When they finally reached the room, the door was cracked, and the light inside was low. For a second, Murphy froze in the doorway, his chest locked up tight. Then his eyes adjusted, and he spotted her.
Maddie.
His little sister was curled in a chair beside the bed, legs tucked up, her ever-present drawing pad propped against her knees. Her pencil scratched lightly across the page, the quiet sound oddly grounding. The glow of the hallway spilled just enough light across her face to show the concentration in her furrowed brow.
Murphy’s breath eased out in a shaky exhale. She looked up at the movement, eyes widening when she saw him. “Murph,” she whispered, the pad sliding off her lap as she scrambled up.
He stepped forward, letting go of Hillary’s hand only long enough to pull his sister into his arms. She clung tight, and he pressed his face into her hair, closing his eyes against the sting. “Hey, kiddo.” His voice broke, but Maddie didn’t seem to care.
Behind them, the steady beeping of monitors reminded him why they were here.
Patrick.
Murphy loosened his hold on Maddie and looked past her to the bed where his brother lay. The sight punched him straight in the gut. Patrick was pale against the sheets, with tubes and wires everywhere.
Murphy’s knees wobbled. Hillary stepped closer and rested her hand against his back, grounding him.
The bathroom door clicked open, and his mother stepped out. The second she saw him, her hand flew to her mouth, and then she was across the room, wrapping him up in her arms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his chest. “You didn’t need to come.” Her voice was hushed, but her grip was fierce, like she wasn’t about to let him go.
Murphy bent his head to her shoulder, closing his eyes. “Of course I did,” he murmured back.
When she pulled back, her eyes glistened, but she gave him the same brave smile he’d seen her wear his whole life.
The door creaked again, and his dad walked in with a paper bag of vending machine snacks crinkling in his hands. He stopped short when he saw Murphy, his face splitting into surprise before softening.
“Murph,” he said simply, voice rough, and set the bag down on the side table. He came forward, pulling Murphy into a quick, strong hug. “Glad you’re here, son.”
Murphy swallowed hard and nodded, too choked up to answer.
Behind him, Hillary’s presence anchored him. Quiet, steady, and there, her hand still on his back. For the first time since he got the call, he let himself breathe.
His dad’s eyes crinkled as he glanced at Hillary, then back at him. “And who do we have here?”
Murphy straightened a little, feeling Hillary’s steadying presence beside him. “This is Hillary,” he said, his voice firm. “My girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” his mom repeated, eyebrows shooting up as her gaze flicked between the two of them.
Murphy nodded once. Hillary, composed even in a hospital room, offered a warm smile and stepped forward just slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. We actually met at the Special Olympics event last month.”
Recognition softened his mom’s face, a small ah escaping her lips. “Of course,” she said, her voice gentling. “That was a wonderful day.” Her eyes softened even more as they moved back to Murphy, a hint of quiet approval in them.
Hillary added, “Your son was incredible that day. Everyone loved him. It stuck with me.”
Murphy’s chest tightened at her words, pride and vulnerability tangling together. For a moment, the weight of hospital walls and Patrick’s condition eased, replaced by thesurreal rightness of Hillary standing here beside him, with his family, in the middle of one of the hardest moments of his life.
“How is he?” Murphy asked, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.
His mom sighed and moved to Patrick’s bedside, her hand gentle as she curled it around his, careful of the IV taped to his skin. “He’s going to be okay,” she said, though the weary lines on her face told him how hard she’d been holding it together. “There was some internal bleeding from the first procedure. They’ve stopped it, but . . . ” She trailed off, giving Patrick’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll know more tomorrow after the doctors make their rounds.”
Murphy stopped at the foot of the bed, his chest tightening as his gaze landed on his brother. Patrick looked small, too small, against the tangle of hospital sheets, his usually broad grin absent. Machines beeped softly, keeping rhythm with the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Murphy swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in his eyes. This was Patrick. His brother. The one who always beat him atSorry, the one who could light up any room with his laugh. Seeing him like this was a gut punch he hadn’t been ready for.
He took a shaky step closer, brushing his knuckles along the cool metal railing of the bed. “Hey, bud,” he whispered, voice breaking just slightly. “I’m here.”
Hillary’s hand slipped into his, steady and warm, grounding him when the weight in his chest threatened to crush him.
