Chapter 37 Murphy
MURPHY
His lungs burned. Sweat stung his eyes. Every stride was a punishment he demanded of himself, each whistle from the assistant coach driving him harder down the ice. By the time they were released from drills, Murphy bent low on his stick, chest heaving.
The rest of the team filed off toward the locker room, joking, snapping towels, already thinking about hot showers.
“Murphy,” Coach Wagner’s voice cut through the haze. “My office. After you’re done.”
Murphy’s heart sank.
He nodded quickly, forcing his legs to move. Shower first. Get his head straight. He tried not to imagine all the ways this conversation could go, but his brain wasn’t making it easy. Coach’s office wasn’t where you wanted to be called, not alone.
By the time he was dressed in sweats, hair damp, stomach knotted, he made the walk down the hall and tapped lightly on the door.
“Come in.”
Coach Wagner sat behind his desk, glasses perched low on his nose as he studied a clipboard of notes. He looked up, gestured to the chair across from him.
“Sit.”
Murphy did, trying not to fidget.
Coach leaned back. “Tell me how you feel about your game right now.”
Murphy blinked. “Uh, I think I’ve been playing pretty well. Keeping my feet moving. Contributing.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Coach’s eyes narrowed. “I said, how do you feel?”
Murphy’s throat went dry. “I . . . I feel good. I mean, I know I’ve got things to work on, but—”
Coach set the clipboard down. “Murphy, you’re not playing like yourself. Something else going on?”
Panic spiked in Murphy’s chest. Does he know? About Hillary?
He shook his head quickly. “No. Everything’s fine.”
Coach’s gaze sharpened. “I talked to Hillary.”
Murphy’s heart stopped. His palms went clammy. He gripped the edge of the chair. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I wanted to check in with her because I know how hard it can be when you are thrust into the spotlight, and since the concert, I understand you've had quite a few viral moments. Plus, the fans that are now seemingly everywhere you show up.”
"Yes, but it's nothing I can't handle."
Coach went on evenly. “A lot of media attention can get to a player. We can help, though—we’ve got sports therapists, PR strategies, whatever you need. No shame in leaning on the support.”
Murphy exhaled hard, relief rushing through him so fast his knees nearly gave. Hillary hadn’t said anything. Coach didn’t know.
“I can fix it,” Murphy said quickly. “I'm okay.”
Coach studied him a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright. But listen to me—there’s no shame in asking for help. Got it?”
“Got it,” Murphy said, forcing a steady voice.
Coach dismissed him with a wave, already turning back to his notes.
Murphy stood, leaving the office with his chest still tight. He told himself he was fine. He would fix it. He had to.
By the time Murphy left the rink, the adrenaline had drained out of him, leaving nothing but exhaustion. He walked into his condo building on autopilot, his bag heavy on his shoulder.
As much as he wanted to be with Hillary—as much as he was sure she wanted to be with him—she’d drawn the line. He needed to accept it.
But walking into the quiet of his condo, the loneliness hit like a body check.
Even knowing that at least six of his teammates lived in the building, his unit felt too still. Too empty.
He punched the button for the elevator and leaned back against the wall. The lobby doors slid open behind him, and in strode Ethan Yellowtail, their goalie, his long black hair braided neatly down his back. Beside him trotted Ernie, his golden retriever, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
“Hey, man,” Ethan said, nodding.
Murphy crouched automatically, holding out a hand. Ernie licked his fingers enthusiastically before nudging against his chest for more. Murphy laughed, rubbing the dog’s ears. “Well, hey there, buddy.”
“You’ve got a fan,” Ethan said, amused.
“Guess so,” Murphy grinned, still petting. Then, glancing up, asked, “How do you manage this with our schedule? Road trips, practices . . . all of it?”
Ethan shrugged. “There’s a woman in the building who helps. She watches Ernie, and Niko’s bulldog too, when we’re gone. She runs a rescue program, actually. Good with dogs.”
