Page 149 of Power Play
Murphy nods like he’s just seen the second coming. “Drinks.”
And I let myself smile because maybe we’ve just turned the page.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
MURPHY
Sophie Hart just knocked Tabloid Girl flat on her designer-heeled arse, and I think I might be in love all over again.
It takes me a second to process it. One blink she’s standing next to the rink, all fury and fire, the next,bam, Tabloid Girl’s sliding halfway across the rink like someone shoved a Barbie doll into a curling match. She’s still floundering, limbs flailing like a wind-up toy running out of battery.
Ollie starts toward her, all good intentions and dumb puppy instincts. “Should we help her up or…?”
Jacko grabs him by the collar and hauls him back. “Leave it, Ol. Trash knows how to take itself out.”
Ollie blinks. “But,”
“Nope. Let natural consequences do their thing.”
I don’t laugh. I can’t. My jaw’s still somewhere near my skates, watching Sophie shake out her hand like she’s just swatted a fly and doesn’t think it was worth the effort. She’s a queen in black jeans and a fitted hoodie, standing tall while the press loses their collective minds.
And she came forme.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at her like she might vanish if I blink. Maybe it’s seconds. Maybe it’s hours. The crowd’s still roaring, the echo of my speech still vibrating in my chest, but all I can hear is her voice saying, “I came tonight. That counts for something, right?”
Yeah. It counts foreverything.
Jacko finally claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You done being a Disney prince, or do we need to break into song?”
I bark a laugh that comes out like a sigh. “I think I’ve reached my quota of public humiliation for the month.”
“You kidding?” Ollie skates up, still wide-eyed. “You’re trending,actuallytrending. Twitter loves you. There’s a gif of you that’s already got a million views.”
Great. Viral fame. Just what every emotionally compromised man wants.
I nod to the boys, but my eyes keep drifting back to Sophie. She’s talking to Mia again, rubbing her arms as though she’s cold. Like maybe she’s unsure.
Can’t blame her. I gave her nothing but doubt for weeks.
Coach waves us off the ice for the closing ceremony. The charity execs are all lined up to shake hands and say thank you, and I smile and nod and do the thing, but it’s all muscle memory. My brain is still with her.
When all of the PR stuff is done, I linger at the edge of the rink, still stunned by everything that’s just happened. I can’t move yet. Not when she’s still here.
Sophie’s standing by the boards, arms folded and head held high like she didn’t just turn a whole charity match into the most dramatic love story this arena has ever seen. The crowd’s buzzing. Phones out, flashes going off, people talking over each other about what just went down.
And she’s the eye of it all. Calm, composed, deadly.
Tabloid Girl is still on her arse near centre ice, flapping around like a drunk flamingo trying to regain balance in six-inch stilettos. Every time she tries to stand, she slips and skids a few feet in some new tragic direction. Her fake smile’s plastered on her face as though it might glue her dignity back together.
Ollie hesitates. “She looks like she’s drowning in air.”
Jacko leans in. “Lesson one, never rescue the villain in heels. Let karma finish the job.”
I snort and turn back to Sophie, there’s fire in her eyes, but it’s not rage now. It’s something steadier, warmer, a lot like peace.
“You good?” I ask.
She lifts one eyebrow. “Better now. That whole thing was cathartic as hell.”
