Page 146 of Power Play
The crowdloses it.
But I only care about one reaction.
Sophie.
She doesn’t run. She doesn’t hide. She looks at me with something raw and open on her face. And in that moment, under stadium lights, with Ollie skating like Bambi on espresso, I think I might’ve just taken the first real step back to her.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
The problem with public gestures is that you can’t pretend they didn’t happen. You can’t just go home, throw on your pyjamas, and erase the memory with wine and re-runs of your favourite show. Not when you’ve got Ollie skating holding a sign that says
“SOPHIE, DON’T MAKE US ADOPT HIM.”
I’m still in my seat. Still stunned. Still blinking under the blinding rink lights like I’m in some kind of fever dream.
Mia leans toward me, elbow digging lightly into my ribs. “Say something.”
“Like what?” I mutter. “Nice choreography? Great use of signage?”
She smirks. “How about the fact he just confessed his undying love to you in front of, what, four thousand people? And a televised broadcast?”
I shoot her a look. My heart’s doing somersaults, but my face refuses to admit it.
“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Mia raises an eyebrow. “You like dramatic. You’re just mad it wasn’t your idea.”
She might not be wrong.
I glance down at the ice, where Murphy’s still standing, hands straight down by his sides with his fists clenched now, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Jacko pats him on the back. Ollie says something that makes him laugh, but he’s not really looking at them. He’s looking at me.
And it’sthatlook. The one he used to give me across the bar when I was mid-rant about something utterly pointless and he looked like he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss me stupid. The one he gave me when we were tangled up on his sofa, legs everywhere, laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.
I hate that look. I hate that it still works.
“You okay?” Mia asks, more gently now.
I nod. Or shake my head. Honestly, who knows?
“I don’t know what to do with this,” I admit. “He didn’t lie. The photo did look bad. What does that say?”
Mia tilts her head. “It says he’s a complete idiot, but one who’s clearly trying to unfuck his mistakes. Loudly.”
I cross my arms over my chest and try not to shiver. It’s not from the cold.
“Do you believe him?” I ask.
“I do now. Dylan does too. And Dylan doesn’t exactly hand out second chances like party favours.”
I chew on my lower lip. The signs were ridiculous. Hilarious. So painfullyhim. And that speech? God. It was messy. Honest. Full of cracks and hesitations and unfiltered vulnerability. That’s the bit that gets me. Not the words, but the way he said them. Like he wasn’t trying to win me back with a scrip, he just wanted me to hear the truth for once.
I look back down at the rink.
Murphy’s still there. Waiting.
My legs move before my brain catches up. I stand, slowly. Mia squeezes my arm but doesn’t say anything.
