She pulled her laptop closer, opening spreadsheets, emails, and reports. Numbers blurred into strategy, engagement metrics became stories she’d need to spin, and every sponsorship deal or player partnership demanded her attention. Her pen tapped against the desk as she jotted notes for the meeting: —bullet points, projections, reminders to pitch new angles.
The hours disappeared into a steady hum of work, her focus split between the players, the organization, and the constant swirl of PR battles that never quite ended. For a while, it almost felt normal again.
Until she glanced at the clock.
It was almost game time.
Her heart gave a sharp little leap, traitorous and undeniable. She’d sat through dozens—no, hundreds—of games, but never like this. Never with this humming in her veins.
Tonight, she wasn’t just excited for the Magic to skate. She was excited to watch Murphy.
And that terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her.
The arena buzzed with energy, the familiar hum of fans filtering up into the press box. Hillary slid into her usual seat beside Alice, who was already set up with her laptop and tablet, ready to post highlights for socials.
On the ice, Murphy was everywhere. Explosive, relentless, focused in a way that made her pulse race. His skates cut across the ice with power, his stick finding the puck like it was magnetized.
By the time he buried his third goal of the night, the hats rained down, and the building roared with delight. Hillary couldn’t stop herself from grinning, her heart swelling like it might burst out of her chest.
“Wow,” Alice said, leaning forward to watch him circle with his teammates, grinning ear to ear. “Murphy’s really on fire tonight.”
Hillary’s cheeks ached from smiling. “Yeah,” she said softly, almost to herself. “He really is.”
Her eyes followed him as he raised his stick in salute to the crowd, joy radiating off him in waves. And for one reckless moment, she let herself imagine it.
What life could look like.
A life with Murphy. With Finn’s paws skittering across hardwood floors. With quiet mornings and hockey nights, with the warmth of that smile directed only at her.
And maybe—just maybe—with tonight as the beginning of that life.
She forced herself to look away, down at her notes, but the glow inside her refused to dim.
Alice squinted at her, amused. “It’s funny, you know. Usually, I’m the one who’s off in la-la land while you’re laser-focused on the numbers. But tonight . . . ” she gave a knowing tilt of her head, “feels like we’ve swapped roles.”
Heat crawled up Hillary’s neck, but she only pressed her lips together and focused on her notes as if they could ground her. Alice let it go, but the small, knowing smile lingered.
By the time the game ended and the last of the crowd had filtered out, Hillary couldn’t sit still. She moved through the motions of collecting her things, saying goodnight to Sasha and Alice, but her heart had already leapt ahead.
Later, she found herself standing outside Murphy’s condo door, her knuckles hovering just a second before she knocked. The sound echoed softly in the quiet hallway.
Her pulse thudded as she waited.
She lifted her hand and rapped on the door, her pulse stuttering with every second that passed. For a moment, there was silence.
Then came the sound of claws skittering frantically against hardwood, followed by a loudthunkand Murphy’s voice, exasperated and warm all at once.
“Finn! Oh, goodness, what did you do now? Stay down, buddy, stay?—”
The deadbolt turned, and the door swung open. Murphy stood there in a rumpled T-shirt, his hair a little messy, one hand awkwardly catching Finn by the collar before the dog could barrel out into the hall.
He bent down, wrangling the dog with a chuckle. “Sorry, he thinks every knock means playtime.”
When he finally straightened, his hazel eyes found hers. For a heartbeat, everything else dropped away.
His smile broke slowly and easily, lighting up his whole face, and Hillary melted right there in the doorway.
“Come in,” Murphy said, stepping aside and tugging Finn gently back by the collar.
