Chapter 19 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary sat cross-legged on Sydney’s worn couch, a paper plate of greasy pizza balanced on her knee and a half-empty glass of box wine in her hand.
The apartment smelled like takeout and fabric softener.
And despite the chaos of work waiting for her back at home, she felt herself exhale for the first time all week.
Sydney leaned back against the armrest, phone in hand. “So, Natalie finally called me. She got fired.”
Hillary frowned, setting her glass on the coffee table. “Fired? For what?”
Natalie was Sydney’s roommate for two years in college and her best friend, also one of the sweetest people Hillary had ever met.
“For reading a banned book to her kids,” Sydney said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “A story about a boy with two dads. One of her students’ parents complained. The administration caved.”
Hillary shook her head, anger curling hot in her chest. “Unbelievable. Natalie’s the best teacher they’ve got, and that’s what they fire her for?”
“Yep.” Sydney took another bite of pizza. “She’s crushed.”
Hillary stared at her wine for a long moment. “She’ll find something better. Any school worth a damn will snatch her up.”
Sydney smirked faintly, but her eyes stayed troubled. “I hope so. I asked her to move up here.”
“Good,” Hillary said firmly. “I hope she does. We need more people like her here anyway.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the easy kind that only existed between sisters.
“So,” Sydney said eventually, taking another sip of wine, “tomorrow’s the big day, huh? The boy band thing?”
Hillary rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Yeah. Tomorrow’s filming. Sasha’s practically vibrating with excitement.”
“Wish I could be there,” Sydney muttered. “But noooo, med school owns me.”
“That’s what you get for becoming a doctor instead of going into PR,” Hillary teased, their long-running joke slipping out automatically.
Sydney laughed, tossing a crust at her. She looked at her brilliant, stubborn, determined sister. The only bright spot in a family that had spent years dragging both of them down. How their parents couldn’t see it, Hillary would never understand.
“Have you talked to them since Grandma came home?” Sydney asked carefully.
“Yes,” Hillary said, her voice tight. “But that’s it.”
Sydney chewed her lip. “Christmas is coming up. We’ll have to figure it out.”
“In a few weeks,” Hillary said, picking up her glass again. “We’ll figure it out.”
But when Sydney sighed and admitted, “I’m still worried about Grandma’s health,” Hillary didn’t answer. She just squeezed her sister’s hand and passed her the last slice of pizza.
The next morning, Hillary made her way to the arena.
When she arrived, it was still half-asleep, the echo of her heels sharp against the concrete floors.
Staff bustled here and there, hauling equipment and setting up barricades, but the hush of early morning still lingered.
She tightened her grip on her bag and squared her shoulders.
Today was going to be intense. There was no room for error.
She met Northern Star’s manager in the VIP lounge, the man already flipping through a clipboard with schedules and production notes.
“Hillary,” he greeted warmly, shaking her hand. “We’re all set for the day, but I did add one thing.”
Her brows lifted as he slid the page toward her. At the bottom of the evening rundown was a new note: VIP section: players visible during concert.
“They’ll be shown on screen a few times,” he explained. “Helps tie the collaboration together. The band loves giving crossover moments to the audience.”
Hillary made a neat checkmark beside it, her professional smile practiced and easy. “That’s fine. I’ll coordinate their seating.”
As she tucked the page back into her folder, an unbidden thought surfaced. Murphy. The image of his face lighting up at the concert, his joy so open it filled every space around him. Her lips twitched before she could stop them. He’d be pumped.
She exhaled and turned toward the empty arena floor, forcing her focus back to the task ahead. Sasha and the players would arrive soon, and she needed to be ready.
Still, the quiet gave her too much room to think.
Murphy had been surface-level ever since she’d told him he needed to be. Nothing but smiling, polite, and professional. Only what their roles required.
She should be relieved. That was what she’d asked for, wasn’t it?
But all she felt was the ache of absence. The warmth of his attention, the way he’d once lavished it on her so easily, was gone. And God help her, she missed it.
The echo of voices grew louder as the players filed in with Sasha at the lead. Hillary braced herself, slipping her professional mask firmly in place. Today had to run smoothly. No distractions.
Her resolve cracked the second Murphy stepped through the door. He was carrying a cup of coffee. Without hesitation, he walked right up to her.
“I thought you could use this,” he said, handing her a warm cup of coffee.
Her heart gave a treacherous squeeze. She tried—tried—to bite back her smile, but it curved her lips anyway. Sasha noticed, of course. Hillary could feel her watching, though she mercifully said nothing.
Before she could scold herself for being too obvious, the doors swung open again, and the members of Northern Star entered, flanked by their team. The room shifted instantly. The staff leaned in, players straightened, the whole energy buzzed with star power.
Hillary smoothed her skirt, spine straight. She shook hands with their manager, then the band members, reminding herself not to be starstruck. This was just another job. Another partnership to manage.
But when she caught Murphy’s face. His eyes were wide, practically glowing with excitement. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. He looked like Christmas had come early.
The other guys played it cool. Wes and Ethan cracked jokes, already at ease. Conner and Cash shook hands like the leaders they were, practiced and steady. And Murphy . . . Murphy looked like he could wag his tail.
“Let’s get started,” the band’s choreographer said, ushering them onto the stage. Sasha and her assistant positioned themselves with cameras, already rolling.
The first run-through was chaos, but fun. Wes and Ethan fell into the rhythm like they’d been born for it, goofy but natural. Conner and Cash struggled, stiff at first, but managed to look effortlessly cool even while missing steps.
