Chapter 47 Hillary #2
She straightened, forcing her shoulders back even though her insides were unraveling. “I thought you two would be a good match,” she said carefully. “You’re at the same stage of life, you’d understand each other—”
Murphy’s laugh cut her off, sharp and humorless. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it sound logical. You wanted me taken so I wouldn’t be a problem for you anymore. Admit it.”
Her throat tightened. He wasn’t wrong. But the way his eyes burned into hers made the excuse she’d been clinging to feel paper-thin.
“I was trying to protect you,” she said finally, the words raw in her chest.
“From what?” he shot back. “From you?”
She flinched.
Murphy leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his gaze searching hers. “You don’t get it, do you? Natalie’s great, but she’s not you. She’ll never be you. And I don’t want her. I want you. I want this.”
Her breath caught, because this was exactly what terrified her.
“Why?” she demanded, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “How could you want this?”
Her hands were trembling now, pressed tight against her thighs. “I’m not very nice. I work too much. I don’t want kids. I hate going out. That’s not what you want. You don’t want me.”
Murphy didn’t flinch. He didn’t even raise his voice. He just looked at her like she was missing the most obvious truth in the world.
“How do you know what I want?” he asked softly. “You never asked me.”
Her lips parted—ready to argue, to push back like she always did—but the words lodged in her throat.
Because he was right. She hadn’t asked. She’d decided for him. Decided he deserved something better. Something easier. Something . . . not her.
The silence between them stretched, taut and trembling, before she finally whispered, “I didn’t ask.”
“For all the times we’ve spent together,” Murphy said, voice low but steady, “there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
Hillary’s pulse kicked. She’d just thrown all her fears at him, and he hadn’t even flinched. Now he was looking at her like he was about to hand her something fragile, something he didn’t give to just anyone.
She swallowed, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
Murphy leaned back, rubbing his palms on his knees before he finally looked at her.
“So, you’ve met my family now,” he said quietly. “I’m the oldest. Patrick’s twenty-one. My sister’s only sixteen.”
He paused, jaw tight, like he was weighing whether to go on.
“When I was fourteen, Patrick went into cardiac arrest. We didn’t know what was wrong at first, just that he collapsed. I thought I was gonna lose my little brother right there in our living room.”
Hillary’s breath caught, but she stayed silent.
“They figured out later it was his heart. He’s had surgeries since then, procedures, endless doctors.
And my parents, they did everything they could, but they leaned on me.
A lot. I learned how to cook because my mom was always at the hospital.
I got my sister ready for school when my dad was working double shifts. I grew up fast.”
His voice softened, but the words still landed like heavy stones.
“I’ve been carrying responsibility since I was fourteen. I’ve seen things most people my age haven’t. And yeah, I smile, I joke, I let people think I’m this happy-go-lucky guy who doesn’t have a serious bone in his body… but that’s not all of me. Not even close.”
He leaned forward now, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes burning into hers.
“So don’t tell me I’m too good. Don’t tell me I don’t understand what life really is. Because I do. I’ve been living it. And if I say I want you—you—it’s because I know exactly what that means.”
Murphy’s voice softened, but he didn’t look away.
“And as for kids . . . ” he shrugged, running a hand over the back of his neck.
“If I was with someone who really wanted them, I think I’d be fine.
I could do it. But the truth is, I’ve already spent so much of my childhood raising my sister.
Making sure she got to school, that she had dinner, that the world didn’t swallow her whole while my mom and dad were pulled in a thousand different directions. ”
His lips pressed together, the corner twitching like he was holding back a hundred more memories.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. She’s one of the best parts of my life. But I guess . . . ” he exhaled slowly, “I’m okay not having kids too. I don’t need it. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything if that’s not what my life looks like.”
Murphy leaned forward then, forearms braced on his thighs, his gaze steady on hers.
“So when you say you don’t want them? That doesn’t scare me.
It doesn’t make me think you’re wrong for me.
It just makes me think you’re telling me the truth about who you are.
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted, Hillary.
For you to let me see the real you, not the version you think I deserve, or that feels safe. ”
All of the breath left her body.
Her chest caved in like she’d been hit with a fist she didn’t see coming.
“I had no idea,” she whispered, voice cracking around the edges. Her eyes searched his face, looking for some sign that maybe he didn’t mean it, that maybe she hadn’t been so blind. “I should have asked. I just, I assumed.”
Her throat tightened, shame rushing in hot. All the times she’d put words in his mouth. All the choices she’d made for both of them without ever once letting him tell her what he wanted.
