Chapter 14 Hillary
HILLARY
The wind cut through her thin jacket as Hillary stood outside the arena, phone pressed to her ear.
Why she hadn't brought a better coat with her was beyond her.
This wasn't her first road trip. She knew Calgary in November could be brutal.
She yanked her jacket tighter, trying in vain to keep warm as she talked her sister down.
"I can't believe I didn't go. And now Mom says it's my fault," Sydney said with a sniff.
Sydney’s voice was tight with tears, recounting how their mother had called in full-blown drama mode—Grandma was in the hospital, and apparently it was all Sydney’s fault for missing her birthday party. Hillary’s jaw clenched.
"Sydney, you're studying to be a doctor. You know her getting sick has nothing to do with you," Hillary said as calmly as possible, trying not to let the rage she felt seep into her voice.
How dare they put this on her sister? But of course, they would. It was what they did.
"I know, Mom was just so upset. I don't know. Should I go visit?"
"I mean, you can, but why don't you wait until I get back, then we can go together."
"No, Hillary, you don't have to do that."
"I'm not letting you deal with this on your own."
She murmured comfort, doing her best to steady her sister’s voice, even as her own anger simmered.
The cold didn’t help. She liked crisp weather, but this biting wind was another irritation.
Then, there was warmth. A familiar scent of soap and spice enveloped her as something heavy settled over her shoulders.
She glanced down at Murphy’s jacket. Her breath caught, and for a moment, all she could think was ‘why is he so perfect?’ He didn’t say a word, just gave her that gentle half-smile before heading past. Sydney’s shaky words pulled her back, and she focused on soothing her sister.
Still, the scent of him clung to her, grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain.
On the bus, Sasha chatted beside her, but Hillary caught maybe every third word. She nodded in the right places, distracted by the lingering heat of the jacket and the memory of his brief smile.
That night in the hotel, sleep was impossible. She paced the room, mind tangled in knots of family drama: resentment at their entitled cruelty, and genuine worry for her grandmother despite herself. Most of all, fury that they would turn it all on Sydney.
She stopped pacing, jacket in hand, before she realized what she was doing.
She hesitated outside his door, telling herself to go back.
This wasn’t professional, this wasn’t smart, all the reasons this was a bad idea still existed—but her feet wouldn’t listen.
Moments later, she knocked. Murphy answered, and the instant warmth in his smile melted something inside her. She was so tired of fighting it.
"I . . ... ummm . . . I brought back your jacket," she said as she thrust the jacket at him.
He took it from her, his gaze never leaving her.
"Want to come in?" he asked softly.
She nodded. The door shut behind her, and the tears she’d been holding back broke free. This wasn’t her. She didn’t cry in front of people. Never. But Murphy didn’t ask questions. He just swept her into his arms, holding her close, his palm stroking her back until her sobs quieted.
Embarrassed, she excused herself to wash her face. In the mirror, she gave herself a sharp pep talk, willing her composure back.
"Get it under control," she said with a stern expression.
This was not her. She never broke like this.
She was the rock everyone could count on.
She had taken care of herself ever since her family had made it clear that if she didn't do it their way, they wouldn’t help her.
'Fine by me then,' she had thought. Life had been hard, but it had been hers, and that was enough.
That was until they started pulling the same thing with her little sister. God, she hated her family.
But those thoughts would not help her get herself back under control, so she took another deep breath. "You can do this. Just go out there and be normal."
She closed her eyes, inhaled again, and took one last look in the mirror. Her brown waves fell over her shoulders. She looked fine. There was nothing to give away the fact that she had just lost it besides her red, puffy eyes, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that right now.
But when she stepped out and saw him sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees and those patient, steady eyes fixed on her, her throat tightened again.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
The words poured out—about her family, about Sydney, about the weight of it all. Murphy didn’t interrupt. His hand wrapped around hers, thumb brushing across her knuckles, and somehow she felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone.
"Wow," he said. "That's a lot. I'm so sorry you're dealing with all that."
"It's fine," she shrugged. "I'm used to it."
"It's not fine, and you shouldn't be used to it."
She looked down at their hands clasped and allowed herself to think about what it would feel like to have the support of someone as pure as Murphy. Of course, the dynamics of her family would be foreign to someone like him.
"I know it's not fine, but I can't change it. I accepted that years ago. I just hate that my sister is figuring it all out now."
"Sydney seems like she’s got a good head on her shoulders?”
"She does, but my family is pissed that she chose to work instead of doing rich people shit."
A rough chuckle bubbled up in him. "Excuse me?"
"They wanted her to marry her college boyfriend, whom they approved of, and live the wealthy Connecticut life they deem best."
"Wow . . . " he said, nodding, taking in the truth of it.
Next thing Hillary knew, she was up and pacing. Being this vulnerable made her feel like the other shoe was about to drop, or be thrown at her . . . either way, it wasn't a great feeling.
Murphy didn't follow. He just let her pace. How was it he always knew what she needed?
While all the problems that made their relationship untenable were still there, maybe for tonight, they could forget them all.
She made her way back over to him and stopped between his knees. He sat straighter and looked her in the eyes. The moment between them turned heated, which felt better than what she'd just been drowning in.
As the moment stretched out before them, she took a shaky breath and ran her hands through his soft, sandy-brown hair before kissing him. His breath caught, and he pulled back slightly as his gaze flew to her, but his hands found her hips and anchored her to the moment.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Hillary nodded, and that was all he needed. He stood and pulled her close as his lips closed in on hers.
It was everything. It was exactly what she needed, and she wasn't going to question it right now.