Maddie perched on the desk chair, knees pulled up, eyes darting between Hillary and the door where her brother was showering. “So . . . you’rethegirlfriend?”
Heat rose in Hillary’s cheeks. “I am,” she said lightly.
Maddie tilted her head, studying her the way only a teenage girl could with a sharp, unfiltered gaze. “You’re . . . older than I expected.”
Hillary huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
“I don’t mean it bad,” Maddie rushed to add. “It’s just—Murphy’s always been . . . I don’t know. Everyone loves him. He takes care of all of us. I just want someone to . . . you know . . . take care ofhim.”
The words pierced deep. Hillary swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “I want that too, Maddie. I care about him, a lot. More than I thought I could.”
Maddie’s suspicion softened, just a little. She picked at the drawstring of her hoodie. “Okay. Good. He deserves someone who gets it. Who getshim.”
From the bathroom, the shower cut off. Hillary glanced toward the door, then back at Maddie. “I’m trying. I promise.”
Maddie gave her a small smile, one that carried more approval than Hillary expected. “That’s all I wanted to know.” She slid off the chair, padding back toward the hall.
Murphy padded into the room, hair still damp, low-hung sweatpants clinging in a way that made her pulse jump. Hillary didn’t just see the broad chest or the cut of his abs. She sawhim. The man who got her coffee every morning, who played with kids at family skate, who’d carried the weight of his family for years without complaint.
He cocked his head, reading her like he always did. “What’s up?”
Her throat tightened, the words clawing their way out before she could stop them. “I really fucking love you.”
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then a slow, unstoppable smile spread across his face. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, eyes never leaving hers.
“Right back atcha, Boss.”
And then he pounced, laughing as he pulled her onto the bed, her gasp muffled by his kiss. The mattress dipped under their weight, her hands tangling in his still-damp hair as his body pressed against hers. It wasn’t careful or restrained. It was a tumble of laughter and heat, of love that no longer had anywhere to hide.
At first, Hillary froze. The weight of his childhood home pressed in—the creak of old floorboards, the muffled hum of the heater down the hall. It felt…sacred, not like the place for this.
But then Murphy’s voice cut through, rough and low, his forehead pressed against hers. “Please,” he whispered. “I need this. I need you.”
Her heart clenched. She’d never heard him sound like that. He was open, vulnerable, stripped down to nothing but want and need. And God, she wanted it too.
“Okay,” she breathed, her voice trembling.
The relief in his eyes nearly undid her. His kiss came softer this time, slow and searching, every brush of his mouth telling her what words couldn’t. His hands moved carefully, reverently, sliding under her shirt as if he was learning her all over again.
She melted into him, fingers tracing the planes of his chest, the familiar heat sparking low in her belly. “Murphy,” she whispered, not sure if it was a prayer or a plea.
He eased her back against the mattress. His touch was gentle but sure, every sigh, every shiver, every way she fit perfectly against him.
It wasn’t hurried, not tonight. Every kiss lingered, and every caress lingered longer, until she was trembling beneath him. He held her gaze the whole time, as though needing her to see the truth in him. She wasn’t just his want, but his home.
After what seemed like a lifetime of kissing and exploring each other, he wrapped one of her legs around his waist and pushed in. It was unhurried and achingly deep. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his name falling from her lips. And when she broke, when pleasure and love tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell them apart, he followed, his forehead pressed to hers, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Afterward, he pulled her close, their bodies tangled under his old quilt, the smell of clean soap and him surrounding her.
“What do you think we should do about the pictures?” Hillary asked, her head wobbling like even she wasn’t sure of her own answer.
“I mean, you know best, I’m comfortable following your lead.”
“I get that, I do,” she said as she ran her hand through his soft hair. “But I want this to feel right for you, too.”
“Okay, talk to me,” he said, lying back on his pillow with his hands clasped behind his head. “What are you and Sasha cooking up?”
Hillary leaned over and draped her arm around his broad chest. “Sasha seems to think we have three options, one being to lie low, but basically do what we’ve been doing, but with the playoffs coming up, the media will be intense. Second option of a strict no comment, but that always feeds the fire.”
