Chapter 38 Hillary
HILLARY
It was an unseasonably warm morning for February as Hillary made her way into work. She stopped for a moment to enjoy the rare glimpse of sun on these long gray winter days before heading into the center.
She opened her office door and smiled as soon as she saw it.
There it was, sitting in the center of her desk like clockwork. A vanilla latte with an extra shot.
She didn’t need to check the label. She knew.
Even though she and Murphy hadn’t really spoken in weeks, the coffee was always there on early skate days. Always with a little note.
Today’s was simple: Have a good day, Boss.
Her chest tightened. She shrugged off her coat, hung it on the hook behind her door, and slid into her chair. For a moment, she just stared at the note, smiling despite herself. Then she opened her desk drawer, slipped the paper inside, and closed it again.
The neat stack of notes she’d been saving for months was starting to look ridiculous. She told herself she kept them because it would be rude to toss them.
With practiced ease, she tied that emotion up, tucked it away, and shoved it deep into the box where she kept all the feelings she couldn’t afford to deal with.
Compartmentalizing was a survival skill, one she’d mastered growing up in her family.
She took a sip of the coffee and powered on her laptop, firing off a few quick emails. Then she grabbed her phone, slipped it into her blazer pocket, and headed down the hall.
The sound hit her before she even reached the tunnel: a mix of laughter, skates on ice, and children squealing in delight.
Family Skate Day.
It wasn’t her most demanding PR event, but it was always one of the most popular. Players’ families were scattered among the bleachers and the ice alike. Sasha was already out there snapping photos for social media, and the whole arena hummed with an easy kind of joy.
For a moment, Hillary let herself breathe it in.
This was the good part.
When she entered the rink, she spotted Natalie sitting on a bench near the ice, bundled in a cozy sweater with the cutest little baby girl balanced on her knee. The sight stopped Hillary in her tracks.
She smiled as she approached. “Well, aren’t you two a picture?”
Natalie’s face lit up. “Hi! This is Winnie.” She shifted the baby, who gurgled and waved a fist. “I can't thank you enough for setting me up with this job.”
"Oh, please, you are helping us out, too. How is Sven? He's behaving himself, isn't he?"
Natalie cocked her head before nodding. "He's been a perfect gentleman. Maybe a bit cocky, but I think that comes with the territory," she said as she glanced around the ice of hockey players all skating around with their families.
"Yeah, egos kind of come with the job. But they are good guys."
"It seems like," she agreed with her easy southern charm. "Seriously, though, Hillary. Thank you. Working with this little one has been absolutely perfect," she said, bouncing the darling baby on her knee.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Hillary said honestly. “You deserve something good.”
After chatting for a few more minutes, Hillary excused herself.
She crossed the ice-side walkway until she found Sasha and Alice, both huddled together with cameras, already capturing every heart-melting moment for social media. “Need anything?” Hillary asked.
Sasha shook her head, snapping a shot of Conner pulling one of Gunnar’s twins around in a sled.
“We’ve got it.” Alice gave a shy little wave, her cheeks pink from the cold, clearly absorbed in the magic of the day.
Only Hillary had to do a double-take: gone was the blonde woman in a gray skirt and black sweater.
She was wearing a bright green sweater covered in daisies and purple leggings, with purple hair to match. That was a change, but it suited her.
So Hillary stepped back. She let herself just . . . watch.
Murphy was out there skating with Gunnar’s kids, laughing as one of them clung to his leg, the other chasing after him with a wobbling hockey stick.
He looked so natural. So at ease. No wonder he talked about wanting to coach someday.
He was a born teacher, all patience and encouragement wrapped in that golden-retriever grin.
The sight tugged at something in her chest, and she tried to ignore it.
But when she was about to leave, her gaze snagged on him again, this time skating beside Natalie, Winnie safe in her arms. They looked good together. Comfortable.
The thought sank like a stone in her gut.
That—that was what Murphy deserved. Someone his age. Someone with a soft heart and a steady presence. Someone who could build a life with him without hesitation.
Someone like Natalie.
And maybe . . . maybe if Murphy was taken, if he had someone as wonderful as Natalie, Hillary could finally forget about him.
She straightened, resolve building where her chest ached.
It was time to play matchmaker. For both their sakes.
The following week, the office was hushed, still tucked in its early morning shadows. Hillary walked the hallway slowly, heels clicking against the polished floor, passing closed doors and darkened offices.
