Chapter 6 Murphy
MURPHY
Murphy trusted a lot of things.
His reflexes.
His teammates.
The way muscle memory took over when the puck came screaming toward him at ninety miles an hour.
He did not trust Hillary’s directions.
His GPS had given up five minutes ago, rerouting him into increasingly questionable side streets until he finally pulled over, phone glowing in his hand.
Hillary - You’ll think you’re lost
He reread her text. You’re right about that, Boss, he thought.
Hillary - You’re not.
Hillary - Park when the road turns to gravel. Walk toward the sound of the river.
“That’s ominous,” he muttered to himself.
Still, he parked.
The sun was already sinking, the sky washed in pinks and golds as he followed the narrow path downhill, swatting at tall grass and wondering vaguely if this was how people ended up featured on true crime podcasts.
Then the trees opened up.
And there she was.
Hillary sat beneath a wide old oak, a blanket spread out beneath her like she’d grown there, a basket open at her side.
Her hair was down: soft, loose, and catching the light.
She wore a simple tank top and jean shorts, her curves accentuated and unapologetic, but what knocked the breath from his chest wasn’t how relaxed she looked.
No sharp edges. No armor. Just Hillary, barefoot, knees tucked to one side, gazing out at the river like she belonged to the quiet.
Murphy stopped short.
She looked up and smiled.
“You found it,” she said.
“Against all odds,” he replied, stepping closer. “I’m pretty sure your directions violated at least three traffic laws.”
She laughed, and the sound settled straight into his chest. “I warned you.”
He dropped onto the blanket beside her, close enough that he could feel her warmth without touching. Too aware. Too much. And yet easy. Like slipping into something familiar that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
“How has your off-season been?” she asked as she got some popcorn out of the basket.
“Good. I’ve been training pretty hard, but I’ve gotten some time to spend with my family. I was glad I ran into you yesterday because I usually spend the 4th with my family, but my sister, Maddie, is spending the summer at an art camp and my parents went to spend it with her.”
Hillary perked up. “Maddie is your sister?”
“Yep,” he said as he took a handful of popcorn. “But I figured you knew that since you know everything about us players. You keep it in those big files of yours. Did you forget?”
“I did not forget. Believe it or not, I take the summers off as well.”
“You do?”
“Well . . . No, but I don’t have to keep up with all you men and the headaches you create.”
He held his hands up defensively. “Hey now, I try not to cause any problems.”
“No, you don’t. You cause a different kind of trouble,” as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she looked like she wanted to take them back. “Sydney should be here soon.” She picked up her phone and started quickly scrolling.
“What else have you got in this basket? I’m starving,” Murphy asked.
She looked up at him with a small smile, seemingly grateful for the subject change.
“I just brought some popcorn and some snacks. Nothing too fancy.”
She opened the basket and handed him snacks: berries, crackers, some muffins wrapped in paper from the farmer’s market. Their shoulders brushed. Their knees bumped. Neither of them pulled away.
The sun dipped lower, the air cooling, cicadas starting up around them.
Murphy hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the gala.
He’d told himself it was fine. That she’d drawn her line, and he respected it. That wanting her didn’t mean he had to reach.
But sitting here—watching the sky darken beside her—it felt like standing too close to the edge of something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t jump into.
“Have you heard from Sydney?” he asked suddenly, glancing at her phone.
Almost on cue, it buzzed.
She read the message, lips quirking. “She can’t make it. She got stuck at the hospital.”
Murphy kept his face neutral through sheer force of will.
Inside, he was absurdly, selfishly relieved.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s too bad.”
She shot him a look, knowing and amused. “It is.”
The first firework cracked in the distance, echoing over the river. Hillary turned toward the sound, her hand shifting on the blanket.
His fingers brushed hers.
Electric.
He froze, waiting, ready for her to pull back, to retreat behind the careful smile she wore so well.
She didn’t.
Instead, she threaded her fingers through his and gave a small, steady squeeze. Then she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Murphy’s breath caught.
Slowly, reverently, he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her in until she fit against him perfectly. Like this was where she’d always been meant to be.
Fireworks bloomed overhead—white and gold and impossibly bright—but he barely saw them.
All he could feel was Hillary in his arms. The weight of her head against his shoulder. The warmth of her body pressed into his side. The quiet certainty of the moment.
This.
This was perfection.
After the finale, she looked up into his eyes. Every fiber of him pulsed, don’t fuck this up.
When she said, “Do you want to come over for a drink?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” He said it as calmly as possible, biting the grin that wanted to spread across his face.
“One more night. That’s it.”
“That works for me,” he said as he leaned in and pressed a small kiss to her lips. She tasted like strawberries and raspberry tea as a cool summer evening breeze enveloped them. It was everything.
He would not ruin his second chance with the fascinating woman.