The silence between them stretched, taut and trembling, before she finally whispered, “I didn’t ask.”
“For all the times we’ve spent together,” Murphy said, voice low but steady, “there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
Hillary’s pulse kicked. She’d just thrown all her fears at him, and he hadn’t even flinched. Now he was looking at her like he was about to hand her something fragile, something he didn’t give to just anyone.
She swallowed, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
Murphy leaned back, rubbing his palms on his knees before he finally looked at her.
“So, you’ve met my family now,” he said quietly. “I’m the oldest. Patrick’s twenty-one. My sister’s only sixteen.”
He paused, jaw tight, like he was weighing whether to go on.
“When I was fourteen, Patrick went into cardiac arrest. We didn’t know what was wrong at first, just that he collapsed. I thought I was gonna lose my little brother right there in our living room.”
Hillary’s breath caught, but she stayed silent.
“They figured out later it was his heart. He’s had surgeries since then, procedures, endless doctors. And my parents, they did everything they could, but they leaned on me. A lot. I learnedhow to cook because my mom was always at the hospital. I got my sister ready for school when my dad was working double shifts. I grew up fast.”
His voice softened, but the words still landed like heavy stones.
“I’ve been carrying responsibility since I was fourteen. I’ve seen things most people my age haven’t. And yeah, I smile, I joke, I let people think I’m this happy-go-lucky guy who doesn’t have a serious bone in his body… but that’s not all of me. Not even close.”
He leaned forward now, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes burning into hers.
“So don’t tell me I’m too good. Don’t tell me I don’t understand what life really is. Because I do. I’ve been living it. And if I say I want you—you—it’s because I know exactly what that means.”
Murphy’s voice softened, but he didn’t look away.
“And as for kids . . . ” he shrugged, running a hand over the back of his neck. “If I was with someone who really wanted them, I think I’d be fine. I could do it. But the truth is, I’ve already spent so much of my childhood raising my sister. Making sure she got to school, that she had dinner, that the world didn’t swallow her whole while my mom and dad were pulled in a thousand different directions.”
His lips pressed together, the corner twitching like he was holding back a hundred more memories.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. She’s one of the best parts of my life. But I guess . . . ” he exhaled slowly, “I’m okay not having kids too. I don’t need it. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything if that’s not what my life looks like.”
Murphy leaned forward then, forearms braced on his thighs, his gaze steady on hers.
“So when you say you don’t want them? That doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t make me think you’re wrong for me. It just makes me think you’re telling me the truth about who you are. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted, Hillary. For you to let me see the real you, not the version you think I deserve, or that feels safe.”
All of the breath left her body.
Her chest caved in like she’d been hit with a fist she didn’t see coming.
“I had no idea,” she whispered, voice cracking around the edges. Her eyes searched his face, looking for some sign that maybe he didn’t mean it, that maybe she hadn’t been so blind. “I should have asked. I just, I assumed.”
Her throat tightened, shame rushing in hot. All the times she’d put words in his mouth. All the choices she’d made for both of them without ever once letting him tell her whathewanted.
Murphy didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look surprised. He just looked at her with those steady hazel eyes, hurt, maybe, but patient in a way that made it worse. Like he’d been waiting for her to catch up.
Murphy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but steady. “You don’t get to assume my life for me, Hillary.”
Her eyes flicked up, startled, but he didn’t look away.
“You keep acting like you know what’s best for me, like you’re protecting me from something. But you never asked. You just decided.” His jaw tightened, but not with anger. It was something deeper, something raw. “I’ve spent my whole life with people making choices for me: what games I could miss, what responsibilities I had, what sacrifices I should make. I did them gladly, because I love my family and I love hockey. But this? You and me? That’s supposed to beours. Not something you shut down before I even get to say what I want.”
He drew in a breath, softer now.
“I don’t want perfect. I don’t want easy. I want partnership. And you don’t get to take that away without at least letting me fight for it.”
