Page 19 of On the Power Play

Jack opened his mouth, but Clara scooted closer and continued. "Yes, I get that she's a woman, Jack, and I'm not trying to minimize what happened with Angie. I know you're still hurting, and I wish I could take that away. You have no idea."

Jack shifted in his seat, nodding in the hope that anyone watching them—specifically Tony and his assistant—would assume they were talking about a meeting tomorrow or family drama. Anything but his inability to jump back into dating after losing the love of his life.

"You don't know what this contract will entail," Clara continued. "If you hate it, you can say no."

"Only after you meet Delia, though."

"Obviously." Clara patted his arm, then leaned over the table and sipped her pink non-cocktail. Jack eyed her suspiciously. Clara had never been a big drinker, but he hadn't seen her take a sip of alcohol for months. Was it possible?—?

The crowd erupted around them, and Jack straightened and clapped. Clara whistled next to him, fangirling with the best of them.

Delia grinned and looked out over the crowd. Jack was in the middle of ruminating on how much she could actually see into the dark when the lights dimmed from bright white to soft purple, and her eyes landed on him. Her smile slipped a bit at the corners, and her quick intake of breath was visible. As quickly as it happened, the moment passed, and Delia was pulling a stool up to the mic. She sat and lowered her mic stand, then propped her guitar on her thigh. "Thank you for coming out last minute, it's been a joy playing for you. I've got one more song for you, Calgary."

More cheers mingled with "We love you Delia!" and various song requests built to a low roar then silenced in seconds as Delia started to strum. Jack knew nothing about music, but the melancholy chords instantly drew him in. They reminded him of the jazz albums his mom used to play on Sunday mornings.

"Interesting choice," Tony murmured.

Clara sighed, folding her arms over the table. "I love this song. Does she not normally play it?"

Tony shook his head. "I've never heard her play it live."

Clara leaned into Jack. "This isn't on her album. It's from her TikTok channel. Before she got signed."

"You have a TikTok account?" Jack eyed her skeptically.

"’Kay, I'm not that much older than you, so don't look at me like I'm Mum or something. Though I think she has one, too. She wanted to watch the Pro Dance-off highlights and hates doing it on—" Clara held up a hand, cutting herself off as she turned mesmerized to the stage.

Delia started singing. She began in French, then switched to English with the words, I've never been one to reach for the stars because flying has never felt safe. Jack had never been one to listen to lyrics. He wanted beats that made his adrenaline spike. Rhythms that matched his reps. But at that moment, the room seemed to shrink until everything was blurred at the edges. It was just him sitting at that table with Delia in front of him, holding her guitar at the mic.

"They say it's a door only I can open, but I don't want to let out the heat.” Her voice was nimble. Like it barely touched each note before floating on to the next. Jack's breathing quickened. The lights glinted off her hair, the shimmer in her eyes, the polished wood of her guitar. Every sentence struck deeper, breaking into a shell he wasn’t aware he'd built inside himself. Memory seeped like molasses through the cracks.

"Jack?"

"Hey, Melanie. What's up?" He'd only ever gotten a call from Angie's mother twice in the time they'd been together. Once about a surprise birthday party for Angie's twenty-fifth and once because she had a snake in the yard and didn't know how to phone the fire department.

Melanie's voice shook. Her breath hiccupped. "There was an accident. Angie was—she’s gone, Jack."

Jack sat up, gripping the phone tighter against his cheek. "Who's gone?" Dread slid down his throat like sour wine and ate at the inside of his stomach.

"There was an accident. She was driving over to drop off the ladder she'd borrowed from the garage, and when she didn't show up?—"

"Slow down, Melanie. Angie was driving over?"

A sob punched through the speaker. "Yes, she was driving over to return the ladder, and I had chocolate lava cakes ready on the counter, and when she didn't show up, I phoned her, but it went straight to voicemail. We waited for another hour and still didn't hear anything, so then I phoned the non-emergent line like you showed me and?—"

Her voice had snagged then, and she broke into rough, guttural weeping. That's when he knew. Even though she said the words, it was only then that he understood what his fiancée’s mother was trying to tell him. Angie was dead, and even after three years, that wound still festered. It had hurt to be traded from the Admirals to a different AHL team, but living in Calgary was a breath of fresh air.

Jack looked around, searching for an easy exit. He didn’t want to feel this—didn’t want to remember this—and every word out of Delia’s mouth was dredging all of it to the surface. Clara grabbed onto his arm and mouthed, “Just wait for the ending!”

He didn’t want to wait for anything. He needed to get out of there, but Clara held on, swaying with her eyes closed. Maybe if he’d talked to his sister about Angie’s death, he would’ve been able to pull his arm away and walk out, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t talked to anyone about it, really. She and his parents had given him plenty of opportunities, but when he didn’t open up, they’d stopped asking.

Clara and Ange had been close. She must’ve missed her just as much as he did. But then she’d met Oscar and gotten married two summers ago. She’d moved on.

He had not.

Delia continued, "If there's ever a day when I don't see your face, I'll be right here on my knees. Dans le soulagement et le regret, de toi, je n'ai point oubliet."

Jack held his breath, which only made the pressure in his head worse. When they'd entered the venue, it had been filled with chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. Now, every person, including those squeezed into the foyer near the bar, was silent. Delia's fingers were frozen in the air above her guitar strings as her final strain reverberated through the room.

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