Chapter 22 - Mel #2
My heartbeat thundered in my ears as heat rose up my neck. That wasn’t who I was, but part of me braced hearing it anyway. Maybe being misunderstood was the cost of living free.
“Yep,” I said evenly. “We’re official.”
“This family’s name is going down because of him. See how he’s not safe? His divorce is out there, public.”
“No,” I said, meeting her glare head-on. “This family’s name went down the moment you cosigned that investment agreement with Dad and then refused to play your part by getting a job.”
The job thing had shut her up once before, and it worked again. Not my favorite weapon, but reliable. A can of Mom-repellent. And in this house, I wasn’t above tactical survival. I’d let her drag me into a Sean-themed spiral last Sunday. Not today.
Today, I was armed with a house-sitting gig and a newfound ability to deploy uncomfortable truths. Take that, Mom.
I turned and headed for my room, only to find Sam posted at the top of the stairs. She’d heard all of it and hadn’t stepped in.
Thank God she didn’t. Knowing she was there, that she’d witnessed the emotional earthquake and didn’t throw a rope… that softened the landing. I was still figuring this out. But for once, I’d stood my ground, and Mom’s glare wasn’t enough to fold me. A tiny, triumphant fist pump for myself. Go me.
I ducked into my room, swapped into leggings and an oversized tank top, and grabbed the bottle of wine I bought this week and two wine glasses from the kitchen before heading upstairs to Sam’s room.
Boxes were stacked along one wall, her suitcase gaping open.
“This room looks like the entire city is moving East.”
Sam laughed. “It feels that way. I’m happy I started packing last week, or it would’ve been a disaster.”
I scanned her room. “It looks pretty organized. You got skills, sis.”
“I know, right? Amazing how I became a doctor,” she joked.
“Yep. And doctor means celebration time.” I poured us wine. “Now, where do we start?”
We wrapped up the last of the packing, sealed boxes, and then camped out on the floor of her half-emptied room.
We sipped wine and ate takeout sushi, like the emotionally mature adults we were supposed to be.
We joked and whispered like old roommates, but we were about to become long-distance sisters.
“Weekend at the forbidden man’s house, Mel? A saucy move.” She teased. “But honestly, you’re different. I like it. You don’t duck when Mom takes a swing anymore.”
I laughed, but something still pinched—shame, maybe. Or maybe the ache of being that girl with a bruise I’d forgotten was there until someone poked it. Sam, though, was reminding me, I had what it took.
“Yep. Apparently, I’m a rule-breaker, vixen sister.”
“Rahab, or full-blown Jezebel energy?”
I’d huffed out a laugh. “I’d take Rahab. At least she picked the right side. I’m not wearing a scarlet letter and catching whispers of ‘Jezebel’ perfume.”
“Damn right she did. She had an edge, but she was nobody’s fool.” Sam raised her wine glass. “To team Rahab.”
I’d clinked mine against hers, the burn in my chest easing.
Tonight, anxiety took a step back. This time was about Sam and the tiny golden hours we still had together.
We didn’t talk about what came next. We just hung out, two sisters between seasons.
Her head on my shoulder, my hand curled around a wine glass, both of us ignoring the fact that we weren’t saying goodbye.
Time with Sam last night hovered in my head, warm and fizzy, as I pulled into Sean’s driveway.
It was nearly four in the afternoon. My eyes scanned the place before I even got out of the car.
Same house as last week, but now Sam’s “I-want-you-to-fall-in-love” description popped in my head.
The house wasn’t flashy, just classic charm, like its owner.
The man who secretly had great taste and looked ridiculously good.
The front door opened, and Abby stepped onto the porch, waving.
I climbed out of the car. “Hi, Abby.”
“Nice to see you again, Mel,” she said, walking toward me with a smile. “Those Bloomberg-cover worthy pictures online are just—” She kissed the tips of her fingers.
I flushed.
“I half expected a musical montage when you pulled up,” she added.
I laughed. “You’re your brother’s sister.”
“C’mon in,” she said, guiding me up the steps. “I’ll give you the tour before Jeff and I hit the road.” Then, she added with a lilt in her voice, “First weekend just the two of us since I moved in.”
Inside, the house was airy and lived-in, as I remembered—not overdone, comfortable. A few of Cassy’s toys sat in the carpeted area, and one of those oversized throw blankets hung half-folded on the back of the couch.
I could feel how much the quiet meant to Sean, and my chest ached in a weird, wonderful way.
I was seeing more than walls and furniture—it was him scattered in the details, tucked into the corners if you looked closely enough.
I was starting to read him through his things.
Coach Calm-and-Sure. The nickname still fit.
Though, after that recent photo shoot, Coach Heartthrob might be more accurate.
Abby walked me through the kitchen and the living room and pointed out Cassy’s room.
“She’s glued to a cartoon on her iPad, headphones on.
Some animated movies that, I swear, the house could take off with her in it, and she wouldn’t notice until the credits rolled.
” She winked. “My escape plan. She already said her goodbye, but if I let her linger, she’d cling and say she wants to see Dad too. ”
Then she nodded to Sean’s door. “He keeps it locked, but this is the key.” She stuck one out from the set and handed me the whole thing. “You’ll probably end up spending more time here, so… just letting you know where things are.”
I’ll be spending more time here? My insides fast-forwarded straight into warm and fuzzy. Overreaction much?
I nodded, my brain mushy at the idea of sharing space with Sean.
“There are two more rooms down the hall. Your choice,” Abby said with a knowing look I didn’t know how to read. We walked back to the living room. “I left notes on Cassy’s bedtime routine, favorite snacks, and emergency contacts on the fridge. You’ll be great.”
