Chapter 26
HILLARY
For a long moment, she just stayed there, leaning into Murphy, letting his warmth soak into her bones. When she finally straightened, he searched her face.
“How are you doing?” he asked softly. “What do you need?”
The question caught her off guard. People always wanted to know what she could do for them, what she could fix. No one ever asked what she needed.
She surprised herself by answering honestly. “I’m hungry. And there’s no food.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “We’re in a kitchen.”
Before she could protest, he was already moving, sleeves rolled up, rifling through the refrigerator as if he belonged there. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
She leaned against the counter, watching as he pulled out eggs, cheese, and a few vegetables. “You’re going to make me an omelet?”
“Damn right I am,” he said, grinning over his shoulder. “Sit. Talk. I’ll cook.”
“How did you guys get here so fast?” she asked.
“I heard Sasha and Conner talking about coming after last night's game, and I asked to tag along.”
“You guys didn’t have to do that.”
He turned around and looked at her holding the spatula. “Hillary, that’s what friends do . . . and we’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, we are,” she said, biting her lip and finding it hard to meet his eye.
He turned around and added some cheese to her eggs before asking. “So is this where you grew up?”
“Yeah, Sydney and I grew up here. It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never would have imagined that this is where you came from . . . shit. That probably came out wrong, there’s nothing wrong with it —”
“It’s fine,” she said, stopping him. “I take that as a compliment, actually.”
“What was it like?” he asked as he stirred the eggs in the pan.
“Suffocating.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“I mean, there are good things too. I have the best sister in the world, and I’ve tried my best to protect her from all the bullshit. But pretty much when I graduated from college, I left and never looked back.”
Murphy chopped and whisked, nodding as he listened. No judgment. No advice she hadn’t asked for. Just a steady, quiet presence.
By the time he slid the plate in front of her, golden and steaming, Hillary felt lighter than she had since arriving. She took a bite and groaned. “This is the best omelet I’ve ever had.”
He laughed, leaning on the counter. “Told you.”
Everyone else in the house was asleep, the silence broken only by the hum of the fridge and the sound of her fork on the plate. And for the first time since she’d come back here, she wasn’t drowning.
She was decompressing. Breathing.
Because Murphy was the best. She’d known it before, but now she was sure.
By the time she finished the last bite of the omelet, she felt something she hadn’t in days—almost human again. She set her fork down, leaning her elbows on the counter.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Her voice wavered despite her best effort to keep it even. “For coming. For . . . all of this. It means a lot to me.”
Murphy didn’t brush it off the way people usually did when she tried to show gratitude. He met her eyes, steady and certain. “I’d do anything for you, Hillary. You know that, right?”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to look away, to throw up her usual wall of sarcasm or professionalism, but she couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her like that, like she was someone worth showing up for.
She swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve—”
“Stop,” he cut in gently, but firmly. “You do. You deserve someone in your corner. You deserve more than this cold house and all that weight on your shoulders. If you let me, I’ll be there. For whatever you need.”
The lump in her chest swelled, threatening to spill into tears. She blinked quickly, pressing her lips together. Vulnerability wasn’t safe, not here, not for her. But she couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear those words. To believe, even for a moment, that he meant them.
So she nodded once, just enough.
Murphy’s smile softened, as if he knew she’d given him more than she usually gave anyone.
Hillary slid onto the counter, the cool granite steadying her legs as Murphy drifted closer, almost shy in the quiet kitchen. He didn’t touch her, not at first. He just stood there like being near her was enough.
But then she reached for him.
He stepped between her knees, his arms circling her waist as she pulled him close. Her forehead dipped against his shoulder, breathing in the clean, warm scent of his cologne.
She tilted her head, just a shift, and suddenly they were so close. His lips were a breath away. She hadn’t kissed him since that night in the hotel over a month ago, and God, she wanted to.
So she did.
At first, Murphy was tentative, like he wasn’t sure if this was allowed. But when she pressed closer, he followed her lead, deepening the kiss with the kind of tenderness that unraveled her.
It was too much. Too good.
She pulled back, lips still tingling. “I should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, searching her face. “Get some sleep. I’ll grab an Uber.”
“No,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. “Please let the car service drive you.”
His smile was faint but real. “Okay.”
They lingered at the door as he slipped on his coat, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Their goodbye was quiet, vulnerable, his hand brushing hers one last time, her gaze lingering longer than it should have.
When he left, Hillary climbed the stairs with her chest tight and her head spinning.
She crawled into bed more confused than ever.