Page 113 of Power Play
“Murph,” he says, low and urgent. “We need to talk.”
I barely have time to clock the seriousness in his voice before he grabs my arm and steers me down the corridor, away from the rest of the guys who are still warming up or shooting the shit with trainers. Jonno throws us a side-eye but says nothing.
“Jesus, mate,” I mutter, trying to yank my arm free. “What’s your problem?”
He stops walking and thrusts his phone into my face. “What the hell is this?”
My stomach drops.
On the screen is a video clip, grainy but clear enough. The gala. Me on the balcony with Chloe, Tabloid Girl, her hand on my arm, her mouth close to my ear. The angle makes it look worse than it was. The music drowned out what was being said, and someone captioned it like we’re the next bloody soap opera.Hockey’s Bad Boy Back on the Market? Samuel Murphy Cozying Up with Red Dress Mystery Woman.
I blink. Then another image flashes, it’s a still photo this time. Her hand on my chest. Me mid-laugh, eyes half-lidded. Out of context, it’s damning. It looks intimate. It looks exactly like the sort of thing Sophie would hate.
Dylan doesn’t look smug. He looks furious. Protective. His voice is low but hard. “It’s on Twitter. Insta. Fucking Reddit. You’re all over the fan sites. People are saying you’ve cheated.”
“I didn’t,” I snap.
He gives a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t bloody matter if you didn’t. Look at this shit. You look like you’re enjoying it.”
“She cornered me, Dyl. I didn’t invite her, didn’t want her there. She showed up and latched on like a leech. I told her I was taken, told her to back off.”
“Not hard enough.”
That hits like a slap. I step back as though I’ve been physically shoved. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m serious about Sophie,” he says, quiet and brutal. “She deserves better than to wake up and see this.”
I flinch.
“I didn’t cheat,” I say again, the words rasping out now. “I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t even want to be near her. I spent half the night texting Soph, wishing she was there.”
“Then why the fuck does it look like you were ready to rip her dress off with your teeth?” he snaps.
“I DON’T KNOW!” The yell echoes down the corridor. Heads turn, but I don’t care. My chest is heaving. “I don’t know. I was trying to be polite. To not make a scene. I kept stepping back, she kept following. I didn’t want drama at a fucking sponsorship event.”
Dylan’s expression doesn’t budge.
I feel myself unravelling. “You know me. Come on. You know I’d never do that to Sophie. She’s everything. She’s it.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you get out of there the second she laid a hand on you?”
“I thought I could handle it. Thought it would blow over. I didn’t know someone was filming!”
He shakes his head, shoving the phone into his pocket as if it disgusts him to still be holding it.
And now I want to punch something. Not him. Myself. The wall. Anything to stop the roaring panic rising in my throat. Because I know Sophie. I know how this must’ve looked to her. I know how the sick twist in her gut she must’ve felt when she saw it. I know how many times she’s heard stories about hockey players being unfaithful, and how she always said she didn’t want to be someone’s side character.
And now I’ve made her look like one.
Even if I didn’t do a thing wrong.
“She hasn’t answered any of my messages,” I say, voice cracking.
“Can you blame her?” Dylan says, and it’s not cruel. It’s honest.
My hands are shaking.
I fumble for my phone. Open our message thread. She hasn’t left me on read. She hasn’t even opened the last one.
