Chapter 9 Hillary
HILLARY
The center buzzed with the chaotic energy of the first day of training camp.
Hillary soaked it in from the quiet of her office, papers spread across her desk, the glow of her laptop casting soft light over her notes.
She was in her element. If only her mind wasn’t still replaying last night and the way Murphy’s mouth had felt on hers, the way she’d told him it was over.
A soft knock sounded at the doorframe. She looked up to find Murphy leaning there, coffee in hand.
“Triple shot latte, oat milk, half the syrup,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place.
Her heart gave a traitorous squeeze. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” His smile was slow, knowing.
She reached for the cup, careful not to let their fingers brush. “Thanks. Now go, I’m in the zone.”
He chuckled, backing toward the door. “Yes, Boss.”
Later, in the meeting room, Sasha was already queuing up the presentation as the players filed in.
Hillary stood at the front, heels clicking against the polished floor as she addressed the group about the new social media strategy: how they’d be focusing on key players, following selected players through workouts and practices, and highlighting their community impact.
“We’ll also be running a food drive,” she added, “and I want content that shows how vital you all are to this city, on and off the ice.”
She kept her voice professional, her gaze sweeping the room, but every time her eyes found Murphy, he was already watching her. Their glances were quick, fleeting, but charged. She forced herself to keep talking, to ignore the way her pulse kicked up.
This was going to be harder than she thought.
Sasha and Hillary left the meeting room as the coaching staff got up to take over.
"So I think they’re doing their beginning-of-camp fitness tests tomorrow," Sasha said, looking at the schedule. "Are we still planning on following Conner, Cash, Wes, and Murphy?"
Hillary nodded, although part of her was reconsidering making Murphy one of the players they were going to focus on. It might be hard when all she wanted to do was make him hide under her desk again, but he was a crowd favorite for a reason. He had that golden-retriever quality people ate up.
"Okay, I'll focus on Conner and Wes, and you can take Cash and Murphy. Does that work?"
"Oh, what if I take Wes and Cash, and you have Conner and Murphy? We can spin it with the whole rookie and captain thing?" she suggested quickly.
"But he's not a rookie anymore."
Hillary had to bite back a smile. He had just told her that the other night. "You know what I mean," she said, brushing the comment off.
"Okay, that works," Sasha said, still looking at her phone. "We'll head to the team gym at 11 to get shots of the guys, and I’ll send over the list of questions. Thank you so much for helping me with this. I’ll have my team hired soon. I just posted the jobs."
Sasha had taken over the social media in January, and she'd been a breath of fresh air to the organization.
While Hillary did have other things she needed to be doing, she didn't mind helping out with social media until Sasha could hire a team.
She only hoped she could steer clear of Murphy.
It wasn't that she didn't want to see him—just that she wanted to see him a little too much, and she didn’t need the distraction. And honestly, neither did he.
"What do you think?" Sasha asked as she stopped by her office.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," Hillary hated to admit.
"I was saying after lunch we'll head to the gym."
"Yep, sounds good. I'll see you then."
Hillary hightailed it to her office. What was wrong with her today? Where was her focus?
Then she saw the cup of coffee still on her desk.
That answered her question. That was exactly where her focus was.
She needed to nip this in the bud. While she wasn’t his boss, she was in a leadership role with the organization.
Plus, he was almost ten years younger than her.
She could not give him the life he deserved.
It was just a summer fling, she tried to convince herself. They both agreed. These feelings would pass, and they could go back to having a working relationship. A professional relationship.
Later that night, she finally made her way home.
She loved her job. She loved the people she worked with, but there was a small part of her that wished she had more.
Sliding her heels off, she kicked them to the pile of shoes by the door before fishing her phone out of her purse and her laptop out of her work bag, placing them on the coffee table.
Before long, she was in sleep shorts and a tank top, her long brown hair piled high on her head and a makeup-free face.
She pulled up her phone and opened a delivery app. What was for dinner tonight?
As she decided on a burrito from her favorite Mexican restaurant, a notification popped up on her screen.
Sydney – Mom texted today. She wants to know if you are planning to come home for Grandma's birthday.
Hillary laid her head back and groaned.
Hillary – I wasn't planning on it. Are you going?
Then her phone was ringing in her hands. Sydney was calling.
"Hello."
"So are you really not going?"
"I wasn't planning on it. The party is a week before our opening game. I'm going to be swamped at work."
There was a pause over the line.
"And if you’re too busy being in residency to go, that's fine, Sydney. We don't owe them anything."
The line was quiet still.
"What's up, Syd?"
"I don't know. Sometimes I just feel bad," she said quietly.
"Why?"
"They’re our family. Don't you think we should, I don't know, want to see them?"
Hillary let out a long sigh. Yes, in a perfect world, you should want to see your family.
In a perfect world your family should want to support you.
But she knew the world was far from perfect, and her family wasn't even in the same vicinity as perfect.
Even if the curated version her mother made them out to be was.
"Look, Sydney, I support you in how you want to handle them. But I meant what I said. I'm done with them."
"I know. A lot of things were said over Christmas."
"You mean when they cut you off?" I snapped.
"Yeah, but that was my decision."
"No, Sydney. Our grandmother cut you off because you chose med school over getting married. Do you understand how crazy that is?"
"I know . . . I just feel bad."
"Of course, you feel bad. It sucks. And it is entirely their fault."
"You're right."
The defeated tone in Sydney's voice pulled at her.
She knew Sydney wanted to make them happy.
Hillary had learned a long time ago that she was not going to make them happy.
She had a defiant streak they could never understand.
They had wanted to change everything about her—from her personality to the size of her body—her entire life.
But somehow, Hillary had been blessed with a strong sense of self and a fuck-off attitude.
It had gotten her through some tough times and away from her corrosive family.
Sydney, on the other hand, had been their golden child. She'd been the one who was supposed to get married and live the perfect Connecticut life they had planned for her. Being a pediatric surgeon wasn't part of that.
That thought still boggled her mind. In what world was becoming a doctor who saved children's lives an unacceptable endeavor? Over Christmas, they had told her that if she continued this pursuit, they would have no choice but to pull her trust fund. Sydney told them to do what they wanted because it wouldn’t change her mind, and it had been the proudest moment of Hillary's life.
Ever since then, Hillary had been helping Sydney while she was in residency, because that was what family did. Well, that is at least what family should do.
"Look, Sydney, you can do whatever you need to do. I’m not going to let them ruin my peace, especially right before the season starts."
"Okay, are we still on for Thursday?"
"You know it, I’ll meet you at 7."
She laid her phone on the table and opened up her laptop.
While Hillary had frustratingly little control over what happened in her family, work was different.
At work, she was in her element. She knew what she was doing, and people respected her for it.
And it was time to get lost in it until her burrito came.