The conference room had been transformed into a set. Lights, cameras, a cozy reading nook with beanbags, and a scattering of toys to make the players’ kids feel at home. It was chaos, but the good kind, the kind where the air buzzed with purpose instead of panic.
Natalie’s grandfather,theMr. Roper, had swept in like a force of nature. When he heard what Natalie was going through, he didn’t hesitate. He’d offered his name, his platform, and his heart. Today, he was reading the very book she’d been fired for, smiling warmly as kids leaned in close, soaking up every word. And Natalie sat beside him, her voice steady and proud as she joined in.
It was a masterclass in PR. A narrative flipped on its head, truth overpowering the smear. Hillary had orchestrated dozens of campaigns, but this one . . . this one felt different. This wasn’t about optics. It was about justice. About community. About standing shoulder to shoulder when the world tried to cut someone down.
Her chest swelled with pride. Pride in her team, in Sasha and Alice working tirelessly behind the cameras, in the players andemployees who showed up with their kids to lend support. Pride in Natalie, who had walked through fire with grace.
And then there was Sven.
The Sven Olssen she knew had been a flirt, a player both on and off the ice, a man who loved the spotlight as much as the game. But today he was something else entirely. He hovered near Natalie and Winnie like a shield, attentive, protective, his every move broadcasting that they were his, and that he wasn’t going anywhere. It startled her, this new side of him. But it also moved her.
A part of her, buried deep, wondered if maybe she could do that too. Maybe she could have that kind of partnership, that kind of steady presence.
But it was too late.
Because every time she let her eyes wander across the room, they landed on Murphy.
And Murphy wouldn’t even look at her.
It was fine, it was what she deserved. Yet as her eyes swept this room, this organization had become a family to her over the years. A family that meant way more than hers did, her sister aside. She cared deeply for everyone in this room. She cared about all the players, the employees, all of them. And more than that, she felt their love. She didn't think she that she didn't deserve their love, so why had she so easily convinced herself she didn't deserve Murphy?
As she watched him, a wave of emotion overtook her.
The shoot wrapped. The cameras dimmed, the crowd of kids filed out chattering, and the conference room slowly emptied of its whirlwind energy.
Hillary couldn’t breathe.
The pride that had buoyed her just moments ago had curdled into something heavier—guilt, grief, longing, all swirling into a knot inside her chest. She pasted on a smile, murmuredsomething about having work to finish, and slipped out before anyone could stop her.
Her heels clicked down the hallway, too fast, too loud. She just needed a place to be alone. Somewhere no one would ask questions.
She ducked into a dark equipment room and shut the door behind her.
The silence slammed into her, broken only by the faint hum of the center’s pipes and her own ragged breathing. She pressed her back to the wall, willing herself to keep it together. She was Hillary Lawson. She did not fall apart.
But then the tears came anyway. Hot, blinding, unstoppable.
Her hand shot out, bracing against the cool cinderblock as her knees buckled. She curled forward, clutching her chest, like she could physically hold herself together while the sobs ripped through her.
Because she’d done this.
She’d pushed Murphy away.
She’d told herself it was for the best, that he deserved more, deserved someone else. But standing there in the dark, she finally admitted what she’d been refusing to say out loud.
She missed him.
God, she missed him.
His coffee on her desk. His terrible jokes. The way he could make her feel lighter with just a grin. The way he’d looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
And she’d thrown it away.
Her sobs echoed in the emptiness, raw and unrestrained. For once, she wasn’t the perfect professional. She wasn’t the polished head of PR. She wasn’t the controlled older woman telling herself she knew better.
She was just Hillary.
And Hillary was heartbroken.
