Chapter 30 Hillary
HILLARY
The alarm went off too early, but Hillary was already awake. She had lain awake thinking about last night. Thinking about how something about it felt different. It was too much. She couldn’t keep doing this.
She slid out of bed, tugged on her robe, and crossed to the bathroom without a glance back. By the time she returned, Murphy was propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, smiling, lazy and unguarded.
“Morning,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep.
She moved past him, already reaching for her work bag. “Morning.”
He frowned. “You’re not seriously about to head in already?”
“I like to get there before everyone else.” She slipped her laptop into its case with practiced efficiency. “It’s the only quiet time I get.”
“You need breakfast.”
“I’ll grab something later.”
He sat up fully, swinging his legs to the floor. “You won’t. You’ll get crappy office coffee and maybe a granola bar from Sasha’s desk.”
She paused, but only for a second. “And it works for me.”
He shook his head, exasperated but smiling like she was the most impossible, wonderful thing he’d ever seen. “Fine. But don’t blame me when you’re cranky by noon.”
Her lips twitched, the faintest smile slipping through her polished exterior.
Murphy stood, closing the space between them. He brushed a kiss across her lips, soft and lingering, then stepped back.
“I’ll go grab my stuff and head to morning skate,” he said, lifting his overnight bag from the corner. “See you later?”
She nodded.
He kissed her again, quickly this time, and then he was gone.
Hillary exhaled, pressing a hand to the counter to steady herself.
Within minutes, she’d straightened her hair, slipped on her blazer, and locked every piece of softness he left behind firmly out of sight.
Work mode. Always in work mode.
She made it to the quiet magic center and made her way to her office. Hillary dropped into her chair, coffee in hand, and opened her inbox.
There was an email from Sasha with more comments and gifs of Murphy.
It bothered her, and not in the way it would if it were any other player.
She would chat with Sasha later, but there was plenty of other work to do.
They were working on some holiday promos with local community organizations that blessedly required her full attention.
Before long, there was a knock on her door.
A sharp knock at her door pulled Hillary’s attention from the screen. Sasha didn’t wait for permission. She slipped in, phone in one hand, expression tight.
“You saw the message,” Sasha said, shutting the door behind her.
Hillary rubbed at her temple. “Yeah. It’s getting worse.”
“Not dangerous,” Sasha clarified quickly.
“Not yet. Just louder. More accounts, more edits, more people jumping on the trend. There have also been some fans trying to get to the bus, giving him the boy band treatment.” She dropped into the chair across from Hillary’s desk.
“Most of it is fine, fan stuff. But some of it is . . . sexual.”
She glanced back at the screen. “Part of this is on me, though, isn’t it? The North Star crossover put him out there in a way he wasn’t before.”
Sasha shook her head immediately. “No. That was wholesome publicity, Hill. We got a band collab trending, we got fresh eyes on the team, and everyone was happy. Murphy is new to the hockey world. An unknown guy with that much charisma? They shine. People latch on.” She spread her hands.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not his fault.
But it’s something we’ve got to deal with. ”
She hated the way her stomach twisted at Sasha’s words. Because Sasha was right. This wasn’t something she—or Murphy—had done wrong. It was just the price of visibility.
Hillary leaned back in her chair, pressing her lips together. “Still, I’ve been in this position long enough that I should have foreseen this.”
Sasha reached forward, resting her phone on the desk. “We’ll keep monitoring. If it escalates, we’ll step in. Until then, we just keep our heads and do our jobs.”
“Let’s push other guys into the media. Maybe a segment with Mr Wizard, people love mascot nonsense . . . or more tips from the captain? Something else to feed the algorithm gods.”
Sasha nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get some stuff drafted up.”
Hillary nodded, straightening her blazer. Work mode. Always in work mode.
A second knock broke the heavy silence between her and Sasha.
“Come in,” Hillary called, already sliding her phone closer like she’d been deep in email.
The door swung open, and there he was—Murphy, hair damp from his shower, hoodie stretched across broad shoulders, a coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
“I thought you could use this,” he said simply, setting the cup and muffin on her desk. He flashed her that grin—the one that always unraveled her insides—and for a moment she forgot Sasha was even in the room.
“Perfect timing,” Sasha said smoothly, leaning back in her chair. “We were just talking about you.”
Murphy’s brows shot up. “Should I be worried?”
“Not exactly.” Sasha swiveled her phone toward him, scrolling through a few of the screenshots. “The fan stuff . . . with them starting to show up to the bus, we think you should keep your head down just a little longer.”
Murphy frowned, then shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m heading home for Christmas anyway. Not planning on going out much. Let people forget for a while.”
Hillary kept her expression professional, even as something inside her softened at how easily he agreed. He always made things sound so simple. She wanted to check—really check—that he was okay with it. But Sasha was here, and this wasn’t the place.
Murphy glanced at her then, and something flickered in his eyes. Confusion. Frustration. Like he could feel her holding back.
“Alright then,” he said finally, straightening. “I’ll head to practice.”
He gave her one last look—sharp, searching—before heading out the door.
When the door clicked shut, the silence pressed down. Hillary stared at the coffee on her desk until her gaze shifted to the muffin.
Last night kept playing on repeat in her mind. It was too much. She was feeling too much.
And that was exactly why it had to end. She didn’t want to keep putting him in this on-and-off again situation, but she couldn’t seem to help herself around him. He didn’t deserve that.
Murphy deserved everything. He deserved bright mornings, simple joys, a future that stretched open like sunlight. And Hillary . . . she was too married to her work, too set in her ways, too jaded to give him what he deserved.
She straightened in her chair, steeling herself. She’d let it go on long enough.
Better to end it now, before she ruined him.