“I leaned on you too much,” she pressed on. “When Patrick was sick, when your dad was working overtime, when I didn’tknow if we’d get through the week, I leaned on you. You were the oldest, and you carried so much for us. Maybe too much.”
Murphy swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he was fine, that he loved stepping up. But the lump in his chest made the words stick.
“You deserve to be happy, Murph,” she whispered, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Not just the kind of happy you show everyone else. Real happy. The kind that fills you up when no one’s watching.”
He bit his lip and looked away, blinking fast at the rain streaking down the diner window. He couldn’t say it out loud, that he’d found that kind of happiness, once, only to have it ripped away because Hillary didn’t believe she could give it to him.
His mom gave his hand one last squeeze before sliding out of the booth, heading back toward the pinball machines. “Think about it,” she said over her shoulder.
And Murphy sat there, burger cold, heart heavy, wondering if maybe he was doomed to keep chasing a happiness that never wanted him back.
Murphy pulledinto his condo garage long after the lights of Boston faded in the rearview. The quiet pressed in around him as he rode the elevator up, the lingering warmth of his family dinner already slipping away.
When he opened his door, Finn came barreling toward him, floppy ears bouncing, little paws skidding across the hardwood. Murphy crouched down, and the golden pup launched into his arms, licking his face with pure, unfiltered joy.
Murphy laughed—a deep, unguarded sound he hadn’t felt in days—as he buried his face in the dog’s fur.God, he needed this.The unconditional love, the steadiness, the reminder that not everything in his life was complicated or spiraling out of control.
He carried Finn to the couch and collapsed into the cushions. Finn curled up against his chest like he’d been waiting all day just to be here. Murphy’s heart eased, the sharp ache of Hillary’s absence softening, even just for a moment.
His mom’s words echoed in the back of his mind.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn’t the golden retriever everyone thought: always happy, always uncomplicated. He was more.
He kissed the top of Finn’s head and let the quiet settle in.
Maybe it was time he started acting like it.
44
HILLARY
SPRING
It had been a little over two weeks since that cold February in Boston, and while the warm spring air had made an appearance the last few days, the air in the rink stayed chilly. Murphy hadn’t spoken to her since.
It was for the best. It was what she wanted.
The center was buzzing, staff moving fast, the hum of a normal morning pulling her forward. She wove down the hall, heels clicking against the tile, the familiar rhythm almost grounding her.
Until she opened her office door.
The desk was bare.
No coffee. No muffin. No cheerful note written in Murphy’s handwriting.
Just how it’d been every day since they got back.
So why did it feel like someone had just reached into her chest and squeezed her heart until she couldn’t breathe?
Hillary shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, pressing her hand flat to her sternum. She forced in a breath, then another. She had work to do. That was steady, safe, controllable.
If she repeated that enough, maybe she’d start to believe it.
Hillary had somehow gotten through the day, hiding in her office as much as she could. But tonight was a game night, and skipping it wasn’t an option. Earlier in the week, the story about Sven becoming a single dad had dropped. It had landed well—better than she’d dared hope—but it meant the spotlight on the organization was brighter than ever.
As head of PR, she needed to be there, needed to be seen. No matter how much her brain felt fogged over, no matter how much her chest ached every time she thought of Murphy, this was her job. Luckily, she had Sasha: sharp, capable, and always steady, at her side. Hillary could lean on her tonight if she had to. God, she hated how much she felt like she needed to.
She tugged her blazer tighter as she made her way through the arena corridors, the roar of the crowd already vibrating through the walls. Normally, that sound lit her up inside, reminded her why she loved this job. Tonight, it just reminded her how thin she felt, stretched too far in too many directions.