“You’re trusting me with your daughter in your brother’s house.”
She grinned. “Sean doesn’t do things halfway. If you’re here, he’s already decided you’re important.”
My breath caught. I managed to smile back, heart ticking faster. Abby was welcoming me into his world from the inside, and I totally got the probable new-friend alert.
“Okay,” she said, opening the door and grabbing her weekend bags sitting on the side. “Jeff’s already texting, as if we didn’t arrange for me to pick him up from the airport and head straight out.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Abby.”
She gave me a quick hug. “Good luck surviving the penguin obsession.” Then she was gone, leaving me standing in Sean’s house.
It was exactly the kind of home you’d expect from a man who could still rock hockey gear but now wore tailored suits—one story, spread in a wide L-shape around the back lawn.
Inside, it was clean lines, warm wood, cool stone, and leather seating that looked expensive but inviting.
Black-framed photos hung in a measured grid—some hockey, some landscapes, well-chosen for the whole decor.
I walked to the window and brushed my fingers along the frame, eyes drifting toward the expansive lawn and the gazebo. A laugh escaped me at the memory of Sam’s moonlight comment: kiss me dizzy.
I already missed her. She should’ve landed by now. Her car and boxes wouldn’t arrive for another week, which made the distance between us feel even more real.
“Mom?” Cassy’s voice chirped from down the hall.
I turned from the window and went to meet her.
“Hi, Cassy. It’s Mel.”
“Hi, Mel. Mom said you were coming.”
“That’s right.” I crouched down to her level. “So, your mom left to spend time with your dad. I was wondering…”
She blinked at me, all five-year-old curiosity. “What?”
“If you could help me pick my room?”
“I know the one,” she said, suddenly energized, skittering down the hall. “This one.”
She opened a door to a sunny room with a window facing the side lawn, a good-sized closet, and its own bathroom.
“I love it. Thanks, Cassy.”
When evening came, she voted for talking-animal comedy, and I voted for a subtitled cartoon. We compromised on a princess movie with surprisingly complex lessons about self-worth.
Apparently, Friday nights were movie nights in this house. So we ate popcorn and watched while I peripherally followed the game on my iPad. As expected between two heavyweights, it was nail-biting, breath-holding, scream-into-a-pillow insane. Dallas won, tying 3–3.
My heart was heavy as I carried Cassy, fast asleep, to her room.
I felt everything I knew Sean must be feeling: the pressure of being so close and missing, the nerves of what would happen if the team didn’t clinched the final spot.
He needed props. The urge to kiss him to smooth the stink was overwhelming.
I texted him.
Me: I saw the look in your eyes after Game 6. No words are needed. I believe in you more than anyone ever has. You’re the fire behind the bench and the man I’ll be kissing, win or lose. But let’s win tomorrow. Imagine me wearing the orange barrette you like, since you’ve got it hostage.
Saturday drifted by in a haze of park, snacks, and Cassy’s nonstop chatter. By evening, the quiet gave way to game time.
The final duel for the Western Conference Championship and a spot in the Cup final was on the line.
Cassy beamed proudly in her Uncle Sean is a Big Deal shirt as we settled in to watch Tahoe West try to clinch it.
She asked if we could have popcorn again, even though it wasn’t Friday, and it was a YES.
I set the popcorn bowl on the table, and we sat to watch the pregame warmup. Cassy ran to her room and returned with a blanket covered in tiny penguins. Of course. We curled up together on the couch, ready to watch Tahoe West and Dallas battle it out.
Somewhere around the second period, she fell asleep, warm and soft against me. I held her close, not just to keep her steady, but because I needed something to hold.
My heart thudded as if I were out there on the ice.
Sergei took a brutal shove into the boards.
Meanwhile, Colton, ever the rebel, tripped over his own stick twice and still managed to make it look intentional.
Sean kicked the bench barrier and paced behind his players, eyes locked onto the ice as if he could will the puck into the opponent’s net.
He tossed his cap and raked his fingers through his hair so many times I worried about his hairline’s future.
None of that felt distant.
I felt it all—his stress, his fire, his desperate need to win settling into my bones. My throat tightened. My eyes burned.
The game stayed tied through the third period. I barely registered the overtime until Paxton, our goalie, deflected the puck. Porter scooped it up, passing it to Colton—and he scored.
Sudden death.
The horn blasted. The world erupted.
Tahoe West won.
The cameras zoomed in on the man I’d kissed, the man I’d laughed with. Sean scanned the ice as if needing confirmation that it was real. Then his players swarmed him, lifted him up. And moments later, the Clarence S. Campbell Bowl presentation.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
That breathless moment of relief—his and mine.
A victory that wasn’t just his. It was ours.
I held Cassy tighter as a sharp, electric feeling surged through me.
Between skating lessons and dumping my family drama on him, between him casually balancing me on a bike in a photo shoot and calling me Cutie, somewhere in the midst of all of it, I’d fallen.
I carried Cassy to her room like a ghost, drunk on that feeling.
Sleep didn’t come easily. I lay there in that guest room, heart racing, wondering how I was going to protect this thing growing inside me from the world. And whether it could survive my mother.
I woke to the sound of movement in the house. It was soft, but unmistakable. The clock read 5:20 a.m.
My pulse stuttered. He was back.
I sat up, heart pounding. Should I stay in bed and pretend I was asleep?
Or bolt down the hallway and look every inch of the girlfriend in a movie cliché?
But I couldn’t move. The win or the headlines would fade—not this feeling that had declared itself last night.
It was rooted. It didn’t want to stay hidden.
Dating and fun kisses were one thing. This was the wild, terrifying reality of falling for Sean Murphy.