He glances up at me. “Murphy. Do you know why I brought you in?”
I shake my head.
He closes the laptop. “You’re reckless.”
I wait for the punchline.
“I’ve read your file. I know what you’re capable of. But this isn’t a game. You make one wrong move, you’re not just benching yourself—you’re putting lives on the line.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
He studies me. There’s a long pause, the kind that used to make me want to fill the air with jokes or trash talk. Now, I just let it happen. “Why’d you leave the NHL?”
The question is so blunt it nearly knocks me over. Most people tiptoe around it, like if they say the wrong thing I’ll shatter.
I shrug. “Didn’t have a choice. Got kicked.”
His expression shifts from neutral to lethally unamused. “That’s the version for the press. Give me the real one.”
I hesitate. “I stopped caring. About the team, the game. About myself.” All of that fell away to the pure chase of adrenaline. Scoring a point, winning a fight on the ice.Thatwas more important.
Not that I’ll be voicing that out loud.
Vega leans back, steeples his fingers. “Have you thought about why?”
I do, all the fucking time. But I’m not sure how to explain to a guy like Vega that it’s about more than winning or losing. That it’s about the way your soul gets hollowed out, piece by piece, until nothing fits anymore. “Not really.” Sometimes it’s easier to just play dumb rather than pour your heart out first thing in the morning.
He eyes me for a long beat. “You need to find something worth caring about, Murphy. Otherwise, this place will eat you alive.”
I nod again. “Understood.”
He dismisses me, and I head back to the rec room. The morning news is off now, replaced by a low hum of voices and the clatter of dishes. I plant myself on the couch, stare at the ceiling, and try to imagine a world where I’m not haunted by all the shit I can’t fix.
That world feels a long way off.
CHAPTER 7
GRACE
Ishould be excited about the first night of performances for this year’s Reverie Ice Show. I should be so hyped for this that my heart vibrates like a tuning fork. But my insides feel sticky and twisted, which is not a feeling I can skate through. It’s not about the show itself. It’s about the person with whom I’ll be sharing the stage, the one who’s made it impossible to ignore the scent of peppermint over all the other noise.
Connor isn’t in the dressing room yet. Is he here at the arena at all? I don’t let myself care. Connor’s presence or absence is squarely Director Hannah’s problem. If he’s not here, maybe the princess can be her own happy ending this time.
Instead, I tie and untie my skates, and check the ribbons on my dress. I listen to the pulse of rehearsal music echoing from the main arena. The stage crew is laughing as they ready for their part in the show.
“Are you ready?” asks a voice behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin. Charlotte stands there grinning at me.
I summon up a smile. “Do I look ready?”
She gives me a slow, critical once-over. “Yeah. But you look like you’re about to barf.”
“Not a chance.”ThatI refuse to do.
Charlotte sits beside me and tugs her skate guards off with sharp, practiced flicks. “You’ll be okay. You—us—we’re all going to nail tonight’s performance.”
I nod. The effort of holding myself together feels visible, like an extra costume piece I can’t shed. The pressure of having to be near Connor these last few days has been enough on its own. But now I have to pretend I don’t hate everything about him in front of tens of thousands of people.
