“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Murphy squeezed her hand once more, then pulled her in for a hug. He stood there for a long moment, arms wrapped completely around her, holding her tight, breathing her in. Her head lay against his chest, and she could feel his heart pounding. She would do anything for him.
“I’m going to go in there and deal with this, but . . . I’ll be at your condo in an hour. Is that enough time?”
He nodded quickly, his throat tight. “Yes. I’ll be ready.”
“Okay.”
His eyes lingered on hers, gratitude and fear and something steadier beneath it, before he turned toward the elevator.
Hillary drew in a shaky breath and pushed the office door back open.
Inside, Sasha and Kevin looked up, mid-discussion about damage control. Hillary smoothed her features into something professional. “Murphy’s heading home. Family emergency. I’ll be gone too.”
Sasha blinked. “Everything okay?”
Her chest squeezed. “No. But I’ll be with him. Which means this,”—she gestured at the laptop and printouts scattered across the table—“is yours to run point on.”
There was no hesitation, no pushback. Sasha just gave her one sharp, confident nod. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry about this, Hillary. Go.”
Relief flooded her, surprising in its intensity. For once, she didn’t have to hold every single thing together. She could let go, because someone needed her more.
She grabbed her coat and bag, her heart already racing ahead to Murphy, to Boston, to whatever waited for them there.
She was going to be there for him.
56
MURPHY
Murphy sat in the driver’s seat, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, staring at the sterile glass doors of the hospital entrance. His chest felt too tight to draw a full breath. The car hummed faintly around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Beside him, Hillary sat quietly, her presence steady in the way he didn’t know he needed until now. She hadn’t pushed, hadn’t rushed him, just sat there, one hand resting lightly on his thigh. That small touch anchored him more than she could ever know.
“I hate hospitals,” he muttered finally, his voice rough.
“I know,” Hillary said softly. She didn’t move her hand, just rubbed her thumb back and forth, slow and gentle. “But you’re not going in alone.”
That cracked something in him. He let out a shaky breath, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. “He’s my little brother, Hill. And I wasn’t here when it got bad. I wasn’t?—”
She cut him off gently. “Murphy. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Her words sank deep, but the fear still churned. He opened his eyes and turned to her. She looked so calm, so certain, like she truly believed he could handle this when he wasn’t sure at all.
“I don’t know if I can see him like this.” His throat burned. “Last time he went under surgery, I thought—” He broke off, shaking his head.
Hillary leaned closer, pressing her forehead briefly against his. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to love him. That’s enough.”
Something in her voice, steady but tender, let him breathe again. He unclenched his fists from the steering wheel and let his hand slide down to grip hers instead. Warm. Solid. Real.
He blew out one more breath, nodding. “Okay.” His voice still trembled, but this time he opened the door. “Let’s go.”
Together, they stepped out into the cold Boston air and walked toward the hospital doors, her hand tucked firmly in his.
The hospital air hit him the second they stepped inside, sharp with disinfectant, threaded with the faint tang of bleach and stale coffee. The sounds were a jumble of wheels squeaking against tile, a phone ringing somewhere down the corridor, and low murmurs from nurses at the desk. Every step they took echoed just a little too loudly.
Murphy’s grip on Hillary’s hand tightened as they wound their way through the sterile hallways, following the blue stripe painted on the wall toward the recovery wing. He hated this smell. Hated these sounds. They carried too many memories.
