Page 118 of Power Play
I drop onto the couch and sink back, beer in hand, as the day plays on a loop behind my eyes. Her voice. The tears. That bin bag she handed me as if it was a body. All the things that used to mean something between us, now zipped up in black plastic.
And I deserve it.
I sit there for hours, drinking slowly, stupidly, numbing the ache until it settles into something hollow and heavy. I don’t bother turning on the TV. Don’t check my phone. I just sit and let it hurt.
Around ten, there’s a knock on thedoor.
I ignore it.
Another knock. Then a pause. Then it opens, because of course it’s not locked properly. Because I didn’t even manage that right.
Jacko walks in holding two trays of brownies and an entire loaf of banana bread.
“I brought carbs,” he says, like that’s the most normal thing in the world.
I groan. “Jacko, mate, I’m not in the mood.”
“No one’severin the mood for banana bread until it’s under their nose,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I heard what happened. Ollie saw the photos. Then wouldn’t shut up about it. Murphygate, he’s calling it.”
I wince. “Jesus.”
Jacko drops the trays onto the coffee table and lowers himself into the armchair as though we’re about to settle in for a film night.
“So,” he says. “We wallowing or fixing?”
“Bit of both.”
He eyes the beer cans. “You’ve gone full tragic-romance, haven’t you? What next, sad playlists and open mic poetry?”
“Piss off.”
“Nah, I’m here for emotional support and gluten. You don’t get to scare off your best girl and then flounder in self-pity alone.”
I stare down at the half-empty can. “I didn’t cheat, Jacko. Not even close. But she looked at me like I did. And I just stood there like a fucking muppet while that girl wrapped herself around me. I froze.”
Jacko nods, picking at the corner of a brownie. “Because you wanted to be the good guy. Didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I made it worse anyway.”
He shrugs. “We all do, mate. Doesn’t mean it’s the end. Just means you’ve got to figure out what to do next.”
I laugh. It’s bitter and short. “She gave me a bag of my own socks like she was returning a library book. That doesn’t scream second chance.”
Jacko leans forward, elbows on knees. “She’s hurting. Doesn’t mean she stopped loving you. Just means she doesn’t trust you right now. And trust doesn’t bounce back overnight.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I should’ve told her about Chloe being at the event. I didn’t eventhinkto warn her. Just assumed it would be fine.”
“You assumed because it was a work thing. Because you weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“But perceptionisreality when it comes to this stuff. She saw the pictures, Jacko. Chloe kissing my cheek like it was some welcome-back party. The internet had a fucking field day. And Sophie had to find out along with everyone else.”
He hands me a brownie. I take it.
“You want her back?”
“More than anything.”
“Then stop sitting here drinking yourself into a black hole and do something about it. When the dust settles, when she’s ready, you tell her everything. Not just that you didn’t cheat. But why it happened. How you froze. What you’d do differently. You give her thetruth, Murph. Not the spin.”
