Page 143 of Power Play

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“You’ve got ten minutes before security starts asking questions,” he says. “You rehearsing?”

“Yeah,” I say, though I’m not. Not properly.

Because truth doesn’t need rehearsal. It needs guts.

I walk out to centre ice, empty stands stretching around me. It’s freezing, echoey, and completely surreal.

This is where it’ll happen.

Where I’ll say her name.

Where I’ll tell the world I didn’t cheat. That I love her. That I messed up, not by doing something wrong, but by not stopping the damage fast enough.

Jacko’s voice rings out from the stands.

“HOW ABOUT THIS ONE; ‘SHE’S OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE BUT YOU’RE A PLAYER SO CATCH HER ANYWAY.’”

I stare up at him. “Jacko.”

“What?”

“No.”

Ollie holds up a sign reading

“SORRY I’M A MUFFIN. CAN I BE YOUR SNACK AGAIN?”

I pause. “That’s closer.”

We spend the next two days tightening the plan.

Mia gets us in touch with the announcer. Jacko bribes someone in marketing for a pre-approved media slot. Ollie starts calling in favours from a Uni friend who once ran sound for a music festival.

I start writing.

Not a speech. Just words.

True ones.

And when I get stuck, I read Sophie’s old texts. I play the voice notes she left me back when I was funny, back when she loved me. There’s one where she’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe because I misread the word “quinoa” as “kwin-ooh-ah.” I listen to that one three times in a row.

The night before the game, I panic.

Hard.

Not the sweaty-palmed, maybe-I’ll-throw-up panic. Thewhat-if-this-makes-it-worsepanic. Because what if she sees it as manipulation? What if she thinks I’m pulling a stunt, turning her pain into a performance? What if I break her trust more by trying to earn it?

I text Mia just before midnight.

Murphy: Am I an idiot?

Mia: Absolutely. But you’re an idiot in love.

Murphy: What if this just embarrasses her?

Mia: Then you’ll apologise again. Privately. Properly.

Mia: But I think she’swaiting for this.

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