Chapter 35 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary slid into her office later than usual, her workbag thumping against her desk as she set it down. The morning had already been swallowed by a meeting at the local skating rink about a collaboration for the team’s hockey scholarship program. Productive, necessary, and safe.
Work was always safe.
She dropped into her chair, tugging her blazer tighter around her shoulders, and froze.
On her desk sat a to-go cup of coffee and a brown paper bag with a blueberry muffin inside. A folded note leaned against them.
I hope you’re not working too hard.
For a second, she wanted to crumple the note, shove the coffee into the trash, and demand he stop because it was too much. Too thoughtful. Too comforting.
But another part of her—the louder, more dangerous part—knew if he ever did stop, she’d hate it.
She closed her eyes, forcing that thought away, and put the note in her drawer, along with all the others. She powered up her laptop, pulling her focus into emails and spreadsheets, into the endless churn of things that never demanded more than she could give.
Still, before diving in, she lifted the cup and took a sip. Vanilla latte, perfect. The taste hit her tongue, warm and sweet, and she let herself savor it just for a heartbeat before setting it down.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Sydney.
Sydney - Hey, Natalie’s officially moved to Glendale. She’s looking for a job—anything in PR or admin. Know of anything?
Hillary’s fingers hovered over the screen before typing back.
Hillary - I’ll keep an eye out.
She set the phone face down, exhaled, and pulled up her to-do list.
Yes. Work. Work she could handle.
Even if Murphy kept sneaking his way past every defense she built.
By mid-afternoon, Hillary needed to stretch her legs. Emails and spreadsheets blurred together, her mind restless in a way coffee couldn’t fix.
She made her way down to the ice, where she spotted Sasha with a camera slung around her neck and Alice at her side. Alice looked like she was trying to disappear into her gray sweater and black pants, arms crossed loosely over her chest, but her wide eyes gave her away.
“Hey,” Hillary greeted, stepping up beside them. “You must be Alice.”
Alice straightened quickly, offering a polite smile. “Yeah. Hi. It’s really great to be here. Thank you for the job.”
Hillary waved the thanks away. “You earned it. Sasha said your graphics work was excellent, and being Coach Wagner’s daughter didn’t hurt either.”
Alice’s smile warmed, a little shy but genuine. “I guess that did help.”
“You got it because your work speaks for itself,” Sasha chimed in, nudging her shoulder. “She’s a natural.”
Alice’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t protest.
“Welcome to the team,” Hillary added, her tone firm but kind.
Alice nodded, and Hillary could tell she wanted this. She wanted to belong.
Turning toward the ice, Hillary let her gaze sweep the players, her eyes landing, inevitably, on Murphy.
Their eyes caught.
He lifted a hand in a half-wave, lips tipping into the smallest, crooked smile.
Against her better judgment, Hillary smiled back, returning the wave.
Then he was off again, skating hard. Too hard. She could see the way he was pushing, digging into each stride like it was punishment instead of practice. Her chest tightened. She hoped he was taking care of himself.
She tore her gaze away, turning back to Alice and Sasha. “Really, welcome aboard, Alice. We’re lucky to have you.”
Alice’s smile brightened this time, more sure of itself. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”
Hillary gave them both a final nod before retreating, heels clicking against the concrete as she made her way back to the safety of her office.
The rest of the afternoon passed in the safety of her office. Emails, scheduling, reports, things she could control. Things that didn’t make her heart race.
Near the end of the day, a knock sounded at her door.
Her pulse leapt. Murphy.
“It’s open,” she called, straightening in her chair.
But when the door swung in, it wasn’t Murphy’s broad shoulders that filled the frame. It was Coach Wagner.
“Got a few minutes?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of years behind the bench.
“Of course,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.
She worked with him often enough, but a visit like this usually meant something was up with a player.
“Wanted to check in on a couple things,” he said as he sat down. “First, Sven. You hear anything I should know about?”
Hillary shook her head. “Nothing from me. Has he got himself in a tight spot again?”
Sven wasn't new to her. He was a great player and stand up guy, despite being a playboy. But he always had a spotlight on him because his father was hockey royalty, and of course, his penchant for the ladies.
"Not that I know of, but I know my players, and something's brewing there."
Hillary nodded. "Okay, let me know if you need me."
“Alright, there's one more thing,” he said. Then his expression softened into something more serious. “Murphy.”
Her heart plummeted.
“What about him?” she asked carefully.
“I think maybe all this attention is getting to him,” Wagner said.
“He’s been pushing himself too hard since he got back from Christmas.
I’m worried he’s putting too much pressure on himself.
Could be the new notoriety. Could be something else.
But with him being so young, maybe we can pull back his media availability. "
Hillary forced herself to nod, though her chest was tight. “Already done. We can work on making sure fans can’t get to the bus before games. I just need to coordinate with some arenas. What do you think?”
“I hate to put more work on your plate, but that kid just killed himself in practice, and we need him loose and relaxed,” Coach said as he took his hat off and ran his hand through his silver hair.
“Not a problem, that is all part of the job.”
“Good. Keep being the best PR person around.” Wagner stood, gave her a nod, and left.
The office fell quiet again. Hillary’s gaze drifted to her desk. Specifically, to the folded note still sitting there from this morning.
I hope you’re not working too hard.
Her throat tightened.
“What’s going on, Rookie?” she whispered into the empty room.