She slipped into her office, flicked on the lamp by her desk, and opened her laptop. Email. The one safe refuge. The steady rhythm of answering messages, forwarding requests, and flagging things for later gave her a fragile sense of control.
She was halfway through her inbox when a knock came. Light. Familiar.
Her heart tripped in her chest.
When she looked up, there he was. Murphy.
Even more handsome than usual, like the snow-kissed morning air had painted color into his cheeks. He held her coffee in one hand, a small brown bag in the other.
“They were out of your lemon blueberry muffins,” he said as he stepped inside, his grin soft, almost sheepish. “So, I got you cinnamon. Figured it was the next best thing.”
Hillary smiled before she could stop herself. The ache that followed was sharp, immediate. Because even in these smallest of gestures, he was so good. Too good.
“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the cup, her fingers brushing his.
And that was it. The moment she’d decided on last night. The moment she had to stop lying to herself. Stop indulging in something that could never last.
Her chest tightened as she set the cup down, the cinnamon muffin beside it.
It was time.
“Someone’s gotta make sure you eat breakfast.” He grinned, hopeful.
"You looked like you were having fun on the ice yesterday," she said as Murphy slid into the chair across from her.
"Yeah, I love that. It was a great time. Skating with Gunnar's kids was the best."
"Yeah, you're a natural with them," she said as her heart ached at what she was about to do. It was time. Best to just rip off the bandaid.
“I saw you out on the ice yesterday. Skating with Natalie.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “She’s great.”
“You looked good together,” Hillary said, keeping her tone neutral.
Murphy gave her a cautious look, sensing more in her words.
“You should ask her out,” Hillary said.
He blinked. “What?”
“You deserve someone like Natalie,” she pressed, forcing her face to stay composed. “She’s wonderful. I’ve known her for a long time. You two . . . you’d fit.”
Murphy studied her, hurt flickering in his eyes. “And you’d be okay with that? Me asking her out?”
“Yes,” Hillary lied, steady as she could manage. “Not only okay, I want you to.”
"You want me to?"
She paused long enough to take a fortifying breath. This was for the best.
"Yeah, she's new to the area. I'm sure she would love to meet more people. And I mean, you guys are the same age and want the same things."
"We want the same things? How do you know that? We've never even talked about what I want."
"Murphy," she said carefully. She needed this conversation to be over. "You need to move on."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. His gaze felt heavy. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”
"I think it's for the best."
"Okay," he said as he stood up. "I need to get to the ice."
He turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
The moment he was gone, Hillary slumped in her chair, pressing her palms over her face. Her chest ached with the effort of holding herself together. It was for the best. She had to believe that.
But staring at the untouched muffin on her desk, she wasn’t sure she did.
Somehow, Hillary made it through her day. She'd been in a daze and cut out around lunch, she told herself it was because it was a game night. She told herself this is what needed to be done. But she was just so tired.
Hillary sat stiff-backed in her seat, eyes on the ice but mind miles away. The arena buzzed with the familiar electricity of game night, but her chest felt tight, weighted with thoughts she couldn’t shake.
Beside her, Sasha leaned over, studying her with narrowed eyes. “What is going on? You’ve been off all day.”
“I’m fine,” Hillary said quickly, too quickly. She forced her lips into something that resembled a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
Sasha’s skeptical look said she didn’t buy it for a second. But instead of pushing, she let it slide, shifting the conversation. “There was a group of girls in Murphy jerseys trying to sneak down into the locker room earlier.”
Hillary’s head whipped toward her. “What?”
“Security stopped them before they even made it past the first checkpoint. They were harmless, just loud superfans. This whole thing around him hasn’t disappeared yet.”
The words tugged at Hillary, even as Sasha softened the edges with a small grin. “The frenzy is calming down, though,” Sasha added. “Online chatter isn’t as wild as it was. People are moving on.”
Hillary nodded faintly.
And then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, the Jumbotron lit up with Murphy’s face.
There he was, center screen, singing along to the pop anthem blaring through the arena speakers. His smile stretched wide, unguarded, and the crowd roared with delight. He looked exactly like what the internet called him—bright, joyful, golden.
Hillary’s heart squeezed at the sight.
She tore her gaze away, forcing her focus back on the ice. This was for the best. It had to be.