Page 147 of Power Play
I descend the steps of the stand one at a time. Each one feels like a decision I haven’t fully made.
By the time I reach the rink-side barrier, Murphy’s looking at me as though he’s afraid I’ll vanish. Or worse, that I’ll keep walking.
I rest my hands on the edge of the barrier.
“What now?” I ask quietly.
He looks terrified. But he walks toward me anyway.
“Now?” he says, stopping in front me. “Now I wait. For as long as it takes. Until you’re ready to talk. To scream at me. Throw a drink in my face. Anything you need. Just not nothing. Please not nothing.”
I hate that he sounds scared. I hate that I understand why.
“You made your point,” I say. “Loudly. With signs.”
He chuckles. “Jacko wanted to add glitter. I vetoed it. You’re welcome.”
I crack a smile. Just a tiny one. “Appreciated.”
We stare at each other.
The silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels full. Charged.
“I’m not ready,” I tell him.
Murphy nods. “That’s okay. I’m not asking for anything. Just don’t block my number. That would kill me.”
I snort. “You send a voice note every day like a hostage trying to prove he’s alive.”
“Is that too much?”
“The one where you sang the chorus to ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’ almost got you reported.”
He grins. It’s crooked and a little sheepish and so painfullyhimI want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
I sigh. “I don’t know what this is. Or what I want it to be. But I came tonight. That counts for something, right?”
His expression softens, and he reaches up, resting his gloved hands against the glass between us.
“It counts for everything.”
The atmosphere in the rink is still buzzing, people whispering and glancing my way as I linger at the edge of the rink. Murphy’s stepped off the ice now, flanked by Ollie and Jacko. They’re giving him space, but not too much, which is probably wise, given what happens next.
Because ofcourseshe shows up.
Tabloid Girl.
Draped in some sort of faux-fur monstrosity, heels that have no business near an ice rink, and sunglasses like she’s auditioning forLove Island: Arctic Edition. She pushes through the crowd of media that’s loitering near the rink for the charity event, waving her press pass as if it’s the bloody crown jewels.
“Oh my God, Murphy!” she squeals, like we’re all deaf and blind and haven’t just seen what happened on the ice. “That wassomoving.”
She struts, yes,struts, straight across the rubber matting and onto the rink-side rubber just as I’m stepping forward.
Murphy sees her and visibly stiffens. “Not now.”
But she barrels on like she didn’t hear him. Or maybe she just doesn’t care.
“I just wanted to say, for what it’s worth, I never meant to cause any trouble between you and…” She looks me up and down, eyes raking over my boots and hoodie as though she’s found something stuck to her Louboutin. “…her.”