And then there was Murphy.
Hillary’s pen nearly slipped from her hand. He was good. Like, really good. The guys had teased him about being a bad dancer, but he was keeping up, working the moves, down to a hip roll that had her cheeks heating instantly.
She remembered all too well what those hips could do.
A flush crept up her neck, and she ducked her head quickly, scribbling nonsense in her notes.
“You okay?” Sasha’s voice was close, pitched low. “You look hot.”
Hillary’s eyes widened. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, clearing her throat. “Just thinking about . . . camera angles.”
Sasha arched a brow, unconvinced, but let it go. Hillary exhaled, focusing hard on the choreography, though the image of Murphy moving to the beat lingered, far too vivid.
By the time the run-through wrapped, the players were breathless, laughing, and sweat-damp under the stage lights. The Northern Star guys high-fived them, all smiles and charisma.
“You’ve got to come on stage with us tonight,” one of them said, grinning at the group. “Do the dance with us in front of the crowd.”
Sasha let out a squeal before any of the players had a chance to respond. “Yes! Absolutely, yes. They’ll be there.”
The band cheered, and the players exchanged glances—no one groaning, no one protesting.
They might have been hockey players first, but they knew how to be pros when it came to representing the team.
Wes and Ethan looked particularly pleased, Conner gave a confident nod, Cash offered a dry smirk, and Murphy’s grin could’ve lit the whole arena.
Their manager stepped forward, clapping his hands once. “We’ll break for lunch now. The dressing room is set up backstage. Take your time, we’ll reconvene after.”
The group filed down the stairs, following the band toward the dressing rooms. Counters lined with bottled water, energy drinks, and trays of fruit waited for them. Sasha was practically vibrating as her assistant kept the cameras rolling, catching every detail of the crossover behind the scenes.
When everyone had plates in hand and the buzz had softened into chatter, Conner leaned back in his chair with a grin. “All right. You’ve shown us your world. Now it’s your turn. After lunch, we’ll take you through the locker room and get you out on the ice.”
The band erupted into cheers, clearly just as excited to lace up skates as the players had been to hit the stage.
From her post near the wall, clipboard tucked against her chest, Hillary’s eyes found Murphy. He was laughing with one of the band members, having him sign a photo of the band or his sister.
Her heart squeezed again, the sight equal parts pride and danger. She needed to focus on the day, on making sure the cameras caught every beat. But it was impossible to ignore the way he made this look so easy, so joyful.
The band bantered back and forth with the guys as they followed the players down the tunnel, Sasha’s camera crew capturing every laugh and wide-eyed look.
“Here it is,” Conner announced proudly as he swung the locker room door open.
The space was pristine. Jerseys hung in their stalls, skates lined up, sticks stacked with precision, and the magic logo on the floor corded off so no one stepped on it.
The band members looked around like they’d just been given the keys to a kingdom.
“This is insane,” one of them said, brushing his hand reverently over a nameplate.
Ethan grinned, puffing his chest. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Wes slipped into announcer mode, narrating as if for social media. “Behind the scenes with the next Cup champions—don’t forget to like and subscribe.” That got a big laugh.
They moved from the locker room out onto the ice. The band members shuffled cautiously in loaner skates while the players glided easily.
Murphy stayed close, steadying one of the singers who nearly toppled over. “Bend your knees—yeah, just like that. You got it.” His encouragement was so genuine, so patient. Hillary’s chest ached watching him.
Then, in a quieter moment, Murphy pulled a Sharpie and a folded North Star poster from his jacket pocket. “Hey,” he said, sheepish but hopeful, “would you mind signing this for my sister? She’s your biggest fan. It would make her year.”
Ian Stone didn’t hesitate, scrawling signatures across the glossy paper. “Want me to make a video for her?”
Murphy’s face lit up. “Really? That would be amazing.”
The singer held his phone up with a wide grin. “Hey, Maddie! It’s Ian Stone from North Star. Your brother says you’re a big fan. Hope we see you at a show soon!”
Murphy’s grin was so wide it looked like it might split his face. “She’s going to freak out,” he said, tucking the phone away carefully, like it was a treasure.
The hours blurred in a flurry of rehearsal clips, press check-ins, and Sasha’s endless camera angles. By the time evening came, the energy around the arena had shifted, buzzing with the hum of a crowd gathering and music pounding through the walls in soundcheck.
Hillary led the players into the VIP section, the lights low and the stage glowing with promise. Their seats were front and center, cordoned off from the crowd with velvet ropes. The perfect vantage point.
The guys dropped into their chairs, teasing each other and pretending they weren’t about to dance in front of thousands.
Murphy slid into the seat a row in front of her, all broad shoulders and easy confidence, still flushed from laughing at something Ethan had said. He tilted his head back for a second, scanning the arena with a grin so bright it caught the stage lights.
Hillary’s breath hitched. God, he was attractive. Not just handsome—though he was that, painfully so—but magnetic. The kind of man who drew every eye without even trying.
She forced herself to look away, flipping through her clipboard notes like they could shield her from temptation. She was here to work. To make sure this night went off without a hitch.
But when Murphy turned slightly, catching her gaze across the row and flashing her a wink, her chest tightened.
She snapped her eyes back to the stage, cheeks hot.
This was dangerous. All of it.
And yet, for the first time since their conversation in the snows, she felt alive.