Chapter 10 Murphy
MURPHY
With a confident stride, Murphy made his way through the halls of the Magic Center. He was carrying two cups of coffee. One basic black, the other a triple shot latte, oat milk, half the syrup. He maneuvered the cups to one hand as he knocked on the door in front of him.
"Come in," Hillary called, and just the sound of her voice put a smile on his face.
He opened the door, "Coffee," he said with a grin.
She looked up at him with a grin she quickly squashed away. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm bringing coffee for the hardest working woman in the building," he said as she walked over and handed her the coffee.
"Thank you," she said as she finally gave in and offered him a small smile. "Are you ready for today?" she asked as she blew on her coffee before taking a small sip.
"Ready and raring to go."
"Seriously? The fitness test days always look like torture," she said as she took a longer sip.
"It's the best kind of torture,” he said, taking a sip of his own coffee. "And we both know I like a little torture," he said, giving her a wink.
Her expression droppe,d and she glared at him, and he loved every bit of it. He loved it because ever since the gala, he'd come to know her and her expressions, and this one of pure exasperation meant she secretly loved it.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked.
"Not for the next 15 minutes. I made it early to get an extra special treat to start my day."
"I really did mean what I said, Murphy. We need to be done."
"Okay, if that's what you want, but that doesn't mean we can't still be friends, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," she said as she hid her grin with another sip of coffee.
"Alright then, Boss. I'm gonna get out of your hair."
"Thanks for the coffee, Rookie."
He winked before he left.
Friends winked, right?
—
The clang of weights and the low thrum of bass from the speakers filled the weight room, underscored by the tang of sweat and disinfectant.
Laughter and shouts bounced off the high ceilings as teammates egged each other on.
Murphy stood in the middle of it all, rolling his shoulders as he took it in.
This was his happy place, where he could push himself until every muscle burned, where the only thing that mattered was the next rep, the next drill.
Hockey was in his blood, but the camaraderie?
That was the real magic. The kind of brotherhood you couldn’t find anywhere else.
He knew every man in this room had his back, and he had theirs right back.
Being on a team was like nothing else, and he counted himself as lucky to have been a part of a team for most of his life.
The first day of camp, fitness tests were always a mix of anticipation and bravado. Around him, guys taped ankles, stretched on mats, or chugged water. Murphy was adjusting the plates on his barbell when Sasha strolled in, chatting with Conner before waving him over.
“Murph, you’re with me today,” she said, phone in hand. “We’re following you and Conner, asking some questions, getting some behind-the-scenes footage. You cool with that?”
He nodded, but his attention was already drifting. Across the room, Hillary was with Cash and Wes, tablet in hand, her head bent in concentration. She didn’t look his way, and that made him grin. She was avoiding him. Cute.
He watched her laugh at something Wes said, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t so much as flick her gaze toward him. It was intentional—he could tell. And damn if it didn’t make him want to walk right over there and see how fast he could get her to crack.
If she thought she could keep this surface-level, she was in for a long season. He could play the long game.
Murphy slid into position for pull-ups, making sure the angle gave her a perfect view in the mirror.
Biceps flexed, abs tight, he counted each rep slow and deliberate, tossing a little smirk toward Sasha’s camera just for fun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught it—Hillary’s gaze lingering just a fraction too long.
He smirked. She scowled and immediately turned back to Cash’s stats. God, he loved that.
During sled pushes, he took his time loading the plates, chatting loudly with Conner about “how much he’d been eating lately” in a way that was definitely for her benefit.
He gritted his teeth and drove the sled forward until his legs burned, then jogged back right past her, close enough that the brush of air carried her perfume to him—a hint of vanilla and something warm—and it nearly broke his stride.
By the time practice wrapped, he was still grinning, already plotting how he’d get her to look at him tomorrow.
After a hard workout and a meeting with the coaching staff, Murphy was exhausted.
His condo was just a ten-minute drive away, tucked into a modern building where a couple of his teammates also lived.
It had dark cabinetry, sleek appliances, and floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the space with light.
A pile of laundry slouched on a chair, and two dishes sat in the sink, but for a twenty-four-year-old bachelor, it wasn’t bad.
A framed photo of him with his brother and sister sat on the bookshelf next to a signed jersey.
A single green plant thrived on the counter—a gift from his mom he’d miraculously kept alive.
It was his first year living without a roommate, and while he liked it, it did get a little too quiet for his liking sometimes.
Murphy tossed his gym bag down and headed for the kitchen. Soon, the scent of garlic filled the air as chicken and vegetables sizzled in the pan, rice simmering on the stove.
His phone lit up. “Hey, Ma,” he answered, putting her on speaker.
“Just checking on my favorite son,” she teased.
"We both know that's not true," he said with an easy smile.
"What?! Of course, it is. You know the rule: whoever I'm talking to is my favorite."
They caught up easily—her book club gossip, his update on camp. Then she asked about his schedule. "I know you’ll be super busy, so no pressure, but I wanted to know if you'll be able to make it home for Patrick's birthday. I know it is the weekend before your season starts, but—"
“I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, good, he'll be so happy,” she laughed. “You’re his hero, you know.”
The words hit him right in the chest. “Nah. He’s mine.”
When they hung up, the condo felt quieter, but not lonely. He plated his food with a smile, the warmth of home still lingering in his chest—and, despite himself, the image of Hillary’s scowl in the mirror replaying in his mind like his favorite highlight reel.