Sasha arched a brow, unconvinced, but let it go. Hillary exhaled, focusing hard on the choreography, though the image of Murphy moving to the beat lingered, far too vivid.
By the time the run-through wrapped, the players were breathless, laughing, and sweat-damp under the stage lights. The Northern Star guys high-fived them, all smiles and charisma.
“You’ve got to come on stage with us tonight,” one of them said, grinning at the group. “Do the dance with us in front of the crowd.”
Sasha let out a squeal before any of the players had a chance to respond. “Yes! Absolutely, yes. They’ll be there.”
The band cheered, and the players exchanged glances—no one groaning, no one protesting. They might have been hockey players first, but they knew how to be pros when it came to representing the team. Wes and Ethan looked particularly pleased, Conner gave a confident nod, Cash offered a dry smirk, and Murphy’s grin could’ve lit the whole arena.
Their manager stepped forward, clapping his hands once. “We’ll break for lunch now. The dressing room is set up backstage. Take your time, we’ll reconvene after.”
The group filed down the stairs, following the band toward the dressing rooms. Counters lined with bottled water, energy drinks, and trays of fruit waited for them. Sasha was practically vibrating as her assistant kept the cameras rolling, catching every detail of the crossover behind the scenes.
When everyone had plates in hand and the buzz had softened into chatter, Conner leaned back in his chair with a grin. “All right. You’ve shown us your world. Now it’s your turn. After lunch, we’ll take you through the locker room and get you out on the ice.”
The band erupted into cheers, clearly just as excited to lace up skates as the players had been to hit the stage.
From her post near the wall, clipboard tucked against her chest, Hillary’s eyes found Murphy. He was laughing with one of the band members, having him sign a photo of the band or his sister.
Her heart squeezed again, the sight equal parts pride and danger. She needed to focus on the day, on making sure the cameras caught every beat. But it was impossible to ignore the way he made this look so easy, so joyful.
The band bantered back and forth with the guys as they followed the players down the tunnel, Sasha’s camera crew capturing every laugh and wide-eyed look.
“Here it is,” Conner announced proudly as he swung the locker room door open. The space was pristine. Jerseys hung in their stalls, skates lined up, sticks stacked with precision, and the magic logo on the floor corded off so no one stepped on it. The band members looked around like they’d just been given the keys to a kingdom.
“This is insane,” one of them said, brushing his hand reverently over a nameplate.
Ethan grinned, puffing his chest. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Wes slipped into announcer mode, narrating as if for social media. “Behind the scenes with the next Cup champions—don’t forget to like and subscribe.” That got a big laugh.
They moved from the locker room out onto the ice. The band members shuffled cautiously in loaner skates while the players glided easily.
Murphy stayed close, steadying one of the singers who nearly toppled over. “Bend your knees—yeah, just like that. You got it.” His encouragement was so genuine, so patient. Hillary’s chest ached watching him.
Then, in a quieter moment, Murphy pulled a Sharpie and a folded North Star poster from his jacket pocket. “Hey,” he said, sheepish but hopeful, “would you mind signing this for my sister? She’s your biggest fan. It would make her year.”
Ian Stone didn’t hesitate, scrawling signatures across the glossy paper. “Want me to make a video for her?”
Murphy’s face lit up. “Really? That would be amazing.”
The singer held his phone up with a wide grin. “Hey, Maddie! It’s Ian Stone from North Star. Your brother says you’re a big fan. Hope we see you at a show soon!”
Murphy’s grin was so wide it looked like it might split his face. “She’s going to freak out,” he said, tucking the phone away carefully, like it was a treasure.
The hours blurred in a flurry of rehearsal clips, press check-ins, and Sasha’s endless camera angles. By the time evening came, the energy around the arena had shifted, buzzing with the hum of a crowd gathering and music pounding through the walls in soundcheck.
Hillary led the players into the VIP section, the lights low and the stage glowing with promise. Their seats were front and center, cordoned off from the crowd with velvet ropes. The perfect vantage point.
The guys dropped into their chairs, teasing each other and pretending they weren’t about to dance in front of thousands.
Murphy slid into the seat a row in front of her, all broad shoulders and easy confidence, still flushed from laughing at something Ethan had said. He tilted his head back for a second, scanning the arena with a grin so bright it caught the stage lights.
Hillary’s breath hitched. God, he was attractive. Not just handsome—though he was that, painfully so—but magnetic. The kind of man who drew every eye without even trying.
She forced herself to look away, flipping through her clipboard notes like they could shield her from temptation. She was here to work. To make sure this night went off without a hitch.
But when Murphy turned slightly, catching her gaze across the row and flashing her a wink, her chest tightened.
