Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Mel
Sean didn’t come out of his room, and I wasn’t surprised. Even NHL coaches riding a Stanley Cup high need sleep.
Cassy and I slipped out midmorning, her backpack stuffed with snacks and drinks, Pitou, who she insisted needed “fresh air” clutched in her hand.
I told her we were going on an adventure, but really, I needed space.
A neutral zone, somewhere outside Sean’s house and beyond the heady afterglow of this morning.
It had been a little too perfect.
The three of us at the table, sunlight streaming in, the easy rhythm of coffee and omelets.
It felt like a snapshot from someone else’s life.
The kind of moment you’d frame if it weren’t so impossibly fragile.
I couldn’t tell what shook me more: the thrill or the fear it might slip through my fingers.
So, I needed distance from the man who brought feelings I hadn’t known I was capable of holding until last night.
We made it to the park near the ridge, all wide green space and a shaded loop of walking paths beneath sycamore and oak trees.
The lawn was already alive with a kids’ soccer game, children Cassy’s age and older darting around in bright jerseys.
Parents lined the edges in folding chairs, others standing with coffee cups mid-cheer.
We stopped and watched from the path. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Mel, I can run fast,” Cassy said, eyes locked on the field. “Can I play?”
“I don’t know…”
I gazed at her outfit—leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and tennis shoes—it would do for spontaneous soccer at the park. I looked toward the field. What were the rules?
Before I could ask anyone, she handed me her backpack and Pitou without so much as a glance, eyes still glued to the match. Her mind was made up; she’d be crushed if they said no.
I stepped over to a woman who looked like she belonged in a ball cap, bottle of water in hand, the calm focus of a sideline veteran.
“It’s summer soccer camp starting this weekend,” she said when I asked. “There’s registration and all that.”
I pursed my lips, already crafting my “sorry, kiddo” speech.
The woman followed my glance to Cassy. “But it’s the beginning. I don’t think anything is set in stone yet,” she added. “When the coach steps off, you can ask him.”
Right on cue, the coach blew his whistle and waved the kids in for water. I caught his eye, stepped forward, and explained Cassy’s situation—just visiting, spotted the game, wanted in.
He glanced at her, then back at me. “If she can follow directions, she’s welcome to jump in.”
I turned back to Cassy. She bounced on her toes, radiant with hope.
“You’re in,” I said.
She gasped, beamed, and dashed toward the field faster than a comet.
I found a spot under a tree near the sideline, set down the backpack and Pitou, and sat on the grass to watch. Cassy ran after the ball, ponytail bouncing, calling out to a boy named Dion as if they were old teammates.
I exhaled. It was good being out here. The air smelled of fresh grass and sunscreen, and somewhere in the distance, Fleetwood Mac played from a portable speaker. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them.
The morning rush followed me here. How Sean had walked through my bedroom door like every woman’s dream—my man after a victory.
And then he let me kiss him first. I’d written it in my text without fully picturing it, and now I couldn’t stop replaying it.
I’d never done that before. He waited, let me lead…
that made me bold in ways I didn’t know I could be. Taking charge this morning felt right.
The headlines tried to bury that courage under their noise. But the fun, flirty vibe at the photo shoot helped me claim my own space without overthinking. A moment where I let myself be seen, several feet high, laughing—and I loved it.
Who knew being a human flagpole could be so liberating?
I waved at Cassy in the midfield, half distracted by a dandelion puff, but she still managed to chase the ball.
Then a notification came through. A message from Erica.
Erica: Emergency video meetup. RE: you all over the net. A leading NHL cheerleader, with Coach Murphy holding you up there.
I chuckled. I texted her:
Me: Hey you. Are you sure? It’s past midnight in Thailand now.
Erica: Mel. I’ve been in the remote jungle for four days. Let me live.
Me: Oh, and my love life is more exciting than exotic wildlife. \*laughing emoji\*
I glanced back at Cassy, now twirling in slow circles, arms flung out like a baby tornado. All while supposedly playing soccer. Keeping her in sight, I stepped to a less crowded spot and hit video call.
Erica’s face popped up, grinning. “My best friend, WAG queen of the damn internet?”
“I know,” I said with a small smile. “Since we last talked, it’s been staged photo shoots, impromptu cheerleader moves, and way too much publicity on my account.”
She blinked, then leaned closer to the camera. “What happened?”
“Sam’s graduation shot of Sean and me got paired with an old photo of him and his ex. Next thing we know, the clicks on that exploded.”
