Chapter 46 Murphy
MURPHY
Murphy shoved his hands into his pockets, head down as he left the conference room. The day had been too much, too many people, too many cameras, too many feelings clawing at the edges of his chest.
He just wanted quiet.
The hallway was dim, most of the staff already gone, the hum of the building settling into its evening rhythm. That’s when he heard it. It was soft at first, but impossible to ignore.
A sound.
Broken. Raw.
Sobbing.
He slowed, his brows drawing together. It was coming from the dark equipment room.
For a second, he thought about walking away. It was none of his business. But his feet didn’t listen. They carried him to the door, his heart thudding harder with every step.
He pushed it open a crack.
And froze.
Hillary.
Curled against the wall, shoulders shaking, tears streaking her face.
The sight hit him hard. This woman, the one who always looked untouchable, who always had the answers, was falling apart.
“Hillary . . . ” His voice came out rough, almost strangled.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, shimmering with tears.
Murphy stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The room felt too small, too heavy with everything unsaid between them.
“I—” she started, but her voice cracked. She turned her face away, like she didn’t want him to see her like this.
Murphy’s chest ached. He didn’t know what to do. He only knew he couldn’t leave her like this.
He crouched down, slowly, like approaching something fragile. “Hey . . . you don’t have to do this alone.”
Her breath shuddered. Her hands clenched against her knees. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he said softly, his throat tight. “Or, at least . . . you don’t have to pretend with me.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Hillary’s defenses cracked again, another sob breaking free as she buried her face in her hands.
Murphy didn’t think. He just reached out, pulling her against his chest. She resisted for a heartbeat, then melted, her body trembling against his as if she couldn’t hold herself up anymore.
He held her, stroking her back, whispering words, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
And as her sobs soaked into his sweater, Murphy realized he didn’t care about the fallout, the gossip, social media, or any of it.
All he cared about was her.
Her words cut through the sound of her sobs—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—on a loop.
Murphy froze, every muscle tense, then carefully pulled back just enough to see her face. Her cheeks were wet, her lips trembling, and she couldn’t seem to stop the words from spilling out.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, hands cupping her face as gently as he could. His thumbs brushed across her skin, catching the tears as they kept coming. “Look at me, Hillary.”
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and full of pain.
“What are you sorry for?” His voice cracked on the question, because he needed to know, needed her to say it.
Was she sorry for pushing him away? For not trusting him? For pretending what they had was nothing when he’d felt everything? Or was it something else, something deeper he couldn’t reach?
He didn’t know. All he knew was she was breaking in his arms, and it was breaking him too.
She was shaking against him, her words tumbling out between hiccupped sobs.
“I ruined it. I ruined us before we even had a chance. You were—God, you were everything good, everything light, and I pushed you away because I thought I was protecting you. I told myself I was too old, too settled, too broken for you, but the truth is I was just scared. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself really love you.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her face into his chest like she wanted to disappear.
Murphy swallowed hard, his hand gentle as he brushed the wet streaks from her cheeks. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet.
Her words tumbled out fast, ragged, like she was trying to outrun them.
“ . . . I love you, Murphy, and I hate myself for it because I’ve been so cruel—”
His world stuttered to a stop.
Love.
He barely heard the rest. Every part of him went still, locked on those three words. His heart hammered like it was trying to break out of his chest. She loved him.
He caught her face in his hands, halting her spiral. “Wait,” he said, rough and urgent. “Say it again.”
Her eyes met his, still shimmering with tears. “Murphy, I’m so sorry.”
“No, Hill. Not that part. Don’t bury it with all that other stuff. Did you mean it?” His thumbs brushed her damp cheeks. “Do you love me?”
She blinked at him, torn wide open, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to answer. But her lips trembled, and the tiniest nod slipped free.
His lungs flooded with air he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for. A laugh—half disbelief, half wonder—broke out of him. “You love me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing. “Christ, Hill, that’s all I needed to know.”
Her nod was all the permission he needed. His mouth crashed into hers, and every ounce of frustration, longing, and love he’d bottled up ignited at once.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was a wildfire.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, like she’d finally stopped fighting herself. He groaned into her mouth, hands sliding over her waist, her back, desperate to anchor her to him, to make sure she couldn’t slip away again.
She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, tilting his head, claiming her with everything he had.
All the lonely nights, all the missed mornings, all the times he’d stood outside her office with coffee and swallowed down what he really wanted—they were gone, obliterated in the rush of her lips against his.
His hands roamed, hurried and rough, gripping, pulling, memorizing. She arched against him like she’d been starving too, like she needed him just as much as he needed her.
