But the words in his head weren’t about hockey or the Cup, they were about family, and about the woman beside him who hadn’t hesitated to stand in these hospital halls with him.
The tires hummed steadily against the pavement, the only sound in the quiet night. The highway stretched out endlessly in front of them, flanked by dark trees and the occasional wash of headlights from a passing car. Streetlamps cast fleeting pools of gold across Murphy’s face, sharp lines softening as they flickered past.
The air smelled faintly of coffee from the cups Hillary had picked up at the last gas station, still resting in the cup holder between them. Outside, the sky was clear, stars scattered in pinprick light, and the dashboard glowed pale blue across her hands folded in her lap.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was heavy. Every so often, Murphy’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel, like he was wrestling with something inside himself. Hillary kept sneaking glances at him: the furrow between his brows, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his shoulders looked so broad and solid even slouched in exhaustion.
He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, sighing as the road signs started counting down toward Glendale. “I’ve beentrying to figure out how to say this,” he said finally, his voice low, almost lost to the hum of the engine.
She turned her head, watching him in the muted glow. “Say what?”
He glanced at her quickly, then back to the road. “That I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain what it meant, having you there. At the hospital. With my family. It’s not just that you came, it’s . . . ” He trailed off, his throat working. “You just . . . belonged. Like you’d always been there.”
Her breath caught, and she blinked hard, the dashboard light blurring.
Murphy kept going, voice steadier now. “When Patrick took that turn, my first thought wasn’t hockey, or the team, or anything else. It was how fast can I get back? I didn’t expect you to come with me, but you did. Without even hesitating.” He shook his head a little, as if still stunned. “Thank you. I’ll never forget that, Hillary.”
Her hand slid across the console, lacing through his. “You don’t have to thank me,” she whispered. “There’s nowhere else I would’ve been.”
For the rest of the drive, he let that truth sit between them, warm and steady, a quiet promise in the dark.
Later that night, Murphy collapsed onto the couch, Finn curling immediately into the crook of his side. Hillary tucked herself against him, legs draped over his lap, her hand absently stroking the golden retriever’s fur as they both melted into the quiet.
The TV hummed low in the background, some late-night replay of highlights, but neither of them was really watching. Murphy’s head rested against the back of the couch, his eyes fixed on her instead.
“So,” he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful, “We’re sitting down with that blogger Sasha trusts tomorrow. What should I even say?”
Hillary tilted her head toward him, studying the worry that lingered in the line of his mouth. “Just be honest,” she said softly. “That’s what people love about you. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”
He nodded slowly, but didn’t look convinced. His thumb rubbed absently over Finn’s silky ear.
Her chest swelled at the quiet strength in his words. She reached up and smoothed her fingers over his jaw, smiling at him with that mix of fondness and ache only he could bring out in her. “I trust you, Rookie.”
That earned her the grin she loved, the one that always made her feel like sunshine had cracked through clouds. He leaned in and kissed her, soft and sure, Finn snuffling and sighing between them as if settling the moment.
For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like something they might actually get to build together.
59
MURPHY
The interview was done. Thirty minutes of honesty with a blogger they trusted more than most of the national press. It had gone more smoothly than he expected. told the truth, that he and Hillary had been seeing each other for months, that it mattered to him, that she mattered to him. No spin, no grand reveal. Just Murphy, saying what he felt. And to his surprise, Hillary had been an open book. Never did he ever think Hillary would tell a reporter that they were in love, but she was the first to say it.
Murphy exhaled. It wasn’t perfect—it never would be—but it was theirs. And they were going into the playoffs with nothing left between them but the ice.
Now came the easy part. Hockey.
The chirping still echoed in his ears as they laced up and filed out onto the ice. Murphy couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his mouth. Even if he tried, it was stuck there.
The boys were riding him hard.
“Better keep your head up, Rookie,” Wes hollered as they stepped onto the rink. “Boss lady’s watching now!”
Cash chimed in, “Skate like you just got married. Full commitment!”
Even Niko, who barely chirped at anyone, skated past and muttered, “Happy wife, happy life,” before snorting at his own joke.
Murphy shook his head, cheeks hot, but for once, he didn’t mind being the butt of it all. They knew. It was out. And it felt like a hundred pounds had been lifted from his shoulders.
