Mel
I woke up with a dry mouth, puffy eyes, and a brain dead set on replaying every embarrassing second from last night. A full-on trauma dump on Coach Murphy—Sean, in one night. Gold-medal performance. If there were an award for Most Mortifying Exit from a Team Celebration, I’d already be halfway through my acceptance speech.
Seriously, after the spilled undies, this?
I rolled onto my side and buried my face in the pillow.
Game 7 was supposed to end with champagne toast, not a tipsy, teary, parking lot meltdown into his chest.Maybe atwenty-four-hour bar to keep the party going,he’d said. That kept replaying in my head while my stomach dropped.
Had the Tahoe crew read me like a headline too?
I’d sunk into his passenger seat and tried to disappear into the upholstery. He didn’t say a word, just tipped my seat back, set the heater low, and let his hand rest warm over mine. Something went soft and fuzzy in my chest. He squeezed my arm a little before easing away—his way of saying we were okay.
The super-serious coach turned into a comfort teddy bear. From a man who could lead an NHL team through the playoffs, that gentleness tilted the planet in the best way.
“Thanks,” I’d muttered, voice still scratchy from crying.
He’d nodded and kept driving, hands steady on the wheel as if nothing had happened. But even through the blur of my stupid tears, I could’ve sworn I caught a hint in his eyes. Not panic, exactly, but that thrown-off look you get when a storm comes out of nowhere.
Turns out Coach Murphy wasn’t completely unshakable after all.
I must’ve dozed off again, because when my bedroom door opened, I flinched awake. The mattress dipped beside me, and I felt a familiar bundle of jasmine-scented lotion and sisterly love settle in.
“So, how did last night go?” Sam whispered.
She curled up on her side, facing me, eyes gleaming with that tell-me-everything glint. The same one she’d had back when I’d sneak in after a teenage crush meetup. Except this time, instead of a forbidden kiss, there’d been real tears, real stakes, and a very real Coach Murphy who’d witnessed the whole downfall in HD.
“Great. I had one extra drink and took a cab home,” I said evenly.
A beat of silence.
“I didn’t know cabs now come in luxury SUV form,” she said dryly. “You know, the kind that owns the block everywhere they park.”
My gut did a nervous little clench. She’d seen us. My fib was about as transparent as a goal without a goalie.
“Not a word of that around Mom,” I muttered.
Sam huffed a laugh. “The mom who said,‘No time for anything else’when you missed her airport pickup?”
I groaned. “Yep, that one.”
We both knew whatthe anything elsemeant. Marriage, kids, a man with a five-year plan and a solid jawline, ideally named Vince.
The thing about Vince was…it didn’t matter that his career meant more to him than I ever did or that we had nothing in common. To Mom, he was her friend’s son with a promising future, and that was enough.
We’d reconnected two years after college. At twenty-four, I’d hit a burnout wall and started believing the lie that everyone else had their life figured out except me. Friends and classmates were busy posting engagement rings and baby bumps in a milestone marathon I didn’t qualify for.
Then Vince showed up polished, a second act in a tailored suit. The type of safe structure and ambition my mom thought I needed. I had doubts, but I told myself I was being dramatic, that if someone who turned heads the way he did wanted me, I should stop second-guessing.
I remembered sitting across from him at his favorite wine bar, nodding along while he mapped out a vision forusthat doubled as his solo career ladder. Six months later, when I didn’t fit that ideal anymore, he left for a work project on the East Coast, for a promotion, for everything, except me.
Even today, thinking about it sent a faint sweat to my temples, proof my body hadn’t gotten the memo that I’d survived it. Iknew I had, damn it. But apparently, this muscle in my chest preferred reruns for the fun of it.
Sam rolled onto her back. “You don’t want her taping a ‘Just Married’ sign and trailing soda cans to the back of the sleek car.”
I smiled lightly. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“So, whose car was it?”
