Chapter Sixteen
Declan
“How’s the pain?”
The road stretches out for miles, the countryside blurring past like some twisted joke. I close my eyes, resting my head against the cool window, wishing I could go back to when the worst thing I could screw up was missing an open net during practice.
Back when things were simple.
Back before I came home broken.
My leg’s locked out stiff, my heel digging awkwardly into the floor mat. I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my muscles seize or send hot needles through my knee.
“Declan?”
Blinking, I drag my gaze from the empty fields to Dad, his brow pulled low, worry etched deep in the lines around his eyes.
“Huh?”
“I asked how your pain is.”
“Oh.” Pushing the seat back a little, giving myself room to stretch, I shrug. “Fine.”
It’s a lie. A dull throb hasn’t stopped since surgery, and the pills they sent me home with are nothing like what they gave me in the hospital.
At least there, I could pretend it wasn’t so bad, that the doctors were exaggerating, that the injury looked worse than it was.
Even being stuck in my dorm, listening to Levi’s attempts at motivational speeches…
I’d take that over the twenty-two-hour drive back home.
Because here? There’s no pretending and each flicker of pain is another reminder that my career ended before it even had the chance to start.
We pass the sign for Taunton Falls, but the familiar and warm feeling I’m ready to wash over me is missing. Today, it just feels smaller, like the town’s waiting to swallow me whole, ready with their pity disguised as sympathy.
“Dec?” Dad glances at my hands still curled into fists on my thighs. His mouth twitches like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat. “Cooper’s already at the house.”
“I know.” Shoving my hands into my hoodie pocket, I brush the edge of my phone. “He texted to say he’s helping Mom make cookies.”
Like cookies are going to fix anything.
A bitter laugh catches in my throat. Everyone’s trying, when all I wish is that they’d just leave me alone. The team tried to visit, but I wouldn’t let them, so instead they sent a video of them all crammed into the locker room after clinching a spot in the playoffs.
Way to rub salt into the wound, guys.
It’s not like they meant it, but no matter how many times Cooper tried to tell me it’s because they cared, I couldn’t watch the whole thing and deleted it anyway.
Coach Grayson left a voicemail, too, gruff and all business, reminding me about the rehab plan.
But it’s Cooper who hasn’t let up. Texts, memes, late-night song snippets…constant noise trying to fill the silence I can’t face. Somehow, through the fog of pain and defeat, he’s the only person who makes me feel like I’m not a total failure.
Logically, I know it’s not my fault this happened.
Injuries are part of the game, the risk every player takes the second they go out on that ice.
I just…never thought it would happen to me.
But logic doesn’t help when I’m wearing a brace that feels more like a cage, trapped fifteen hundred miles from the place that held my future.
The truck crunches into the driveway, engine cutting off, the quiet that surrounds us heavy. Staring at the house, I don’t move—can barely move without help anyway—the soft glow shining through the living room window hollow.
“You ready?” Dad asks, going into the back seat for my crutches before I can even reach the seatbelt and opening my door, hand out for me to hold.
“I’ve got it,” I bite out, harsher than I mean to.
Swinging my leg out, pain shoots up my thigh.
Grabbing onto the crutches, I balance on my good leg, jaw tight as I bear my weight on the supports, Dad’s hand ghosting near my elbow.
As if to make matters worse, I glance up at the front door, exhaling a sharp breath when I see Cooper standing in the doorway, hands stuffed into his hoodie.
His gaze sweeps my body, slowing when he reaches my eyes.
For a second, everything he’s thinking flashes clear as day; the instinct to rush down and help, the effort to hold himself back and let me try on my own.
Normally, I’d want that. Normally, I’d give anything to have him fuss over me, steady me, take care of me.
But not like this.
Not because I need it.
He tries to school his expression, but he’s not fast enough. I still catch it—the softening, the shift… the pity. And the worst part? Some tiny, pathetic part of me aches for him to close the distance and tell me it will be okay, even though I know I’d snap at him for trying.
“You good?” he asks, then winces immediately.
Of course I’m not. Of course he doesn’t get it. Last time I was here, I had a future. Now I’ve got a useless leg, a bottle of painkillers, and a scar that’ll outlast everything. If someone told Cooper he’d never sing again, never write another song…maybe then he’d understand.
He starts down the steps slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile. His eyes track my every move, and I hate that I’ll need his help to get to the front door, that just like everyone else, he’s waiting for me to break.
“How was the drive home?” he asks, voice low, careful.
Careful somehow feels worse than pity.
Dad breaks the silence, hefting my bag over his shoulder. “Let’s get you in, yeah?”
It takes everything I’ve got to climb those stairs. My knee protests every step, every push, and by the time I reach the top, my arms are shaking from the effort. The scent of baking and warmth hits me as soon as I walk inside, Mom’s face softening and tightening all at once the moment she sees me.
“Oh, honey,” she breathes, and before I can stop her, she’s wrapping her arms around me. Pain barrels through my leg again, and I grunt as she gasps, jerking back, eyes wide. “Oh god, did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Drink?”
