46
MURPHY
Murphy shoved his hands into his pockets, head down as he left the conference room. The day had been too much, too many people, too many cameras, too many feelings clawing at the edges of his chest.
He just wanted quiet.
The hallway was dim, most of the staff already gone, the hum of the building settling into its evening rhythm. That’s when he heard it. It was soft at first, but impossible to ignore.
A sound.
Broken. Raw.
Sobbing.
He slowed, his brows drawing together. It was coming from the dark equipment room.
For a second, he thought about walking away. It was none of his business. But his feet didn’t listen. They carried him to the door, his heart thudding harder with every step.
He pushed it open a crack.
And froze.
Hillary.
Curled against the wall, shoulders shaking, tears streaking her face.
The sight hit him hard. This woman, the one who always looked untouchable, who always had the answers, was falling apart.
“Hillary . . . ” His voice came out rough, almost strangled.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, shimmering with tears.
Murphy stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The room felt too small, too heavy with everything unsaid between them.
“I—” she started, but her voice cracked. She turned her face away, like she didn’t want him to see her like this.
Murphy’s chest ached. He didn’t know what to do. He only knew he couldn’t leave her like this.
He crouched down, slowly, like approaching something fragile. “Hey . . . you don’t have to do this alone.”
Her breath shuddered. Her hands clenched against her knees. “I can’t?—”
“You can,” he said softly, his throat tight. “Or, at least . . . you don’t have to pretend with me.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Hillary’s defenses cracked again, another sob breaking free as she buried her face in her hands.
Murphy didn’t think. He just reached out, pulling her against his chest. She resisted for a heartbeat, then melted, her body trembling against his as if she couldn’t hold herself up anymore.
He held her, stroking her back, whispering words, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
And as her sobs soaked into his sweater, Murphy realized he didn’t care about the fallout, the gossip, social media, or any of it.
All he cared about was her.
Her words cut through the sound of her sobs—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—on a loop.
Murphy froze, every muscle tense, then carefully pulled back just enough to see her face. Her cheeks were wet, her lips trembling, and she couldn’t seem to stop the words from spilling out.
