Sadly, tonight they lost. First loss of the season, and it stung. The locker room was quieter than usual afterward, everyone eager to get back to the hotel and stew in private. If they had won, the boys would be planning where they wanted to go for thenight, although Murphy didn’t always join them, which tended to surprise people. Being the youngest player on the team, people expected him to party and live it up with all the perks of being an up-and-coming NHL star, but that was never his speed.
On his way to the bus, he caught sight of Hillary standing outside, phone pressed to her ear, shoulders tight. The sight of her on the phone, pulling her thin excuse of a coat tighter around her shoulders in the cold Canadian air, didn’t sit right with him. She was shivering, and that wouldn’t do.
Without thinking, he walked over, shrugged off his own jacket, and draped it around her. The instant chill on his arms was worth it. Her head jerked up in surprise, eyes widening, but she was still mid-conversation. For just a heartbeat, he caught a flash of a smile before she masked it. He gave a small nod and turned back toward the bus.
As he climbed onto the bus, he took care to avoid Sven and Cash. Both of them were known for their foul moods after a loss, though Cash had been a little easier to deal with since getting a girlfriend.
The thought made Murphy’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t want to examine. No, thinking those thoughts right now was not going to help. He was respecting Hillary's wishes, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss her.
Yes, he missed the physical aspect of their relationship—the sex was truly incredible—but he just missed her. It felt like the only time they had together anymore was their morning coffee at the center. Those were the only moments he still got her stolen smiles. He loved her softness, but he equally loved that she was a badass. Hillary ran this place, and she did it like a fucking boss. She was his ‘Boss’, and that thought was enough to bring on the melancholy.
Then he glanced toward the front of the bus, catching sight of Conner and Sasha talking quietly. Yeah. He wanted that.With Hillary. But she was still keeping him at arm’s length. Everything—the loss, but mostly just missing her—was weighing on him.
He slid into his seat and looked out the window, his eyes still drawn to her. Hillary was still on her call, but now she had his coat pulled snug around her. The bus hummed with low chatter and fatigue, but all he could focus on was her.
Then she lifted the collar, pressing it briefly to her nose. A quick smile lit up her face before she seemed to remember herself and smoothed it away.
Murphy leaned back, satisfaction curling in his chest.
Yeah. They weren’t over yet.
14
HILLARY
The wind cut through her thin jacket as Hillary stood outside the arena, phone pressed to her ear. Why she hadn't brought a better coat with her was beyond her. This wasn't her first road trip. She knew Calgary in November could be brutal. She yanked her jacket tighter, trying in vain to keep warm as she talked her sister down.
"I can't believe I didn't go. And now Mom says it's my fault," Sydney said with a sniff.
Sydney’s voice was tight with tears, recounting how their mother had called in full-blown drama mode—Grandma was in the hospital, and apparently it was all Sydney’s fault for missing her birthday party. Hillary’s jaw clenched.
"Sydney, you're studying to be a doctor. You know her getting sick has nothing to do with you," Hillary said as calmly as possible, trying not to let the rage she felt seep into her voice.
How dare they put this on her sister? But of course, they would. It was what they did.
"I know, Mom was just so upset. I don't know. Should I go visit?"
"I mean, you can, but why don't you wait until I get back, then we can go together."
"No, Hillary, you don't have to do that."
"I'm not letting you deal with this on your own."
She murmured comfort, doing her best to steady her sister’s voice, even as her own anger simmered. The cold didn’t help. She liked crisp weather, but this biting wind was another irritation. Then, there was warmth. A familiar scent of soap and spice enveloped her as something heavy settled over her shoulders. She glanced down at Murphy’s jacket. Her breath caught, and for a moment, all she could think was ‘why is he so perfect?’ He didn’t say a word, just gave her that gentle half-smile before heading past. Sydney’s shaky words pulled her back, and she focused on soothing her sister.
Still, the scent of him clung to her, grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain.
On the bus, Sasha chatted beside her, but Hillary caught maybe every third word. She nodded in the right places, distracted by the lingering heat of the jacket and the memory of his brief smile.
That night in the hotel, sleep was impossible. She paced the room, mind tangled in knots of family drama: resentment at their entitled cruelty, and genuine worry for her grandmother despite herself. Most of all, fury that they would turn it all on Sydney.
She stopped pacing, jacket in hand, before she realized what she was doing. She hesitated outside his door, telling herself to go back. This wasn’t professional, this wasn’t smart, all the reasons this was a bad idea still existed—but her feet wouldn’t listen. Moments later, she knocked. Murphy answered, and the instant warmth in his smile melted something inside her. She was so tired of fighting it.
"I . . ... ummm . . . I brought back your jacket," she said as she thrust the jacket at him.
He took it from her, his gaze never leaving her.
"Want to come in?" he asked softly.
