Chapter 47 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary paced her living room, arms wrapped tight around herself. Every tick of the clock made her stomach clench tighter. What had she done?
She’d invited Murphy over like she was ready, like she had any idea what came next. She wasn’t. She wasn’t ready for this, for him, for the way he made her feel.
The quiet of the house pressed down on her. Normally, her home was her refuge. Tonight, it felt like a trap. She caught herself staring at the door, half-hoping he wouldn’t come, half-praying he would.
She’d already changed outfits three times before landing in black leggings and a sweater. Casual. Safe. Or at least, that was the lie she told herself as she smoothed her hands down the fabric for the hundredth time.
Her phone lit up with a message from Sydney checking in, but she ignored it. She couldn’t explain this, not when she didn’t even know how to explain it to herself.
Her chest ached with conflicting truths: She loved him, but she shouldn't love him. She couldn't imagine her life without him, but she also had no idea how to make it work.
The sound of a car pulling up made her freeze. Her pulse leapt into her throat. Footsteps on her walkway. Then, a knock.
Her hand trembled as she pulled open the door.
And there he was.
Murphy stood on her porch in a lightweight jacket, his hair slightly tousled from the night air.
Devastatingly handsome didn’t even begin to cover it.
He gave her a crooked smile, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to, and at his side sat Finn, tail wagging furiously as if he already belonged here.
How was he so perfect?
Her chest tightened at the sight of Murphy, of Finn, of everything she wanted and everything she was so afraid to claim.
“Hey,” he said softly, almost tentatively, like he could sense the storm inside her.
The golden retriever barked once, happy and expectant. Hillary crouched without thinking, rubbing behind his ears, grateful for the excuse not to meet Murphy’s eyes.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice catching.
When she finally looked up, Murphy was watching her with that open, steady expression that had undone her from the very start.
She stepped back and let Murphy and Finn inside.
The air between them was thick, awkward, like the jittery tension of a first date. Except they’d already kissed, already made love, already whispered I love you. That made this feel stranger, heavier. Too much and not enough, all at once.
Her chest tightened. The thoughts came too fast, spinning like a cyclone: What are we doing? What if this is a mistake? What if I ruin him?
And then there was warmth.
Murphy crossed the room in two strides and wrapped her in his arms. No hesitation, no questions, just solid strength and steady warmth. She sagged against him, letting out a shaky breath.
Finn sat obediently at their feet, tail sweeping the floor like he understood the moment.
Hillary pressed her forehead to Murphy’s chest, his heartbeat steady against her cheek. The panic loosened its grip, the storm in her head quieted.
“I’ve got you,” Murphy murmured into her hair. “It’s okay.”
She was surprised at the ease with which she believed him.
She tipped her head back, still tucked against his chest, and gave him a small smile.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? I’ve got wine, or maybe a beer, or water. I could make tea. Or I’ve got leftover pasta. Or—”
The words tumbled out in a rush, every offer more frantic than the last, like she could fill the silence with food and drinks instead of feelings.
Murphy’s lips curved, soft and knowing. He let her rattle on for a few seconds before gently cupping her face in his big hands, tilting her gaze up to his.
“Hils,” he said, low and steady. “I’m good. I’ve got everything I need right here.”
Her throat went tight again, but this time for a different reason.
Finn gave a soft little whine at their feet, tail thumping as if to second Murphy’s words.
She huffed out a laugh, embarrassed at how desperate she sounded, and finally nodded. “Okay. But if you change your mind, I’ve got options.”
Murphy chuckled, kissed her forehead, and held her just a little tighter.
Murphy didn’t wait for her nervous offers this time. He shrugged out of his light jacket, draped it over the arm of her chair like he belonged here, and crossed the room with easy strides. Then he sank onto her couch, sprawling in a way that was both casual and grounding.
Finn immediately clambered up beside him, wriggling with excitement until Murphy’s big hand rubbed him down into calmness. The pup let out a happy sigh, curling into the cushions like he owned the place.
Murphy glanced up at her, hazel eyes steady. “So,” he said, voice quiet but direct. “How’ve you been? We . . . haven’t really talked in a while.”
