17
MURPHY
Murphy stretched out on the hotel bed, phone to his ear. His mom’s voice filled the room, warm and grounding in a way only home could be.
“Your sister’s already stressing about prom,” she was saying. “And your brother’s been asking when you’re coming home again. He’s got that big tournament in two months.”
Murphy smiled, picturing his brother’s determined grin. “Tell him I’ll be there if I can.”
Then her voice softened. “You sound good, Murph. Happy.”
He hesitated. Happy wasn’t the right word, not when half his chest felt like it belonged to someone who didn’t want it. But he made his voice light. “I am, Mom. Don’t worry about me.”
A knock sounded at his door. Murphy sat up. “That’s probably the guys. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket just as Cash’s voice bellowed from the hall. “Dinner time, Rookie!”
The walk to the steakhouse was short, snow crunching under their shoes, breath puffing white in the cold. The team was loud,laughing, and shoving each other, excitement humming in the air about the night ahead.
Murphy should’ve been laughing with them. Instead, the moment they stepped inside, his gaze zeroed in across the room.
Hillary.
She was seated at a table with the press and business staff, an emerald-green dress catching the light every time she shifted. It dipped low enough to make his throat go dry. He told himself not to stare, not to let it show, but every cell in his body trained toward her.
Cash elbowed him. “You good, man? You’re holding onto the breadbasket like it’s going to get away.”
Murphy snapped back fast, flashing them his usual grin. “Just making sure you guys don’t steal all the rolls.”
The table broke into laughter, and he laughed too. But when his eyes found hers again across the restaurant, the world went still. Hillary’s gaze caught his like a magnet, and for a moment—just a moment—it felt like everyone else had disappeared.
Dinner passed in a blur of clinking silverware and low conversation. Murphy laughed when the guys cracked jokes, nodded along when Coach shared a story from his playing days, but his attention kept drifting. Every time he risked a glance toward Hillary’s table, she was angled away, focused on her conversation with Sasha. Not once did her eyes find his again.
That was fine. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that this was work for her. She was here in her professional world, not in the secret spaces they sometimes stole away in together. He could be patient.
After dessert, the group bundled up and spilled back into the snowy street, the players loud and rowdy as they headed for the neon-lit karaoke bar further down the block. By the time they crowded inside, the vibe had shifted. Now more casual, less buttoned-up. Jackets shed, ties loosened, laughter louder.
Murphy eased closer to where Hillary and Sasha stood near the bar, not obvious, just enough to be in her orbit. He ordered a round, sliding a drink to Hillary with a casual ease before handing one to Sasha, too.
“Thanks, Murphy,” Sasha said, brows lifting just slightly.
Conner appeared a moment later, his eyes flicked to the drink in Sasha’s hand before shooting her a playful glare.
Murphy just grinned, leaning back against the bar like the picture of innocence.
Across from him, Hillary lifted her drink, lips pressing to the glass. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but the flush rising on her cheeks told him she felt it too.
Murphy leaned back in his chair, laughing along with Conner and Cash. Hillary had surprised him tonight—not because she looked gorgeous, he already knew that, but because she was . . . relaxed. Smiling, teasing Sasha, even laughing at Sven’s ridiculous attempts to charm the table of women near the bar.
It felt good. Like she was letting herself breathe.
Cash stood to leave, slipping his phone from his pocket. “Time to call Evie before she decides I’ve forgotten about her.”
“Look at you,” Conner teased.
“Better than listening to you murderSimply the Bestagain,” Cash shot back with a grin.