Murphy’s hand stilled on Ernie’s head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ethan reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, then paused and gave Murphy a once-over before slipping it back. “She’s got a litter coming soon. Always looking for good homes.”
Murphy tilted his head. “You saying I should get a dog?”
Ethan smirked, hitting the elevator button again. “I’m saying you seem like the kind of guy who needs one.”
Murphy looked down at Ernie, who blinked up at him with big brown eyes and thumped his tail against the floor.
And for the first time in days, Murphy felt a flicker of something bright.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
"That's the contact info for the woman I got Ernie from. You should talk to her."
Murphy stood as the elevator hit his floor. "Thanks, maybe I will."
A few texts and days later, Murphy found himself knocking on the door of a cozy ground-floor apartment.
A middle-aged woman with warm eyes and a streak of silver in her braid opened the door. The sound of tiny barks and scrabbling paws spilled out into the hallway.
“You must be Murphy,” she said, smiling like she already knew him. “Come in.”
The moment he stepped inside, his heart stopped. A cluster of golden retriever puppies tumbled across the floor toward him, their ears too big for their heads, tails wagging furiously.
“These little ones were pulled from a puppy mill,” the woman explained, crouching down as she scooped up one squirming bundle. “Their mama’s safe now, and they’re ready to start looking for homes.”
Murphy dropped to his knees as one of the puppies clambered into his lap, licking his chin with enthusiastic devotion.
The woman chuckled. “Ethan said it was a crime that you don’t already have a dog. He’s been with me for years. Uou come highly recommended. I’ve even got an opening in the care rotation for when you’re on the road.”
Murphy’s grin widened, soft and certain. “A crime, huh?” He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, his chest aching with a warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks. “Guess I better fix that.”
He’d always wanted a dog. As a kid, he used to beg his parents, pointing at every lab or retriever they passed in the park.
But with Patrick’s health needs, the time and energy had never been there.
His family had already been stretched so thin that there was no room for a puppy, no matter how badly he’d wanted one.
Now, though . . . now he could.
He looked down at the puppy curled into his lap, sighing contentedly as though it already belonged to him.
Maybe this was exactly what he needed.
A few days later, Murphy sat cross-legged on the floor of his condo, a squirming golden retriever puppy nestled in his lap. The little guy gnawed happily on a squeaky toy shaped like a hockey stick, tail thumping against Murphy’s shin.
When his phone buzzed with a video call, he grinned as soon as he saw Mom flash across the screen.
“Hey, Ma,” he answered, angling the phone so she could see. “Guess what?”
Before he could even explain, the puppy yipped, and his mom’s eyes widened. “Murph! You got a dog?”
Laughter bubbled out of him. “Yeah. Meet Finn.”
Voices called from the background. His sister appeared over his mom’s shoulder, squealing. “Oh my god, he’s perfect!”
Then Patrick pushed his way into the frame, his smile lighting up the screen. “Murphy, let me see him!”
Murphy held the puppy closer to the camera, Finn wriggling in his arms, tongue lolling. His family erupted with delight, everyone talking over one another, asking questions, cooing, gushing.
And just like that, his condo didn’t feel so empty.
This was what he needed. This was what he loved about his family, the way they could fill any room with warmth.
As the call wound down, Patrick leaned close to the camera. “Wait, wait. Can I say goodbye to my new brother?”
Murphy chuckled, lifting Finn higher so Patrick could wave. “Say bye, Finn.”
Patrick laughed so hard he snorted, and Murphy’s chest swelled with affection.
After hanging up, Murphy bundled into his jacket and clipped the leash onto Finn’s tiny harness. The puppy bounded toward the door, eager despite the thirty-degree chill outside.
As they stepped out into the snow-dusted night, Murphy felt a lightness he hadn’t in weeks.
No, he wasn’t ready to give up on Hillary. Not by a long shot.
But for the first time since Christmas, he felt more like himself again.