“You’re too good for me,” she whispered. “You deserve more than I could ever give you.”
He stepped toward her, instinct driving him to reach for her, to hold her. But when she flinched, he froze instantly, hands falling uselessly to his sides. His pleading eyes locked on hers, and his voice came out raw.
“Is this really what you want?”
Her throat closed around the lie. She nodded, because it was all she could do.
They stood in the hush of her living room, the only sound the faint hum ofWhite Christmasstill playing on the TV. Neither moved, like breaking the moment would make it real.
Finally, Murphy’s voice cracked. “Can I at least hug you?”
She couldn’t speak. She just nodded.
And then he was there, wrapping her up, holding her like he couldn’t let go. She buried her face in his chest, hot tears threatening to spill. But with a deep breath, she locked them away.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered into the crown of her head.
And there was nothing she could say. Nothing that would make it easier, nothing that would make it hurt less. So she held him tighter, knowing this would be the last time she let herself.
She gave him one final squeeze, memorizing the feel of him in her arms, before pushing him gently back. “You should go.”
Murphy’s eyes searched hers, desperate, as if he could will her to change her mind. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. If it hurt this much now, it would only get worse if they let it drag on.
This was what they needed. A clean break. No more messing around.
Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
He slipped his shoes back on, shrugged into his coat, and lingered for half a heartbeat longer before saying softly, “Merry Christmas, Hillary.”
Then he was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, the tears she’d been holding back spilled free. She collapsed onto the couch, pressing her forehead to her knees, sobs shaking her shoulders. Through the blur, she turned toward the window, her breath catching as she watched him cross the yard.
He walked slowly, shoulders hunched against the cold, every step pulling him further away from her.
Her chest clenched. He might have been the best thing to ever happen to her, but that was exactly why she had to let him go. She would not be the reason he didn’t have the life he deserved.
She watched as he slid into his car. The headlights flicked on, bathing the snow in a pale glow. She braced herself to see him drive away.
But he didn’t.
His head dropped forward, resting against the steering wheel. He just sat there, shoulders trembling, for a long, unbearable moment.
Her throat burned, tears streaking down her face as she flattened herself against the couch, trying not to look.
Finally, she risked a glance. Murphy sat up, swiped at his face, and turned his gaze back toward the house.
Panic spiked. She quickly lay down flat on the couch, heart pounding, praying he couldn’t see her through the window.
By the time she sat back up, his taillights were glowing red in the distance, fading into the night.
Gone.
34
MURPHY
The video review blurred in front of him. Clips ran, plays froze, arrows drawn on the screen, but none of it stuck. Murphy sat there, pen in hand, trying to jot notes, but all he could see was Hillary’s face from Christmas night. The finality in her voice. The way she’d looked at him like she was already gone.
