Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
MURPHY
Idon’t remember the drive home.
Not really. But I remember the bin bag. The sound of it sliding off my passenger seat and hitting the floor when I took a turn too hard. I remember the traffic light that wouldn’t change. I remember Sophie’s face. The way she looked at me like she didn’t recognise who I was anymore.
I get into the flat and lock the door behind me. I don’t turn the lights on. Just head straight for the kitchen, grab the nearest six-pack from the fridge, and crack one open without even thinking.
The silence is worse than I thought it would be.
Her mug’s still by the sink. That stupid yellow one with the chipped handle that she never let me throw away. There’s a cardigan of hers on the back of the sofa. And her godawful monster feet slippers by the door. Like she might still walk in and step into them any second.
But she won’t.
Because I ruined it.
I drop onto the couch and sink back, beer in hand, as the day plays on a loop behind my eyes. Her voice. The tears. That bin bag she handed me as if it was a body. All the things that used to mean something between us, now zipped up in black plastic.
And I deserve it.
I sit there for hours, drinking slowly, stupidly, numbing the ache until it settles into something hollow and heavy. I don’t bother turning on the TV. Don’t check my phone. I just sit and let it hurt.
Around ten, there’s a knock on the door.
I ignore it.
Another knock. Then a pause. Then it opens, because of course it’s not locked properly. Because I didn’t even manage that right.
Jacko walks in holding two trays of brownies and an entire loaf of banana bread.
“I brought carbs,” he says, like that’s the most normal thing in the world.
I groan. “Jacko, mate, I’m not in the mood.”
“No one’s ever in the mood for banana bread until it’s under their nose,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I heard what happened. Ollie saw the photos. Then wouldn’t shut up about it. Murphygate, he’s calling it.”
I wince. “Jesus.”
Jacko drops the trays onto the coffee table and lowers himself into the armchair as though we’re about to settle in for a film night.
“So,” he says. “We wallowing or fixing?”
“Bit of both.”
He eyes the beer cans. “You’ve gone full tragic-romance, haven’t you? What next, sad playlists and open mic poetry?”
“Piss off.”
“Nah, I’m here for emotional support and gluten. You don’t get to scare off your best girl and then flounder in self-pity alone.”
I stare down at the half-empty can. “I didn’t cheat, Jacko. Not even close. But she looked at me like I did. And I just stood there like a fucking muppet while that girl wrapped herself around me. I froze.”
Jacko nods, picking at the corner of a brownie. “Because you wanted to be the good guy. Didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I made it worse anyway.”
He shrugs. “We all do, mate. Doesn’t mean it’s the end. Just means you’ve got to figure out what to do next.”
I laugh. It’s bitter and short. “She gave me a bag of my own socks like she was returning a library book. That doesn’t scream second chance.”
Jacko leans forward, elbows on knees. “She’s hurting. Doesn’t mean she stopped loving you. Just means she doesn’t trust you right now. And trust doesn’t bounce back overnight.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I should’ve told her about Chloe being at the event. I didn’t even think to warn her. Just assumed it would be fine.”
“You assumed because it was a work thing. Because you weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“But perception is reality when it comes to this stuff. She saw the pictures, Jacko. Chloe kissing my cheek like it was some welcome-back party. The internet had a fucking field day. And Sophie had to find out along with everyone else.”
He hands me a brownie. I take it.
“You want her back?”
“More than anything.”
“Then stop sitting here drinking yourself into a black hole and do something about it. When the dust settles, when she’s ready, you tell her everything. Not just that you didn’t cheat. But why it happened. How you froze. What you’d do differently. You give her the truth, Murph. Not the spin.”
I nod slowly. “She said she was picking paint colours. For our place.”
Jacko grimaces. “Oof.”
“She was all in. And I just... let her down.”
“Yeah. You did. But you also loved her. Still do. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
I don’t answer. Just eat the brownie. It tastes like regret and chocolate.
Jacko lets the silence hang for a while. Then he stands, dusting crumbs off his jeans.
“I’ll leave the rest here. And tomorrow, you’re getting up. Showering. Coming to training. Because the one thing you don’t get to do is give up. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He heads for the door, then pauses and turns halfway back.
“She looked wrecked, you know,” he says quietly. “When I saw her with Mia earlier. Red eyes. Shoulders tight as if she was holding in a scream. That’s not someone who’s walked away clean. That’s someone breaking quietly.”
The words hit me like a fist to the chest.
I nod, too choked to speak.
Jacko offers me one last look, softer now, less teammate, more mate. Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
And I’m alone again.
But this time, it’s different.
Because I can’t stop seeing her.
Not in the way I did earlier; furious, heartbroken, flinging a bin bag of memories at my chest, but the way she must’ve looked when no one was watching. When she finally let it fall apart.
When she thought I wasn’t worth crying over.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. Try to breathe through the weight of it. But it crushes me.
And all I want is to fix it. To make her see me and know I didn’t mean to hurt her. That I’d never, ever choose anyone else.
But tonight, there’s nothing to fix. Nothing to say. Nothing to do.
Except sit in the dark with the wreckage of what I broke.
And promise myself that I’ll find a way back to her, even if she never lets me in again.
Because she’s it.
She’s everything.
And I’ll carry this ache until it becomes something I can put right.
Even if it takes the rest of me to do it.