Murphy set the tacos down on the dining table and looked at Hillary like he was waiting for her to pass some kind of judgment. Instead, she smiled softly, brushing her hand over the corner of a family photo before she turned back to him.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, meaning it more than she’d ever meant anything.
Because it was.
Murphy slid the foil-wrapped tacos across the table, one for Maddie, one for Hillary, and one for himself. The warmth of the food filled the small kitchen, the scent of seasoned chicken and melted cheese settling around them.
Just as Hillary unwrapped hers, her phone buzzed on the table. The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet of Murphy’s childhood home.
She didn’t even want to look. She already knew.
With a steadying breath, she flipped it over. Another email notification. Another headline. Another reminder of the grainy photo that had followed them here, miles away from Glendale.
Her chest tightened. She should be on her laptop, on calls, spinning this before it spiraled further. Being here, eating tacos with Murphy and Maddie, was the opposite of what sheshouldbe doing.
But then Murphy bumped her knee under the table, his easy grin tugging her right back into the moment. “Boss, you'd better grab your taco before Maddie eats it. Midnight chicken nachos champion, remember?”
Maddie smirked, reaching for hers with exaggerated menace, and Hillary laughed despite herself.
The mess outside this house could wait, at least for tonight.
Hillary reached for a taco, the foil still hot against her fingers, when her phone buzzed again. She glanced down. A message from Sasha.
Sasha - 3 options, No Comment, but that could feed the fire. Lie low, but with play off looming, that seems hard. The last option you guys can think about is an interview, claiming it and calling it a day.
Her stomach knotted. None of it sounded good, but they’d have to decide. She thumbed back a quick reply.
Hillary-I’ll talk to Murphy.
Then she set the phone down and took a bite, the taste of seasoned meat and cilantro filling her mouth.
It buzzed again before she could even swallow.
Sasha - How’s he holding up?
Hillary’s gaze flicked across the table. Murphy had just stolen a chip loaded with cheese off Maddie’s plate. He winked at his sister when she protested, then stuffed it into his mouth with all the satisfaction of a man reclaiming his childhood crown.
Hillary - He’s holding in there
“What’s up?” Murphy asked, noticing her phone in her hand.
She forced a smile. “Sasha was just checking in on you.”
He hummed and gave her one of those heart-melting grins before leaning back with his plate. “Tell her I’m fine,” he said, grabbing a nacho the size of his hand and biting down with gusto.
And somehow, for the first time all day, Hillary almost believed it.
After their taco feast, the house slowly quieted. Hillary padded down the hallway, toothbrush and pajamas in hand, and stepped into Murphy’s room. It was smaller than she expected, nothing like the luxury condo in Glendale. A twin bed pushed against the wall, the Bruins pennant still thumbtacked above the headboard, stacks of old hockey magazines and trophies lined up on a shelf.
She smiled faintly, running her hand over a worn desk scarred with pen grooves and stickers half-peeled away. It was lived-in, familiar, and so very Murphy.
The shower hissed from the bathroom, steam curling under the door. She’d barely had a moment to sit on the edge of the bed when a soft knock came.
“Hillary?” Maddie’s voice.
She opened the door to find Murphy’s little sister leaning against the frame, hair in a messy braid, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame. She looked hesitant, but curious.
“Hey, Maddie.” Hillary smiled, stepping back so she could come in.