“I’m not hungry.”
My crutches knock against the wall as I edge past her. Cooper hovers behind me like he’s unsure what to do, just like Dad, the pair of them practically burning holes into my back.
“I made that pasta dish you like,” Mom calls out gently. “And garlic bread, too—”
“I said I’m not hungry,” I repeat, louder this time, regret hitting seconds later, bitter and pointless.
“Declan,” Dad warns under his breath, but Mom just sighs, trying to hide the hurt.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”
“Sure,” I say, knowing that I won’t any time soon.
I head toward the looming staircase in front of me, each step looking higher than they should.
My jaw locks, resentment simmering as I look at them.
Gritting my teeth, I grab the rail and start hauling myself up.
The crutches bang on each stair as I drag them behind me, the brace digging in, my thigh burning, but my pride burns worse.
“Here,” Cooper murmurs, taking the crutches from me halfway up. I want to snap at him, but the words die when I feel the steadiness of his hand at my back. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush, just stays close.
Reaching the landing feels like finishing a marathon. I exhale heavily, and before I can tell him I don’t need his help, his hand’s there, anchoring me. And that might be the worst part: how much I do need it.
He opens my bedroom door and guides me toward the bed, holding me tight as I lower myself down. The mattress dips, pain flaring again as he sets my crutches aside and moves around the room without a second thought, fixing the pillows, flicking on the lamp, grabbing the TV remote.
I watch him, my gaze taking in my room like it’s the first time I’ve ever been in it, and everything just feels…indifferent. The trophies on the shelf, the medals catching the light, each one a relic of someone I used to be.
“Dec?” Cooper’s voice startles me, his concerned expression making my shoulders tense.
“What?”
“Do you need anything? Painkillers? Water?”
I shake my head and start pulling at my hoodie as he steps closer, ready to help, his hands steady and gentle as he guides it over my head.
“I can fucking do it,” I mutter, snatching it away and tossing it toward the hamper.
It misses by a mile, and I sneer at it laying lifeless on the floor.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need to be babied, and I sure as hell don’t need you looking at me like you’re waiting for me to fall apart so you can swoop in and do your whole comforting routine to feel good about yourself. ”
“Jesus, Declan.” He rears back, but I can’t stop, the words pouring out, sharp and mean.
“Don’t you get it? I don’t need you. Or anyone. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“I’m only trying to help,” he says, steady and soft.
“You can’t help,” I snarl, voice cracking. “No one can. It’s gone. All of it. The scouts, the agents, the draft—” I jab a finger toward my leg, the brace gleaming like a goddamn beacon. “Gone.”
“Surely, the doctor could give you—”
“The doctor can’t do shit. He might not have said never, but he didn’t have to. I can read between the lines.”
“But rehab—”
“No one’s going to fucking touch me now,” I shout. “I’m damaged goods. Forever one bad hit away from shattering again.”
“You can come back from this.” He takes a small step forward, stubborn as ever. “You said it yourself, remember? NHL or nothing.”
“Yeah?” I breathe out, hollow. “NHL or nothing… Well, congratulations to me; I got nothing.”
“But your dream—”
“Is dead!” The words tear out of me, raw and ugly. “Look at me. This is the new dream, stuck here in a dead-end town, knee full of screws, and a future that’s just…nothing. I’ve got nothing left, Cooper.”
“You’ve got me,” he says quietly.
A broken laugh slips out. “For how long? Until someone signs you and hauls you out of here? You’ll move on like everyone else. No one gives a shit about who I am without hockey.”
“That’s not true,” he snaps this time, voice booming through my self-pity fog. “I don’t give a shit about hockey, but I love you. That’s why I showed an interest in it. But you were never just the future NHL star, Declan. You were always just my Declan.”
He rushes forward and drops to his knees in front of me, and I fixate on his soft curls, the way the light catches them, anything to avoid meeting his gaze.
“I know you’re hurting, and you can yell at me all you want. But I’m not going anywhere.”
The burn behind my eyes comes out of nowhere, hot and immediate, catching me off guard. I turn my head away, my jaw tight enough that my molars ache.
“Fuck,” I rasp. “Coop, I… I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know what to do.”
He climbs onto the bed beside me, careful of my leg, and pulls me against his chest. His arms wrap tight around me, firm and grounding, the familiar scent so comforting that it almost breaks me.
“I know,” he whispers into my hair. “But we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
My breath stutters as my shoulders sag into him.
We sit in silence, Cooper never once letting up on his grip.
After a long minute, I shift back, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes, annoyed that I need to do this at all.
There’re no tears, but they’re there, waiting.
The sting’s been nipping in the distance since the doctor told me my career was over, only getting worse when Cooper leans in and presses a light kiss on my forehead.
“You’re not alone,” he says, threading his fingers into my hair. “I’m here.”
My heart aches worse than my knee, because I know he means it, but his promise is too much for him to truly keep. Because one day, he will be gone, and I’ll be left here…alone and broken. Hungry for a dream that shattered on the same ice it was built on.