Murphy didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look surprised. He just looked at her with those steady hazel eyes, hurt, maybe, but patient in a way that made it worse. Like he’d been waiting for her to catch up.
Murphy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but steady. “You don’t get to assume my life for me, Hillary.”
Her eyes flicked up, startled, but he didn’t look away.
“You keep acting like you know what’s best for me, like you’re protecting me from something.
But you never asked. You just decided.” His jaw tightened, but not with anger.
It was something deeper, something raw. “I’ve spent my whole life with people making choices for me: what games I could miss, what responsibilities I had, what sacrifices I should make.
I did them gladly, because I love my family and I love hockey.
But this? You and me? That’s supposed to be ours.
Not something you shut down before I even get to say what I want. ”
He drew in a breath, softer now.
“I don’t want perfect. I don’t want easy. I want partnership. And you don’t get to take that away without at least letting me fight for it.”
He reached for her hand, thumb warm and steady on the back of it. “I want you,” he said simply, no flourish, no drama, just the brutally honest stuff. “All the boring, infuriating, beautiful bits.”
He counted them off like he meant it. “I want coffee with you in the morning. I want to laugh at stupid shows with you on the couch and for you to fall asleep with your head on my shoulder. I want to be the guy who brings you muffins on busy days and a safe space when life gets to be too much.”
His eyes were fierce now, steady and warm.
“I want to be there when your sister needs you, and for you to be there when Patrick and my family need me. I want to be the person you call when something small goes wrong at work or when you read a headline that makes you furious. I want to be in the picture at holidays and at stupid little moments in between. I want a life that’s messy and loud and real. ”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t need ‘perfect.’ I don’t need plans with ten-year timelines. I need you to ask me, to include me, to let me choose you the way I choose you every damn day. I want to build something with you, however we define it.”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping until it was almost reverent. “So the real question is, will you let me? Will you let me be in your life like that?”
Hillary sat there, breath gone, as the words settled into her chest. Tears spilled down her face, hot, surprised, humiliating and utterly, utterly relieved. She hadn’t given him enough credit. She hadn’t given herself enough credit, either.
She swallowed, voice barely a rasp. “I . . . I don’t know how to say yes without wrecking everything.” Her fingers curled around his hand like an anchor. “I’m terrified I’ll ruin you. I’ve been telling myself I was protecting you, and I—” She broke off, too raw to finish.
Murphy tipped her chin up with a thumb, steady and so calm it steadied her. “You won’t,” he said. “We’ll figure the stuff out. Together. Not you against me. Us.” He squeezed her hand, slow and certain. “Slow if you need. Messy when it needs to be. But together.”
She let out a shaky laugh that was half sob and half yes. “Okay,” she whispered. “Together.”
They leaned in. The kiss this time was soft and clean and full of promise.
When they pulled apart, Finn nosed their joined hands and let out a little contented sigh before curling at their feet.
The small domestic normalcy of it—dog, couch, two people who had finally stopped pretending—felt like oxygen.
Hillary sat there, breath shallow, tears drying on her cheeks. She hadn’t given him enough credit, hadn’t even given herself the chance to believe this could work.
Murphy cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her damp skin. “Hil.” His voice was soft but steady, anchoring her. “I’ve told you what I want. But what about you?” His eyes searched hers. “What do you want? Not what you think you should want. Not what you think I deserve. What do you actually want?”
The words knocked the air out of her. She opened her mouth, closed it again. For once, she didn’t have a quick answer, a professional pivot, a deflection. Just the truth, sitting heavy in her chest.
“I want you,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Even if it’s messy. Even if I’m terrified. I want you.”
Murphy’s lips curved, the barest smile breaking through his seriousness. Relief, joy, something deeper. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Then that’s all I need.”
Their lips found each other again, slow this time, unhurried, like the first kiss of a new beginning rather than the frantic collisions of stolen moments.
Hillary slid her hands into his hair, holding him close as if she could anchor herself in his warmth.
Murphy kissed her like he had all the time in the world, patient and steady, promising with every brush of his lips that he wasn’t going anywhere.
For one blissful moment, the rest of the world fell away. No work. No fear. No what-ifs. Just them.
Then something cold and wet pressed against their joined hands. They broke apart with startled laughter as Finn wedged his nose between them, tail wagging furiously, like he’d just saved them from drowning.
“Bad timing, buddy,” Murphy murmured, pressing one last kiss to her temple. “I wasn’t finished.”
Hillary laughed, the sound bubbling up through her tears, lighter than she’d felt in weeks. She scratched behind Finn’s ears as he shoved his golden head into her lap, her chest loosening with every wag of his tail.