She snapped her eyes back to the stage, cheeks hot.
This was dangerous. All of it.
And yet, for the first time since their conversation in the snows, she felt alive.
20
MURPHY
The bass thumped through the arena floor, rattling up through Murphy’s shoes and into his chest. The crowd was electric, thousands of voices buzzing with anticipation, and he couldn’t believe he was about to step onto that stage.
But for now, he was in the VIP section with the rest of the guys, doing his best to look calm while his insides fizzed like a shaken soda. Ethan and Wes were clowning around, practicing half of the dance steps and earning a shove from Cash, who muttered something about regretting every life choice that had led him here. Conner just leaned back, relaxed as if he’d been born for this kind of spotlight.
Murphy should’ve been caught up in it too, but his eyes kept drifting.
Hillary sat a row behind them, clipboard in her lap, pen tapping in rhythm with the music. She looked put together, focused, every inch the professional she was supposed to be, but Murphy knew her well enough now to see the tell. The way her lips pressed tight when she thought too hard, the way she adjusted her bracelet twice in a row when she was flustered.
The house lights dropped, the opening notes hit, and the arena erupted in screams. Murphy’s pulse spiked. He was on his feet.
This was it.
And even as the North Star stormed the stage, even as thousands of fans screamed around him, he still found himself glancing back—just once—at Hillary.
And there she was, looking right at him.
Backstage was a swirl of hairspray and adrenaline. The band’s dressing room buzzed with stylists and crew, everyone moving with quick, practiced energy. Murphy tugged at the hem of his shirt, palms sweating despite the fact that he’d faced down playoff games with less nerves.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, rattling the floor beneath their feet:“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome some very special guests—the Glendale hockey team!”
The roar of the crowd nearly knocked him back a step. His stomach flipped. Thousands of screaming fans. And in a few seconds, he was supposed to dance in front of them.
“Don’t puke,” Cash muttered beside him, though his smirk was betrayed by the twitch in his jaw.
Conner slapped Murphy’s shoulder. “Piece of cake. Just like practice.”
“Yeah, except practice doesn’t come with ten thousand people filming on their phones,” Murphy shot back, half-laughing, half-panicked.
One of the band members leaned in with a grin. “You guys are gonna crush it. Just follow our lead.”
Then the stage manager gave the signal, and suddenly they were moving out of the wings, and into the blinding lights.
The crowdexploded.
Murphy’s breath caught as the noise hit him, the sea of waving arms and glowing phones stretching up into the rafters.His heart pounded, nerves tangling into excitement until he felt like he might burst.
The music kicked in, the band bantering with them between lyrics, hyping up the crowd. Wes and Ethan dove straight into the choreography, Conner and Cash powered through with surprising rhythm, and then it was Murphy’s turn.
He moved on instinct, hitting the steps, falling into the beat like it had been waiting inside him all along. The crowd screamed louder, and when he rolled his hips with the chorus. As if moving on its own, his hand slowly pulled the hem of his shirt up, revealing his abs. He hadn’t planned it, but the crowd went crazy. The noise spiked like they’d scored the game-winning goal in overtime.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
He searched for Hillary. She was right there in the VIP section, clipboard forgotten in her lap, eyes locked on him.
For one heart-stopping second, the crowd vanished, the music blurred, and it was just him and her.
The last beat hit, and the stage lights flared. Murphy and the rest of the guys struck the final pose, the band egging the crowd into a frenzy. The sound was deafening. Cheers, screams, and the kind of roar you could feel in your bones.
The lights flared as the song ended, the roar of the crowd crashing over him like a wave. Murphy was still buzzing as they left the stage, hearts pounding, sweat plastering his shirt to his skin.