Erica’s expression sobered. “Oh, Mel. I had no idea. Are you okay?”
I nodded, even as the breath I took felt shakier. “It blew up—the internet, my mother, my dignity. I wanted to crawl into a sock drawer… but the entire team rallied. They pulled off that shoot to drown out that article.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Okay, that’s actually the most genius PR move I’ve ever heard. And those photos? Girl, your dignity’s not just intact. It’s glowing.”
I laughed. Erica always knew how to mix a compliment with crisis management. “Thanks to my personal Avengers. They swapped the cap for hockey sticks.”
“Mel, that shot of you on his shoulders is more than sexy. It’s powerful. If he wins the Cup, he better hoist both it and you at the same time.”
“Now that’s a mental image to boost a girl's confidence. So, yep, we’re officially dating.”
“And the way he looks at you… That’s no PR gaze whatsoever. That’s deep. I could see it brewing since the fall at the rink, then in Alberta,” she said smugly.
“You sound like my personal Bridget Jones’s Diary.”
We laughed.
“I won’t mind cataloguing the man who hoisted my bestie like that,” she teased.
Cassy ran over for water.
“Give me a sec. Babysitting duty.”
I passed Cassy the water bottle and redid her ponytail. She finished drinking and sprinted off again.
“Hey, I’m back,” I said, squaring the phone. “That was Cassy, Sean’s niece. I’m watching her while he rests up.”
Erica gazed at me closely, her expression turning thoughtful. “Mel… you amaze me.”
“In a good way?”
“You’re part of his world now—hockey, travel, hanging out with his niece—and you’re still yourself, only more… steady? Lighthearted? I don’t know, but all of this is wonderful.”
That shot a spike of warmth up my neck. “Careful where you say that. My mom might stage an intervention!”
“She’s not your compass,” Erica said, “And she’s definitely not ready for what’s coming next.”
My pulse picked up. “I’ve thought of what might come too, and it kinda terrifies me.”
She took a moment to let my words sink in. “You’re not being swept away; you’re walking it, and he’s walking it with you. He’s showing you he’ll make room for you in his big, loud world.”
I swallowed hard. “What would I do without you, my disaster hotline?”
“You’d still be fine. I love you, babe. Also, check your email. I’m sending you a mini-Hollywood sign to hang above your door. ‘WAG Entrance Only’.”
I laughed. “Smart-ass.”
“Always.” She blew me a kiss, then the screen went blank.
I tucked my phone away, and sank back into the grass under the tree. The breeze brushed my cheek, carrying the scent of wildflower. Cassy parted her legs to block a boy charging through with the ball. He nutmegged her clean, and she just blinked at the ball spinning away.
I laughed. She finally took off after it, ponytail bouncing.
Watching her light up on the field—unfiltered joy in motion—something inside me softened. Maybe falling wasn’t the only height of a perfect morning, maybe it was this too: the steadiness of small moments that made you want to stay.
Then my phone buzzed again. A message from Sean.
Sean: Hey, where are you two causing trouble?
I smiled and tapped back.
Me: Hello. Soccer match. Cassy’s out here channeling her inner Messi. Sport clearly runs in the Murphy bloodline.
Sean: \*laughing emoji\* Of course it does. So, Abby’s cooking up a wild idea for a celebration for the win. But really, she’s still high off her weekend with Jeff.
I snorted.
Me: I’d be giddy too… What does she have in mind?
Sean: She’s decided a dinner isn’t enough. She wants college-town style music, bar, dance floor, and probably shoes she'll regret wearing tomorrow.
I laughed.
Me: She’s ending her weekend-long date with a bang \*dancing emoji\* Love it! But on Sunday night?
Sean: There’ll be a proper team celebration later, but this one’s pure Abby. She’s already picked out her playlist.
I felt a flutter of excitement. The kind that made you want to say yes before you even knew the details.
Me: Pulling an all-nighter and surviving Monday on caffeine? Count me in. This win deserves a little Abby-spark plug.
Sean: Glad you’re on board. And there’s more than one win on my calendar. \*winking emoji\*
I bit my lip, smiling at the screen. A wink across the distance, and the idea of dancing in a college bar felt like a memory waiting to happen.
Later, I lifted my head to the low, throaty roar of an engine. A second later, the sound cut out with a final growl. A motorcycle. My heart thumped, a reflex I couldn't quite label. Fight, flight, or flirt? Too soon to tell.
I sat up and peeked at Cassy, curled on the other side of the couch; she shifted but didn’t wake. She must be worn out from soccer.
The door opened.