Page 156 of Power Play
“You’re being suspiciously well-behaved,” Ollie says, skating up next to me. “No declarations of love? No public meltdowns? Are you dying?”
“I’m evolving,” I mutter, flicking a puck toward the boards.
“Gross. Like a Pokémon?”
“More like a guilt-ridden human trying not to screw things up a second time.”
He grins and slaps me on the helmet. “Proud of you, mate. Sophie’s scary when she’s pissed.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“She’s also terrifying when she’s in love, though,” Ollie adds, a little more thoughtfully. “Don’t take it for granted.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
The locker room feels different now. Nobody’s tiptoeing around me. Jacko gives me a nod on the way in. Dylan claps me on the back and mutters, “About damn time,” before walking off. And Mia, well, Mia texts Sophie every time I so much as sneeze, so I don’t expect a personal update. But she gives me a thumbs-up during warmups and I’ll take it.
The biggest change, though?
I’m not trying to fix everything in one go anymore.
Because this time, I’m not building toward some final act. I’m showing up for the quiet stuff. The unglamorous parts. The things Sophie always had to do alone, until now.
On Tuesday, I help Jacko move a couch even though it nearly takes my spine out. On Wednesday, I take Ollie’s dog to the vetbecause he’s double-booked and “you owe me for being your sign holding bitch.” On Thursday, I send Sophie a text, not asking to see her, not begging for anything. Just a quietI’m heretext.
Murphy: If you’re still craving that lemon loaf from Marlowe’s, I left a slice on your doorstep. Still warm. Don’t ask how I bribed the barista. Just enjoy.
She doesn’t respond.
But Friday night, she shows up to watch practice.
Doesn’t say anything, just sits in the stands, bundled in a hoodie that might’ve once lived in my drawer. My heart jumps like it wants to sprint across the ice and full-body hug her, but I stay where I am. Do my drills. Listen to Coach. Play my game.
That night, I get a text.
Sophie: The loaf was good. You still don’t deserve any, but good call.
Progress.
On Saturday, we see each other in person. Not planned.
I’m loading groceries into my car when she walks up next to me, grocery bags in hand, with a cautious smile. “Look at you,” she says, “a man who owns bananas and humility.”
“Trying something new,” I say, squinting into the sun. “You want a ride?”
She hesitates. “Sure.”
It’s a short drive to hers. No music. Just the hum of the engine and the smell of citrus from the paper bag between us. I park, and she lingers in the passenger seat like she’s not quite ready to leave.
“I didn’t come to that match because I was ready,” she says quietly. “I came because I couldn’t not.”
“I get it.”
“And I didn’t expect the speech. Or the crowd. Or the glitter.”
I wince. “Too much?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Weirdly, no. But I need more than big moments, Murph.”
