Page 72 of Power Play
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
SOPHIE
I’m sitting in the front row, right next to the players’ bench, trying to act calm and collected, but inside, my heart’s hammering. The crowd roars around me, a wave of energy and excitement, but all I can think about is Murphy. It’s game day, and while I’ve gotten used to this whole rink side vibe, the nervous energy never really leaves me. The ice, the players, the game – they all have a rhythm, but I can’t ignore the fact that Murphy’s down there, skating hard and taking hits, and with every second, it feels as if the possibility of something going wrong hovers just above the ice like a dark cloud.
I glance at the bench, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he’s lost in the chaos of the game. The action is brutal tonight. I can hear the thud of bodies slamming into the boards, the sound of skates cutting through the ice, the sharp calls of the refs cutting through the air like commands. It’s all intense, and I’m not sure whether I love it or hate it. Either way, it makes my stomach twist into knots.
I should be here to cheer, to enjoy the game, but my mind keeps drifting back to the same thing; Murphy. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m sitting here, in front of a whole crowd of people, but I’m completely fixated on him. His safety. His stupid, reckless determination. He might be playing the game, but I’m the one who’s pacing in my head.
“Hey, Soph. Chill. You’re practically vibrating,” Mia’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She’s standing next to me, arms folded, her gaze flicking from me to the ice.
“I’m fine,” I say, probably a little too defensively. “Just, you know, nervous.”
Mia raises an eyebrow, the kind of look that saysI know exactly what you mean. She’s not wrong. I’m not just nervous about thegame; I’m nervous about him. About his stupid bravado, the way he throws himself into every hit, as if he doesn’t have a single care in the world. It’s not just a game to him; it’s like it’s the only thing that matters, and if something goes wrong, well, that’s a thought I try not to entertain. It’s only just dawned on me how brutal and dangerous this game can be. Somehow, it didn’t affect me so much before.
The game goes on. The players are moving fast, but I’m barely keeping track. I catch glimpses of Murphy now and then, his helmet glinting in the light, his broad shoulders as he barrels down the ice, but everything else is a blur. It’s hard to focus when your thoughts keep pulling you in one direction.
And then it happens.
The sound of a body slamming against the boards echoes in my ears. I watch as Murphy goes down. Hard.
My stomach drops. I don’t even think. I just spring out of my seat, my heart racing as I move toward the glass, my breath shallow. I’m not even sure who scores or what happens after that. I don’t care. All I care about is the sight of Murphy lying there, not moving.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. I start to move, but Mia’s already beside me, her hand on my arm, pulling me back.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says, her voice low but firm. “You can’t go down there yet.”
I nod, but it feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. I watch the trainer rush out onto the ice, then the team medics. They’re checking him over, and I’m trying to breathe, trying to stay calm, but all I can see is Murphy’s body crumpled on the ice.
The game stops. The players are circling, looking worried. The crowd is buzzing, their concern palpable, but I can’t hear them. I can’t hear anything except the pounding in my ears.
“Is he okay?” I whisper, not even realising I’m asking until the words spill out.
Mia looks at me, her face tense. “We don’t know yet.”
That’s not good enough. I need to know. I have to know.
I watch as the medical team helps Murphy off the ice. He’s walking, which is good, but he’s limping, and that’s not. The adrenaline from the crowd seems to dull as he disappears into the tunnel, and I’m left standing there, frozen, unsure of what to do.
“Get to the treatment room,” Mia says, breaking through my haze. “Go, Soph.”
I don’t think twice. I turn and start running toward the back hall,my feet carrying me faster than my brain can process. I’ve never been so focused, so frantic.
I burst into the treatment room, breathless and half panicked. The door slams against the wall as I crash in. Murphy is sitting on the edge of a table, Jonno, the trainer, kneeling in front of him, checking his ankle.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but the words come out way too sharp.
Murphy looks up at me with a lazy smirk, the kind that I’m starting to think might be his default setting when he’s trying not to show how hurt he really is.
“Just a little collision,” he says, his voice cool, despite the obvious wince as Jonno adjusts his foot. “Nothing major. I’ll be fine.”
“Murph,” I exhale, my hand automatically reaching for his. The warmth of his hand feels like the only thing I can focus on right now. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he says, flashing that cocky grin I’ve come to know too well. “But it does hurt like a bitch.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course it does. I swear, you’re impossible.”
Jonno stands up, wiping his hands on a towel. “He’s not as bad as he’s making it sound, but he’s definitely going to need some rest. Probably a few days off the ice.”
