Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Mel
I woke up with a dry mouth, puffy eyes, and a brain dead set on replaying every embarrassing second from last night.
A full-on trauma dump on Coach Murphy— Sean, in one night.
Gold-medal performance. If there were an award for Most Mortifying Exit from a Team Celebration, I’d already be halfway through my acceptance speech.
Seriously, after the spilled undies, this?
I rolled onto my side and buried my face in the pillow.
Game 7 was supposed to end with champagne toast, not a tipsy, teary, parking lot meltdown into his chest. Maybe a twenty-four-hour bar to keep the party going, he’d said. That kept replaying in my head while my stomach dropped.
Had the Tahoe crew read me like a headline too?
I’d sunk into his passenger seat and tried to disappear into the upholstery.
He didn’t say a word, just tipped my seat back, set the heater low, and let his hand rest warm over mine.
Something went soft and fuzzy in my chest. He squeezed my arm a little before easing away—his way of saying we were okay.
The super-serious coach turned into a comfort teddy bear. From a man who could lead an NHL team through the playoffs, that gentleness tilted the planet in the best way.
“Thanks,” I’d muttered, voice still scratchy from crying.
He’d nodded and kept driving, hands steady on the wheel as if nothing had happened. But even through the blur of my stupid tears, I could’ve sworn I caught a hint in his eyes. Not panic, exactly, but that thrown-off look you get when a storm comes out of nowhere.
Turns out Coach Murphy wasn’t completely unshakable after all.
I must’ve dozed off again, because when my bedroom door opened, I flinched awake. The mattress dipped beside me, and I felt a familiar bundle of jasmine-scented lotion and sisterly love settle in.
“So, how did last night go?” Sam whispered.
She curled up on her side, facing me, eyes gleaming with that tell-me-everything glint.
The same one she’d had back when I’d sneak in after a teenage crush meetup.
Except this time, instead of a forbidden kiss, there’d been real tears, real stakes, and a very real Coach Murphy who’d witnessed the whole downfall in HD.
“Great. I had one extra drink and took a cab home,” I said evenly.
A beat of silence.
“I didn’t know cabs now come in luxury SUV form,” she said dryly. “You know, the kind that owns the block everywhere they park.”
My gut did a nervous little clench. She’d seen us. My fib was about as transparent as a goal without a goalie.
“Not a word of that around Mom,” I muttered.
Sam huffed a laugh. “The mom who said, ‘No time for anything else’ when you missed her airport pickup?”
I groaned. “Yep, that one.”
We both knew what the anything else meant. Marriage, kids, a man with a five-year plan and a solid jawline, ideally named Vince.
The thing about Vince was…it didn’t matter that his career meant more to him than I ever did or that we had nothing in common. To Mom, he was her friend’s son with a promising future, and that was enough.
We’d reconnected two years after college. At twenty-four, I’d hit a burnout wall and started believing the lie that everyone else had their life figured out except me. Friends and classmates were busy posting engagement rings and baby bumps in a milestone marathon I didn’t qualify for.
Then Vince showed up polished, a second act in a tailored suit. The type of safe structure and ambition my mom thought I needed. I had doubts, but I told myself I was being dramatic, that if someone who turned heads the way he did wanted me, I should stop second-guessing.
I remembered sitting across from him at his favorite wine bar, nodding along while he mapped out a vision for us that doubled as his solo career ladder. Six months later, when I didn’t fit that ideal anymore, he left for a work project on the East Coast, for a promotion, for everything, except me.
Even today, thinking about it sent a faint sweat to my temples, proof my body hadn’t gotten the memo that I’d survived it. I knew I had, damn it. But apparently, this muscle in my chest preferred reruns for the fun of it.
Sam rolled onto her back. “You don’t want her taping a ‘Just Married’ sign and trailing soda cans to the back of the sleek car.”
I smiled lightly. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“So, whose car was it?”
I hesitated. “Just…someone from the team.”
Sam turned her head toward me, one eyebrow arching. “Just someone who drives that type of car and walks you to the door with that swagger?”
“He didn’t walk me to the door.”
“But he could have. The vibe was there.”
I groaned. “It wasn’t a vibe. It was a ride with four wheels.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me, but don’t pretend it was nothing.”
I didn’t answer that.
