in the other. Like a rom-com extra who doesn’t know she’s in the wrong genre.
My breath fogs in the cold. I haven’t done this kind of gesture in a long time. And definitely not for someone who’s hurt me.
But something’s changed.
Or maybe it’s me who changed.
Because for the first time in weeks, I’m not angry. Not even a little. I’m tired, sure. Guarded, absolutely. But the bone-deep fury I clung to like armour? It’s gone. Leaked out of me somewhere between Murphy’s cracked voice on the ice and his quiet steadiness since.
He hasn’t asked for anything. No pressure. Nomore speeches. Just patience. Kindness. The occasional stupid meme sent at two in the morning with no caption but perfect timing.
And maybe that’s how I know he means it this time. Because he’s not trying to bulldoze his way back into my life. He’s leaving the door open and waiting.
I pull my hoodie tighter around me and edge toward the side entrance of the rink. The one Mia told me he sneaks in through before morning practice to avoid media vultures.
This could be stupid. He might not even be here yet.
Or worse, he might be here and not want me here. Not after I made him wait so long.
