Every morning should be like this. This was my new alarm clock, and I’d gladly fire my old one.
I wasn’t new to love. I’d said vows before, lived through years of commitment, and I knew how it could stretch, bend, and break. But with Mel, it didn’t feel recycled—it felt brand new.Fresh and dizzying, like spring air after a storm, like the flowery scent tangled in my sheets.
One thing was sure: I held a victory in my arms before the Cup.
Problem was that life didn’t pause for that kind of win. One week to the Cup. I was heading to the arena for drills, video sessions, and player meetings, then closing the night with the Eastern Conference decider—Panthers or Hurricanes, whoever we’d face for it all.
I eased out of bed without waking Mel and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Even with her curled in my sheets, the press question from yesterday still echoed. I searched my name, and of course, there it was.
Stanley Cup Pressure & Personal Demons: Murphy’s Family Struggles Surface.
My chest tightened. I’d been expecting it but seeing it in bold was still a jab. The headline did its job—tying my name to my father’s addiction and shoving it under Cup-prep spotlights.
I tossed the phone on the bathroom counter and stepped into the shower, letting cold water hammer across my skin.
When I came out, I towel dried and crossed the room to the closet. Mel wasn’t in bed anymore. I dressed slowly, thinking. Last time we faced a media firestorm, the team photo shoot flipped the narrative. But this time, it was two decades of personal crap with my dad dragged into the light.
Normally, I’d call Ben. He had a way of untangling the mess and handing me the pieces that still mattered. But junior season was on break, and he was off in some postcard-perfect beach town with his wife. Probably sipping something brightly colored with a small umbrella, far from headlines and Cup pressure. Lucky bastard.
A text came through:
Asher:Coach, you really said ‘she’s more’ about Mel at the press table? That’s like proposing in hockey language.
Then others followed:
Brent:We should get you two matching jackets\*engagement ring emoji\*
Asher:The bliss—Sadie’s on it.
Dane:The wives and girlfriends are on tonight, they make the best party. Mel is coming I hope.
Damn them. They’d started a thread at my expense.
Me:You clowns better not be planning a flash mob.
Dane:Nah, just a few viral moments, you’ll thank us later.\*heart hands emoji\*
They were plotting something. The guys always had a way of rallying when pressure was high.
Asher:But maybe we should bring a pastor and hide him in the closet till she’s surprised, Coach?
Me:The hell, Asher? What do you know that I don’t?
Damn it. I already knew I wanted to marry her, but I hated it when people figured me out. “More” translating into “put a ring on it” was for me to define. I didn’t need my private business turned into a team-wide joke.
Asher:Strike while the iron’s hot, Coach.
He just had to double down; the smart-ass was probably grinning too. The picture of his grin faded fast, because I knew what was really gnawing at me.
My dad leaking his story to the media had wrecked me once. This time, I had to keep a lid on it. I couldn’t let that noise bleed in, not when I had two things that mattered more than anything: Mel and the Cup.
I braced both hands on the bathroom counter, staring at my reflection. Nothing usually knocked me off focus, especially with the Cup ahead. But Mel was different. She had me wrapped around her finger, and somehow that distraction didn’t destabilize me. It felt second nature.
I headed to the kitchen, heart tugging.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She was plating food on the island, and the smell had my mouth watering.
