Chapter 63
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
MURPHY
There’s this moment, right after I open my eyes, where I forget everything. Just for a second. No weight pressing down on my chest. No ache. No guilt. It’s just quiet. Peaceful, even.
Then I see the bin bag of my stuff in the corner of the room and it all comes rushing back. Like a punch to the throat.
I roll out of bed, sit on the edge of the mattress with my elbows on my knees and stare at the floor as if it’s going to offer some divine guidance. It doesn’t. Just dust and my old trainers.
It’s been almost two weeks since she slammed the door on my heart and told me she couldn’t do this anymore. Since she saw those photos. Since she looked at me like I was nothing.
I’ve sent her a message every day. A voice note. Something. Just to let her know I haven’t disappeared. That I’m not hiding.
She hasn’t responded once. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t text me back either.
I drag on my hoodie, swipe up my phone, and scroll through the drafts I’ve typed and deleted again and again. All the things I want to say but haven’t. Because none of it feels big enough. None of it feels like it’ll make a dent in the wall she’s put up between us.
I need to do something. Something real.
Not grovel. Not beg.
Prove.
That’s the word that keeps circling like a vulture. Prove it.
I just don’t know how. Not yet.
But I will.
It’s another bruiser of a training session. Coach is on a warpath, and Jonno’s got us doing suicides until my lungs feel like they’re full of lighter fluid. The whole team’s gasping like fish out of water, sweat flying off our faces as we sprint, stop, sprint again.
“Keep going! This isn’t a daycare!” Coach barks, whistle slicing through the air like a guillotine.
Next to me, Ollie nearly trips on a cone. “Mate,” he wheezes, “my legs are having an out-of-body experience.”
“I think I saw my soul leave through my sweat glands,” Jacko mutters, red-faced and staggering.
“Good,” Jonno shouts. “That means you’re almost working hard enough.”
We run until the rink feels as though it’s tilting, until the lines blur and everything hurts.
By the end, I can barely lift my arms to peel my gear off in the locker room. My shoulders scream in protest, my knees are jelly, and my stomach is growling.
“I swear,” Ollie pants from the bench, “I’m never skating again. I’m retiring. I’m going into politics. Or goat farming.”
Jacko tosses a sweaty towel at him. “You’d cry if a goat looked at you wrong.”
Ollie flips him off weakly. “Shut it, Bake Off.”
Jacko grins and pulls a plastic container from his bag. “Speaking of which,”
“Oh no.” Ollie perks up instantly. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Salted caramel shortbread.” Jacko peels the lid off. “Made it last night. Took me three tries to get the texture right.”
“You’re a madman,” I say, grabbing one with a grateful nod.
“Man’s a saint,” Dylan adds, biting into a piece. “I’d marry you for this.”
Jacko beams. “Get in line.”
The laughter is welcome. It cuts through the fog in my head. Still, as the sugar kicks in, I catch Dylan watching me, not suspicious, not angry. Just thoughtful.
After everyone starts trickling out, he lingers behind.
“You alright?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t convincing.”
I drop my head back against the wall of the locker room and exhale slowly. “It’s two weeks and I still feel like someone took a sledgehammer to my chest.”
Dylan sits next to me, forearms resting on his knees. “You still messaging her?”
“Every day.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a word.”
He nods slowly. “She’s hurt. But she’s not cruel. That silence, it’s not indifference. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. That night. The pictures. The timing. You looked gutted, when it hit the fan. And Mia said you’ve been wrecked.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter how I feel. It matters what she saw.”
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “But intent matters too. And I don’t think you’re a liar, Murph. A flirt, a smart-arse, a chaos merchant? Sure. But not a liar.”
Something catches in my throat.
“Thanks,” I say, voice rough.
Dylan claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll have to do more than just mope around like a kicked puppy, though. If you want her back, really want her, you’ve got to show her she’s worth more than a thousand apologies.”
“I know.”
Dylan grabs my shoulder and squeezes it in that way guys do when they try to show you they’re in it with you. “Come on, let’s grab a drink.”
The pub’s loud and almost too warm. The smell of chips and beer clings to everything and the music’s just loud enough to drown out your thoughts if you lean into it.
The team’s gathered around a big table near the back. Ollie’s talking too fast about a TikTok conspiracy. Jacko’s sketching out a biscuit idea on a napkin. Mia shows up halfway through the second pint, sliding into the seat next to me.
“Hey,” she says, nodding.
“Hey.” I smile, then immediately feel self-conscious. She looks tired.
“You look better than last week,” she says dryly.
“I’ve upgraded from hollow shell to functioning zombie.”
“Progress.” She sips her drink. “You still texting her?”
“Yeah.”
Mia studies me for a second, then leans closer. “You want my opinion?”
“Always.”
“You need to stop telling her and start showing her. She doesn’t care about your feelings right now, Murph. She cares about whether you’re someone she can trust again.”
I nod slowly. “She said it wasn’t just about the photo. It was about the respect. The trust.”
“Exactly. So earn it. Do something that tells the whole damn world she means more than your ego.”
That hits. Because she’s right. I’ve spent too long reacting, now it’s time to act.
I don’t sleep much that night. My brain’s too busy.
Somewhere between two and dawn, the idea starts to form. A shape. A plan. Not just for Sophie, but for everyone watching. Because if I’m going to set the record straight, it can’t be behind closed doors.
It has to be public.
Loud and elaborate.
So she knows that I’m not hiding from what happened. That I’ll own the damage. But I won’t let that lie stand.
Not anymore.
I start scribbling it all down. Bullet points. Words I’d say if I had the chance.
I don’t want drama. I don’t want pity. I just want the truth out there.
I want her to hear it.
Even if she never forgives me, I want her to know I tried to be the man she thought I was.
No half-measures this time.
Next game night. Packed rink. Lights. Cameras.
That’s where it starts.
And I’ll be ready.