Murphy felt the words like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he nodded once, sharply. “If you need it to be done, okay. I’ll try.” He swallowed hard. “Can we still be friends?”
For the first time, her gaze softened. “Of course.”
The softness was worse than the anger. It broke something open in him.
“Wait,” he said, stepping toward her. “At least let me walk you back.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He started to protest, but she was already turning away, her coat pulled tighter. Murphy cursed under his breath, spun, and ducked back into the bar to grab his jacket.
When he came back out, the sidewalk was empty. She was already gone.
Murphy wondered if he’d lost her for good.
18
HILLARY
WINTER
“Absolutely. We’ll coordinate with your management team to make sure rehearsal time fits the arena schedule,” Hillary said smoothly into the phone, her pen scratching notes across her planner. “Yes, the players will be briefed on choreography. And yes, your social team will have access to our content hub.”
Her smile was professional, but her stomach twisted. This was the kind of high-visibility stunt that could tank if anything went sideways. Still, the boy band, North Star, was hugely popular, even if Hillary had no clue who they were. Sasha had been pushing for more crossover content. If Hillary could make this work, it would be a PR goldmine.
She ended the call and leaned back in her chair, massaging the tension from her temples. November was ending. The season was in full swing, and she hadn’t had a chance to breathe in weeks. Between managing the team’s image and wrangling egos—on and off the ice—she felt like she was holding the whole franchise together with sticky notes and coffee.
Her office door creaked open.
Hillary looked up, expecting Sasha, but she saw Murphy instead.
He filled the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair still damp from his shower. In his hands was a steaming cup of coffee and a lemon-blueberry muffin.
Her heart lurched. It had been a week since that road trip, a week since karaoke and snow and the fight she kept replaying in her head. She’d told herself distance was better. Safer. That she didn’t miss the way his presence warmed the room, the way he made the chaos feel lighter.
A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She held up a finger, signaling him to wait while she finished her call. He just grinned and strolled in, dropping into the chair across from her desk as if he belonged there.
The smell of blueberries drifted between them. Hillary swallowed hard.
“Brand deal?” Murphy asked casually, nodding toward her notebook.
“Boy band,” Hillary corrected, closing the folder in front of her. “Trying to make your teammates embarrass themselves on TikTok.”
Murphy laughed, low and warm.
Hillary pressed her lips together, fighting the pull of her smile. She was supposed to be keeping her distance. She was supposed to remember why this was a terrible idea. But with him sitting there, grinning at her like she was the best part of his morning, she couldn’t remember a single good reason.
Murphy leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Wait. Did you say a boy band collab?”
Hillary blinked at the sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Yes. Management is still ironing out the details, but they’ll be shooting some crossover content when they’re in town next month.”
“North Star?” Murphy asked, almost bouncing in his chair. “Please tell me it’s North Star.”
She frowned. “Yes, how did you?—?”
“My sister is obsessed with them,” he cut in, grinning so wide it was contagious. “She went to their concert last week in Boston. Her room is basically a shrine to them at this point.”
Despite herself, Hillary smiled. He was practically vibrating with joy, like the overgrown golden retriever he was. Without thinking, the words slipped out of her mouth. “Do you want to be one of the players in the video?”
