Chapter 41 Murphy
MURPHY
It had been a week since the story dropped. After that last meeting with Hillary and Sasha, the team hit the road.
Murphy had braced himself for it, for the chirping on the ice, the smirks, even Sven’s big mouth making it worse. But Sven had been oddly quiet. Maybe being a new dad and Natalie were mellowing him out. Or maybe, for once, he just decided to let something go. Either way, Murphy was grateful.
So he kept his head down and played hard.
Murphy flopped back on the hotel bed. He was half-asleep himself when there was a knock on the door.
Conner leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets. “A couple of us are walking down to the beach. You in?”
Murphy shook his head. “Nah. I’m good.”
Conner’s brow furrowed. “You sure?”
Murphy let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You want to talk?” Conner asked.
Murphy nodded and headed back into his room. Conner stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and dropped into the armchair.
Murphy stared at the muted TV. “I don’t know, man. It’s just . . . a lot. All of it. The crap online, the constant eyes on me.” He huffed a laugh with no humor.
“You’ve had a wild PR ride this year,” Conner said.
“You have no idea.”
Murphy almost said more. Almost told him about Hillary. About the way she hadn’t said a word to him since leaving his house that night, how much it stung. But that wasn’t his to share. Still, the weight of it all left a bitter edge in his chest.
Conner leaned forward. “Look, we don’t have to solve it tonight. You want to hang here? Order some food, put a game on?”
Murphy blinked at him, surprised by the offer. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
They ended up sprawled in front of the TV with burgers and fries, the Boston-Toranto game filling the silence. Conner didn’t push, just let the easy camaraderie take the edge off.
By the time Murphy crawled into bed, the knot in his chest had loosened. And that was enough.
They had just pulled out a win on the last game of the road trip.
The locker room was buzzing, victory laughter bouncing off the cinderblock walls, but Murphy lingered, moving slower than usual.
Most of the guys were already showered, dressed, and halfway to the bus by the time he got his bag slung over his shoulder.
Beating Boston felt different. The crowd, the noise, the history, it all felt bigger here. And yeah, he should be riding that high. But the second he spotted Hillary standing near Sasha at the tunnel tablet in hand, every bit of that joy twisted in his chest.
He walked right past them, head down.
“Murphy,” Sasha called after him, her tone half-teasing, half-reminding. “Bus is the other way.”
“I’m not getting on the bus,” he muttered, already pulling his phone out to call an Uber.
“What do you mean you’re not getting on the bus?” Sasha pressed.
“I got tomorrow off,” he said, lifting his head just enough to meet her eyes. “Family day.”
Something flickered across Hillary’s face. Relief? Sadness? He didn’t know anymore and didn’t want to guess wrong again. So he didn’t look too long.
Minutes later, the Uber pulled up to a familiar street. A row of modest houses, the kind with front steps worn smooth by years of kids running up and down them, holiday lights still tangled around the railings even though Christmas was well over. His house.
He’d tried once to buy them something bigger, newer, shinier with his signing bonus, but his mom had just hugged him, kissed his cheek, and said, “This is our home. We don’t need anything else.”
The second he stepped through the door, the noise hit him: his sister yelling about a board game, his dad calling from the kitchen, his mom fussing over both of them.
And then came the hugs. His sister tackling him around the waist, his brother Patrick launching himself into his arms with pure joy, his mom cupping his face like he was still eight years old.
The stress, the headlines, and the tight ache in his chest all eased just a little under the weight of that love.
This was what he needed. A slice of normal.