Chapter 11 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary was slipping on her blazer when her phone rang. Sydney’s name flashed on the screen. She answered, still juggling her bag and keys.
“Hey, Syd—”
Her sister’s voice was tight. “I just got a message from Mom.”
“What did she say?” Hillary asked with a sigh.
“She’s still trying to get me to come to Grandma’s birthday. She said if I don’t come home, I’ll regret it when it’s her ‘last one.’”
Hillary rolled her eyes. “That hateful biddy will outlive us all.”
“I know, but . . . it still got to me. I mean, what if she’s right?”
“This is the woman who took your trust fund away because you wanted to save children instead of getting married and joining the DAR or whatever the fuck she wanted.”
Sydney took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right. How do you let this stuff not bother you?”
“They decided a long time ago I was a lost cause.” Hillary softened her tone. “Don’t let her guilt you. You’re doing what’s right for you. I’m proud of you, Syd.”
They talked for another few minutes, Hillary offering reassurance until she absolutely had to leave. “I’ve gotta head to work, but call me later, okay?”
By the time she got to the center, she was focused. This was the last pre-season game before the season officially started, and there was plenty to do. She settled at her desk, answering emails and reviewing schedules.
A knock at her door made her smile before she even looked up.
Murphy. He’d brought her coffee every morning since the start of the season.
The only time he hadn’t was when he was on the road for a preseason game a few days ago.
While she was still almost certain she’d done the right thing putting a stop to their hooking up, she still loved her daily dose of caffeine—and Murphy.
His smile and positive attitude were like a shot of joy straight to her veins.
Plus the coffee . . . she could already taste the first sip.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and her smile faltered. It wasn’t Murphy. It was Sasha, holding a folder.
“Morning,” Sasha said, stepping in.
“Morning.” Hillary tried to hide her disappointment.
Sasha’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Hillary said lightly, waving it off. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to finalize the plan for opening week.”
Sasha didn’t push. Instead, she dropped into the chair across from Hillary’s desk. “That’s why I’m here. I sent you a file with what I have so far, but I just wanted to touch base.”
They went over social media strategies: highlight reels, community events, and player features. Hillary scribbled notes, grateful for the distraction, though the lingering absence of her morning coffee delivery tugged at her.
Later, Hillary walked into a meeting with organization heads, still under-caffeinated. She found herself zoning out. Her mind wandered to Murphy, from his grin and his easy teasing, to the way he always seemed to know exactly how she liked her coffee.
After the meeting, she went looking for him, partly because she needed reshoots for a project, partly . . . well, she didn’t want to admit the other reason.
The ice was empty, and the weight room wasn’t as full as usual. A few vets were training because this preseason game was mostly prospects and some mid-liners, but no Murphy.
Across the room, she spied Sasha and Conner. She was taking some shots of him as he explained some of what the training the team does. Tips from the captain had become an internet hit. Most of their social media had, thanks to Sasha.
As she watched, Hillary couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how easily Conner flirted with Sasha. They’d gotten together after the gala, and instead of hiding it, they’d claimed each other publicly. If she had done that with Murphy, maybe things would have been different.
Only Conner wasn’t ten years younger than Sasha.
Conner was a grown man. And yes, Murphy had surprised her by being amazingly kind and responsible for a twenty-three-year-old, but he was twenty-three.
Well, twenty-four now, but that didn’t matter.
She was thirty-three. And no matter how many times he called her boss, she was not his boss.
But, even though she may not be his boss, she was still in a leadership position in the organization. She could not date a player.
She stopped one of the trainers in the hall. “Have you seen Murphy?”
“He left this morning for a family thing. Gone for the weekend.”
“Really? He left the week before the season opener?” Hillary asked, a little shocked.
The trainer’s brow creased a little before nodding. “The guys who aren’t playing in the last preseason game have a rest weekend.”
“Oh,” Hillary said, masking her reaction with a nod. “Thanks.”
Her stomach sank before she forced her feet toward her office. She told herself it was the reshoots she was upset about. But the hollow ache in her chest said otherwise.
That night, Hillary got home and, once again, slipped off her heels and kicked them into a pile. Then she changed into her comfy clothes before collapsing onto the couch. She picked up her phone and looked at what options she had to order for dinner. Nothing sounded good.
She slammed her phone on the couch next to her and pushed her head back onto the cushions with a groan.
What was wrong with her? She should be lost in work—it was the beginning of the season.
She should be making sure all the brand deals and community partners were ready to go.
This was her busiest time of the year, but all she wanted to do was see Murphy.
She picked her phone back up with every intention of ordering food, only somehow, she ended up in her texts, pulling up Murphy’s contact. Yes, she had said they needed to end things, but as if on their own, her fingers tapped out:
Hillary – Are you busy?
Murphy – What’s up, boss?
Hillary – I just wanted to order a pizza, and I can’t eat the whole thing myself.
Murphy – As much as I would love to lend my pizza-eating abilities, I’m out of town. But Sunday night, I can swing by and eat whatever it is you need me to eat
Just the thought of what he was hinting at reddened her cheeks. He was really good at that.
Hillary – See you at work, Rookie.
She knew he was going out of town, but she had hoped he might not be gone yet. It was fine. It was for the best, really. Her decision to end it was the right one . . . wasn’t it?
She opened the delivery app and ordered a sub sandwich. Food for one, just what she needed—and yet it felt emptier than she’d expected.