"Thanks, Pop," he said before he walked over for a hug.
They were joined by the rest of his family. His mom and sister handed him his bags, packed with leftovers from the holiday meal, and his brother gave him a big hug.
"We'll miss you," his mom said, pulling him down to kiss his cheek.
He got in his car and pulled down the drive as his dad slipped his arm around his mom, and his family waved. They were a holiday card, and Murphy couldn't imagine growing up any other way. And now he had the best of both worlds. He made enough money so none of them had to worry about it anymore. He could help to take care of Patrick and would probably take care of him later in life. But he still had that warmth and close-knit family that had been forged in meals of ramen noodles and taking the bus home after late-night practices to help out.
In fact, he'd gone to BU and lived at home for the first two years until he moved into the hockey house. He got drafted in his senior year and was lucky enough to stay close enough to Boston that he was still able to help out and feel close to his family.
As he was on his drive back to Glendale, he tried again to call Hillary, but got nothing. He wished he knew what had changed. Being with her was like being on a roller coaster, but it was worth every drop and loop.
The drive back to his condo felt endless. The highway blurred, and Christmas lights twinkled on houses he barely noticed. His family was behind him, warm and safe, and yet his chest ached with something he couldn’t leave there.
By the time he pulled off the main road, he realized where he was headed, and it not toward his own place, but toward hers.
He told himself it was just to see. To reassure himself that she wasn’t alone, lights off, curtains drawn. Maybe Sydney was with her. Maybe she was laughing, wine glass in hand, and he could drive home knowing she was okay.
But when he turned onto her street, his stomach flipped.
Her car sat in the driveway still covered in snow. The house was dark except for a single lamp glowing in the living room window. One lone light.
He parked at the curb, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
Was he hoping she wouldn’t be home? Or was he praying she’d open the door? He didn’t know anymore.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he killed the engine, climbed out, and crossed the quiet yard. Each step crunched in the snow, loud in the still night.
He reached the porch, lifted his hand, and knocked.
The sound echoed, his heart pounding with it.
And then silence.
He was about to turn back to his car, but then the door slowly opened.
33
HILLARY
The glow of her small Christmas tree flickered across the living room, casting warm light.White Christmasplayed softly from the TV, Bing Crosby’s voice filling the otherwise quiet house.
Hillary sat curled on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, half her attention on a proposal. Work never stopped, not for holidays, not for family, not even for her own exhaustion. She’d spent the morning with Sydney, exchanging gifts and lingering over brunch, but now her sister was on call at the hospital. Which left Hillary alone, chasing productivity in the dim glow of twinkling lights.
The knock at the door startled her.
Her head snapped up, heart jumping. It was already after nine. No one came by unannounced at this hour. Unless . . .
She set her laptop aside and stood, smoothing her sweater with nervous hands as she crossed to the door. Her pulse quickened with every step, a strange mix of dread and hope twisting together.
She knew who it might be.
And when she opened the door, she was right.
Murphy stood on her porch, shoulders hunched against the cold, snowflakes clinging to his hair. His cheeks were pink from the wind, his breath puffing out in the freezing night.
And he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Her heart stopped.
