Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
MIA
The second I unlock the door to my flat and step out of my heels, my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter like it’s possessed. Sophie. Of course she doesn’t give me a chance to enjoy the post-date bliss Dylan has left me in.
I pick it up, and before I even say hello, her voice blasts through the speaker.
“Tell me everything. And don’t you dare skip the part where he kissed you senseless outside your door like some slow-burn Netflix romance.”
I laugh, collapsing onto the sofa and stretching my sore feet across the cushions. “Hi, Sophie. Lovely to speak to you, too.”
“Don’t deflect, Clarke. Spill.”
I let out a dreamy sigh. “It was perfect. Better than perfect.”
“I knew he had it in him. He gives that brooding, ‘I’ll ruin you in bed but also fold your laundry’ energy. Where did he take you?”
I smile. “A rooftop place. Overlooking the river. Very understated, very romantic.”
She groans like I’ve just slapped her with a dozen red roses. “Ugh. I’m living for this. Was there wine? Candlelight? Tiny portions with edible flowers?”
“Check, check, and double check,” I say. “And conversation. Like actual, real stuff. No hockey talk. Just him.”
There’s a pause, like she’s recalibrating. “Wait. You’re not just into him because he’s hot, are you?”
I frown. “What? No! I mean yes, he is, obviously, but it’s not only that. He listens. He makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.”
Another pause. “Mia Clarke. You’re in trouble.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Big, hard, hockey-player-shaped trouble.”
I snort. “You make it sound like a porno.”
“Don’t tempt me. Speaking of which, was there… dessert?” I’m almost certain I hear her snort a little at her innuendo.
I laugh, hard this time. “Nope. Not that kind. He didn’t come in.”
“He didn’t!? Wait, back up. You’ve already had sex, scandalously hot sex, I might add, and now he’s courting you? Like in the old-fashioned sense.”
“Apparently.”
“Okay, no, I need to get to know this man properly. Immediately. He’s either a unicorn or plotting a proposal. Does he have a brother, because you know, I’d be down for double-dating with a hot brother.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Also,” she says slyly, altering the mood slightly, “I’ve been thinking. About that contract of yours. You know, the one with the ‘no fraternising with players’ clause.”
My stomach knots a little. “What about it?” I’ve spent weeks trying not to think about that clause.
“Drag it out. Dust it off. There might be a loophole.”
“Soph,”
“I’m serious! These things are full of vague wording and HR waffle. ‘Fraternising’ could mean anything. Maybe it only applies during working hours or doesn’t cover consensual relationships.”
I chew my lip. “You sound like a lawyer.”
“I sound like someone who wants her best friend to have her happily-ever-after without getting fired. And I have friend who works in HR, I could also run it by her if you find the actual wording.”
I sigh. “I’ll look. But even if there is a loophole, there’s still how it looks. Gossip. And Coach wouldn’t exactly throw us a party if he found out.”
“Then don’t let him find out yet. But don’t shut it down, either. You’re allowed to be happy, Mia.”
There’s something about the way she says it that sticks. Maybe because deep down, I’m not used to the idea that I am allowed.
Before I can respond, a text from Mum pops up on my screen.
Mum: Dad’s appointment is Tuesday. Can you come? Could you get some time off?
My heart stutters.
“Hey,” I say to Sophie, “I need to call Mum. Can I ring you tomorrow?”
She’s quiet for a beat, then says gently, “Of course. Call me after.”
I hang up, already dreading this next part.
I dial, and Mum answers after the second ring.
“Mia, love.”
Her voice is warm, familiar, but there’s that soft edge of fatigue she can’t hide anymore. It hurts every time I hear it.
“Hi, Mum. Got your message.”
“Oh, good. I didn’t wake you, did I? I didn’t realise how late it is.”
“No, no. Just got home.” I sink deeper into the sofa and tuck my knees up. “You said Dad’s appointment is Tuesday?”
“Tuesday afternoon. Dr. Patel wants to do the cognitive screening and a full neuro assessment. They’ve fast-tracked it.”
“That’s good, I think.”
She sighs. “It is. But I’d feel better if you were here.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. My throat tightens. “Yeah. Of course.”
She hesitates. “I know work’s busy. And I know your dad hasn’t made it easy on you. But it might be helpful. For all of us.”
I glance out the window at the night sky, still painted with city lights. My chest aches.
“I’ll talk to my manager. Try to get a couple of days.”
“Thank you, love. I know he’s not the warmest soul, but you know deep down he…”
“Mum, it’s okay,” I cut in softly. “I know he loves me. Even if he never says it.”
She doesn’t argue. Because we both know it’s true, and that it’s complicated.
Dad has always been a man of silence. Opinions, criticisms, disappointment; those he hands out freely.
But affection? Support? Not so much. He never understood why I didn’t become a nurse or a doctor even, why I chased sports science and physio, or why I wanted to work in such a male-dominated world.
He’s never said he was proud of me. And I’ve spent years pretending it doesn’t matter.
But it does.
And now he might have dementia. And all of the conversations I thought I’d have with him one day, about forgiveness, and acceptance, and maybe even love, they suddenly feel time-sensitive. Like there’s a clock ticking somewhere I can’t see.
“You’ll keep me posted?” I ask.
“I will,” she says gently. “He’s in bed now. Had a bit of a confused moment after dinner.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hate this.”
“I know. But we’ll manage. Like we always do.”
After we hang up, I sit in the silence of my flat for a long time. The city hums outside. The night is still warm, the taste of red wine still on my lips. And all I can think is how strange it is, that life can give you something so beautiful and something so terrifying at the same time.
I want Dylan.
I want my job.
I want to be there for my family.
And none of it feels like it fits together.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text from Dylan.
Dylan: Can’t stop thinking about your face when you saw the terrace. You looked like someone gave you Paris.
I smile despite myself.
Mia: You were dangerously close to setting the bar too high for future dates.
Dylan: That’s the point. Make it impossible to replace me.
Mia: You’re very confident, Winters.
Dylan: Nope. Just very into you.
I clutch the phone to my chest and let out a small, helpless laugh.
He’s impossible. Impossible and everything I want.
On a sigh, I push up from the sofa and head to the kitchen and grab my work laptop.
I open the contract file on the desktop.
It’s dense. Full of legalese and footnotes and dry HR terminology.
But maybe Sophie’s right. Maybe there’s something in here that gives me a chance.
A chance to be with him without hiding.
A chance to love him out loud.