The question landed heavy, heavier than she expected. Because it wasn’t just small talk. It was him saying: I’ve missed you. I’ve noticed the silence. Tell me something real.
Her arms crossed automatically, more armor than comfort, as she leaned back against the counter. “Busy,” she said, too quickly. “Work, you know. Always work.”
Murphy tilted his head, not pushing, just watching her with that maddening mix of patience and quiet intensity. Finn thumped his tail, the sound loud in the charged silence.
And suddenly, the distance she’d been trying to put between them felt like an ocean right there in her living room.
She watched them, Murphy calm and steady, Finn curled loyally against his thigh. How was he so calm when every nerve in her body felt frayed raw?
There was nothing else for it. No stalling, no hiding behind coffee or nervous chatter. They needed to talk.
Her knees felt wobbly as she crossed the room, but she forced herself to keep moving, step after step, until she reached the couch. Murphy shifted slightly, making space, and she lowered herself onto the cushion beside him.
The air was heavy with everything unsaid. Her shoulder brushed his. Solid warmth seeped into her bones. She clasped her hands together in her lap, squeezing them tight to stop the restless tremor.
Murphy turned his head toward her, close enough that she could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the way his lashes dipped when he blinked. “Thanks for letting me bring Finn,” he said softly. “He likes you.”
It was such a simple thing, but her throat tightened anyway. God, this man. Even now, he found ways to make her feel seen.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “Murphy,” she said, the word catching like a plea. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t rush her. He just sat there, one hand resting on Finn’s back, waiting. Which was fair. She was the one who had made this bed. They were only here because of her choices.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. “Okay,” she said, forcing the words out before fear could smother them. “I’ll just come right out with it. I know I’ve made a mess of things.”
Murphy’s brow furrowed, but he stayed quiet, letting her go on.
She twisted her fingers together until they ached.
“I was so afraid that I would, I don’t know, hold you back.
You have this light in you, this joy, and I thought if I kept you too close, I’d ruin it.
That I’d drag you down into all my mess and you wouldn’t get to be everything you’re supposed to be. ”
Her voice wobbled at the end, but she forced herself to keep looking at him. She owed him that much.
For a beat, the only sound was Finn’s soft snuffling against Murphy’s palm. Then Murphy leaned in, searching her face like he was trying to memorize every flicker of her expression. “Hillary,” he said quietly, “you don’t hold me back. You’re the reason I want more.”
Her breath caught, a fragile, dangerous hope sparking in her chest.
Her throat tightened. “That’s sweet, but you’re so good, Murphy. What could I possibly offer you?”
He shook his head instantly, frustration flashing in his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that? Why does everyone say that? I’m not that good, Hillary.”
She blinked, startled by the sharp edge in his voice. He wasn’t angry exactly, more like desperate to make her hear him.
“I mess up,” he went on, leaning closer.
“I get jealous. I get mad. I push myself too hard. And sometimes I don’t know how to stop.
I’m not this perfect golden retriever everyone online wants me to be.
I’m just a guy who plays hockey and tries his best, same as anybody else.
And when you act like I’m some angel, it makes it feel like you don’t actually see me. But I know you do.”
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Because he was right, she did see him. The doubts, the shadows, the moments he thought no one noticed.
“I’ve done bad stuff before.”
She scoffed, one eyebrow arching. “Oh, like what?”
His lips pressed together before he muttered, almost sheepish, “I’ve cheated before.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “You cheated on someone?” she asked, genuinely shocked.
“Oh, God, no.” His hands flew up, panicked. “Never. I cheated on, like, a test.”
She stared at him for a second, then slumped back into the couch, groaning. “See? You’re too good for me if that’s all you’ve got.”
Murphy huffed a laugh, reaching for her hand.
“Hillary, that’s not being good. I would have loved to have been one of those athletes who was good at sports and at school, but I just wasn't. I struggled. And sometimes I did what I had to do to remain eligible. It’s not something I’m proud of, but there you go. See? Not perfect.”
Her lips twitched despite herself.
“And you know what?” he added softly. “I still think you’re the one too good for me.”
She leveled him with a stare, her pulse skittering.
“Is that why you tried to set me up with Natalie?” he asked, his voice low, pointed.
Okay. So they were doing this.