After lunch, Sam headed to the university—even on a Sunday—to finish a research project due before graduation, which she insisted didn’t count as procrastination.
For the first time since Thursday, I was at home for more than a few hours of sleep. I’d been wallowing for three days, but the financial mess was still sitting here, making itself comfortable.
I put the last dish away and stared at the clean counter as if it might offer answers. It didn’t. So I dried my hands and made the decision. I needed to talk to them, clearly and calmly.
“Mom?” I called up the stairs.
She came down slowly, already reading the room before I said anything. I sat on the edge of the couch across from Dad, and she sat beside him, both of them tired, faces drawn. They’d aged ten years since I last saw them at Christmas.
“I want to understand what really happened,” I said, voice steady.
Dad cleared his throat. “We found an investment opportunity that promised to double our retirement a few years ago.”
I nodded. “From those fancy seminars in Florida you said you guys were attending?”
“They were fancy…or seemed that way,” Dad said. “They showed us charts, projected big returns. It all looked solid, professional. They even had clients who were lawyers at the meetings.”
His mouth twisted, the way it did when something bitter hit.
“You know how sometimes you come across something that feels like a big break and you don’t want to say anything yet ’cause you’re hoping it’ll pan out?
That’s what it felt like. We thought we’d found the golden ticket, so we kept it quiet, waiting for it to prove itself.
” He let out a rough breath. “But it never did.”
Mom sniffled. “How could we have known? We sat in rooms where people clapped and nodded. It was all scripted, and we thought it was smart.” Her voice cracked. She shook her head, chasing away the truth she didn’t want to face.
“And you put”—my voice caught—“all of it in there?”
Dad’s eyes dropped. “They taught us that if we went in big, the payoff would be bigger, which is true in general. So, when it collapsed, it all went.”
The weight of it hit me hard. Anger, shame, that sickening sense of betrayal, all crashed down on me. How easily they’d been pulled in was the worst of those feelings.
“So...there’s no chance of getting anything back?” I asked, my voice sounding distant.
Dad exhaled. “By the time we called Vince—”
“Vince?” My eyebrows shot up.
“He’s a financial guy and knows people in that world,” Mom said, almost defensively.
“But it was already too late,” Dad continued. “He said the legal fight for a Ponzi scheme is long, expensive, and the odds are slim.”
Mom gave a broken laugh. “There’s no money for a war chest in court anyway.”
I stared at them for a long beat, my throat tight.
“I understand wanting to surprise everyone else with this potential big monetary break, but keeping this from Sam and me?” The words came out heavy. “I wouldn’t have known how to fix it. I’m no financial expert, but I could’ve picked up that something was wrong.”
Mom looked away.
Dad’s lips thinned. “We thought we could handle it, that it would even out.”
But nothing had evened out. Everything was different.
I took them in, my parents but strangers in everything except names. And suddenly I wasn’t only angry at what they’d done or that I’d been shut out.
“And you called Vince?” I said, my voice rising with disbelief. “You didn’t trust me or Sam enough to tell us what was going on, but you trusted him?”
The betrayal sat brick-heavy in my chest.
“That guy broke off our engagement for a job, and you still thought he was the person to fix things? That’s just freaking unbelievable.”
Mom looked on.
Dad didn’t say more.
The disappointment sat heavier than the anger now. I went to my room, grabbed my purse, and walked out, not caring that my socks were different colors. I really needed air to hold it together.
And right now, I didn’t even know what together looked like.
I took the bus to the Tahoe West celebration bar’s parking lot and got my car.
Then I drove aimlessly until I pulled into the old Sacramento shopping stretch near Land Park.
The afternoon was warm as I wandered past cute shops and boutiques, windows stacked with vintage Levi’s and band tees, midcentury glassware, and handmade crafts.
I stepped into a store selling indoor plants in color-coded pots. No one expected anything from me here.
That was the point.
I stopped to admire tiny fruit tarts sparkling under glass domes in the bakery window, each one posing so perfectly.
The sugar-crusted kind my Gran used to buy for birthdays.
I didn’t go in, I lingered by the glass window.
A little kid, held by a woman talking on the phone, pressed his nose to the glass, watching too.
The baker behind the counter waved, the kid waved back.
Normal life. Would I ever get back to it?