His parents wrapped Patrick in proud hugs, his sister teasing him about the goal until he tugged her into a headlock, laughing. The warmth radiating from them was overwhelming, like standing too close to the sun. Too bright. Too much.
Then came the inevitable question:“And who’s this?”
Murphy’s smile was polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She works for the Magic,” he said smoothly. Luck was on her side, no one pressed for more.
Introductions circled around, names and faces blurring together in the rush of affection she didn’t belong in. Until?—
“And this is Patrick,” Murphy said, his voice softening as though the whole world slowed for his brother.
“I'm the better brother," he said leaning in. "I work in hockey too.”
Hillary couldn’t help her smile. “Is that right?”
Patrick beamed. “Yeah! I work in the concessions. People need their pretzels.”
“They sure do.”
The family folded back into their rhythm, buzzing around her, drawing Murphy in. Hillary watched for a beat, her heart twisting tighter with every moment. This was everything she wasn’t. Everything she could never be.
She bowed out quietly, slipping toward the exit. No one stopped her.
By the time she slid into the backseat of her Uber, she half-expected to see Murphy jogging after her, calling her name.
But he didn’t.
She glanced back once, just in case. He wasn’t there.
As the car pulled away toward the airport, the weight of it all sank into her chest. Coming here was a mistake.
43
MURPHY
Murphy leaned against the wall near the rink doors. His brother was still in the locker room, taking his time, like always.
“Murph,” his mom said softly, stepping closer. Her eyes—kind, sharp in a way only moms could manage—searched his face. “Everything okay in Glendale?”
He let out a long, hard sigh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, begging to spill out. About Hillary. About the scrutiny bearing down on him. About how nothing felt steady anymore.
But he couldn’t do that. Not here. Not when his mom had enough to worry about with Patrick.
“Yeah,” he said finally, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “Everything’s fine.”
Murphy shifted his weight, glancing at the exit doors.
“You’ve gotta lie better than that, Murphy,” his mom said suddenly, her tone cutting through his thoughts. She set Patrick’s gear bag down and leveled him with the kind of look that stripped him bare. “I know when something’s bothering you.”
Murphy forced a smile, shaking his head. “You always do. Always could tell me what’s wrong.”
She crossed her arms, waiting.
He exhaled slowly. “It’s not nothing. But it’s also . . . it’s a problem there’s no real way to fix.”
“Try me,” she said softly. “Talk to me. We can figure it out.”
Murphy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling that old ache push through the cracks he’d been trying to seal. Finally, the words tumbled out, low and rough.
“There’s this woman. And the woman wants nothing to do with me. So . . . no. There’s no fix.”