There was nothing careful left between them. Just need. Just want. Just the raw, desperate truth of them finally breaking free.
Her taste, her hands, her broken whispers, they undid him. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
Clothes were in the way, and suddenly his fingers were tugging, pulling, tearing. Her jacket hit the floor, her blouse yanked open. Her hands were just as frantic, shoving his sweater up, nails scraping across his stomach as if she needed to feel every inch of him.
“Murphy,” she gasped against his mouth, her breath hot, needy.
The sound of his name on her lips like that . . . he nearly came apart.
He lifted her, strong hands gripping her thighs as her legs wrapped tight around his waist. The wall was at her back, his body pressing her there, holding her up, keeping her caged and cherished all at once.
Every kiss was desperate, messy, filled with teeth and tongue and a thousand unsaid things. His hips rocked against hers, and the low moan that spilled from her nearly brought him to his knees.
“Tell me this is real,” he growled against her mouth, forehead pressed to hers, as he fumbled at the waistband of her pants.
Her only answer was a whimper and a frantic tug at his pants, pulling him closer, demanding more.
And then there was no space left, no hesitation, no thought.
Pinned against the wall, her arms locked around his neck, her legs clutched his hips. He pulled up at her skirt pushing aside her panties as he felt her core wet and ready.
"Fuck," he moaned. "I need you. Right now."
"Take me."
That was all he needed. His cock met her core. He drove into her like he’d die if he stopped. Every movement, every breath, every heartbeat was tangled together.
He wasn’t just taking her. He was giving himself over completely: every piece of him, raw and unguarded.
And God help him, she was meeting him beat for beat, holding on like maybe she wanted all of him too.
She clung to him as he drove into her. It was everything he hadn't let himself want in the past couple months. He pulled back and looked at her, her breasts spilling out the top over her camisole, her skirt rucked up around her middle as he fucked her.
His kissed her, fucking her mouth the same way he fucked her, powerful and all encompassing.
The creak of footsteps echoed down the hall. Murphy froze, chest heaving, still buried deep inside her. Hillary’s eyes flew wide, panic flashing there.
Without thinking, he slid his hand over her mouth, holding her tight to the wall, caging her in his body. “Shhh,” he breathed, the word barely more than a growl against her ear.
Her heartbeat thundered against his palm. His hips twitched, betraying him, and then he couldn’t stop. Slow thrusts at first, then deeper, harder, the risk only making it more urgent.
Her muffled whimper vibrated against his hand, shooting fire straight through him.
The footsteps passed, fading away, but she was already trembling. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and when she came apart around him, she bit down hard on his hand.
The sting ripped a curse from his throat, but God, it dragged him right over the edge with her. His release hit sharp and hard, his forehead falling to hers, muffled groans swallowed by her kiss.
Pinned to the wall, clinging to each other, they stayed locked together long after the footsteps had vanished, like letting go might shatter the fragile world they’d just built between them.
Slowly, the frantic pace of their hearts began to ease, leaving only the sound of their uneven breaths filling the dark equipment room.
Murphy loosened his grip on her, smoothing his hand down her side as if to ground them both. Her lips found his again, softer this time, lingering, almost searching. He kissed her back with the same tenderness, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her, like he never wanted the moment to end.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes were still glassy, her cheeks flushed, and he couldn’t stop himself from brushing his thumb along her damp cheeks.
And then, he let himself stop fighting it. Stop pretending. Stop pushing away the truth he’d been holding at arm’s length.
He loved her.
The realization hit him hard, in a way that stole his breath, but instead of fear, there was only calm. It was already there, written into every kiss, every touch, every damn smile she gave him.
His chest tightened as he whispered, half to himself, half to her, “God, Hilary . . . ” He pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes, his voice rough but steady. “I love you too.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, quick, soft, but no less full of meaning.
When he drew away, she was gazing at him with an expression he’d never seen before. Vulnerable. Unmasked. Like for the first time, she wasn’t hiding behind control or polish. She lifted her hands to his face, palms warm against his jaw, and kissed him with a certainty that made his chest ache.
“What are we going to do?” he whispered.
A broken laugh bubbled out of her. “I have no clue.” She traced her thumb over his cheekbone, grounding herself. “But . . . come over tonight. We’ll figure it out.”
“Yes,” he said instantly, no hesitation. “Can I bring Finn?”
Her lips curved, almost a real smile. “Of course.”
He grinned against her, stealing one more kiss, the smallest flicker of hope sparking to life between them.