Chapter Seven
CHARLOTTE
Sundays are my day off.
No tape, no ice packs, no one wincing through hip mobility drills while pretending they’re fine.
And, for the first time all week, no Declan Tremayne.
That thought stops me as I towel-dry my hair.
I don’t know why I notice it. Or why it makes something shift in my chest.
Working with Declan, even when he’s impossible, has a way of sticking with me.
He shows up. Grumbles, but listens.
Mostly.
And sometimes—between reps or stretch checklists—he says something that makes me look up.
About Sophie. His team. Just an observation I didn’t expect him to share.
And then it passes, like he didn’t mean to say it.
I shake it off, dragging a brush through my hair.
Today’s about grilled food, folding chairs, and spending time with David, Erin, and Maya.
I’ve barely seen my niece since moving back, and I want that to change.
No patients.
No pressure.
No Declan.
I exhale and tell myself it’s relief.
But I’m not so sure.
The smell of grilled meat hits me before I even reach the backyard gate—charcoal, spice rub, and something slightly sweet. Probably Erin’s brown sugar ribs. I push through the fence, carrying chips and napkins.
“Back here!” David calls out.
The yard’s already set up: folding chairs clustered around propane heaters, drink buckets bracketing the patio steps, Maya setting the Bluetooth speaker to some tween-friendly playlist.
It’s more than I expected.
Not in a bad way, just… not the quiet family hangout I’d envisioned.
I spot Erin near the grill and wave. She’s in a puffy vest and jeans, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a braid.
“Hey! This smells incredible.”
She grins. “You’re just in time. Maya’s planning a duet with Sophie after dinner.”
Wait. Sophie?
And then I hear it—the deeper rumble of a voice I wasn’t expecting.
Declan.
He’s in the far corner of the yard, quarter-zip and dark jeans, braced knee stretched out, one crutch leaning casually against the table. He’s smiling at something David just said. An actual, full-on, real smile.
I hadn’t seen him give one of those yet.
The sight of him like this knocks something loose in my chest.
There’s an ease to his posture I haven’t seen before, a beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.
This version of him—unhurried, unguarded, at ease—definitely isn’t the one I’ve spent the past week working with.
David’s beside him in a zip-up hoodie and backward cap, all relaxed limbs and easy charisma.
A girl’s perched on the bench next to Declan—chatty, animated, her legs swinging as she talks. She’s got dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that mirrors his so closely I don’t need to ask who she is.
That has to be Sophie.
My breath catches.
I blink, try to keep my expression neutral. This isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I asked who else would be here.
Still, I wasn’t expecting to see him.
And I definitely wasn’t expecting the way my chest softens when I see how he looks at his daughter—easy, proud, that rare smile breaking loose like he forgot to hold it back.
She says something that makes him laugh, and he reaches out instinctively, tugging one of her braids.
Is this really the same person I’ve been working with all week?
I make my way over, aiming for casual.
David's in the middle of telling some story when I step up. Declan glances over at the sound of my footsteps. His gaze catches mine—and this time, there’s the smallest lift at one corner of his mouth.
“Didn’t recognize you without the polo and tablet.”
I hold up the grocery bag. “I come bearing chips and napkins. Now the party can officially start.”
“Lifesaver,” David says, taking the bag from me. “You're just in time. Sophie and Maya are planning to hijack the backyard entertainment.”
At the sound of her name, the girl next to Declan turns toward me—dark-haired, blue-eyed, legs swinging off the bench like a metronome. She studies me, chin tipped, curious.
“Hey there,” I say with a small smile. “I’m Charlotte. Maya’s aunt.”
Her eyes widen a little, then she grins. “Oh! Cool.”
Declan clears his throat, adding, “She’s also helping me at work.”
Sophie turns to him. “How?”
“She’s my physical therapist,” he says simply. “Helping me get my leg back in shape.”
Sophie’s face lights up. “Wait, seriously? That’s so cool.”
Then she looks at me again, more curious now. “So... is he doing okay? Like, really?”
“He’s doing great,” I say honestly.
“Do you think he’ll be skating again soon?”
“That’s the plan. But he has to be patient.”
Sophie sighs. “Good luck with that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Declan grunts, but there’s the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
She leans back with a satisfied nod, then turns to Declan.
“You’re not eating?” she asks him.
“I will.”
She huffs, but it’s all affection.
“I’ll make you a plate,” she announces, hopping up before he can argue.
She brushes past me on her way to the buffet table. I step aside to let her through, then glance back at Declan. He’s watching her, relaxed posture, mouth tilted in that subtle almost-smile.
Declan shifts, reaching for his crutch to stretch his braced leg out more.
“Don’t worry,” I add lightly, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I’m off today.”
He lifts his beer slightly like a toast. “Good. I’d hate to get benched at a family cookout.”
Sophie returns a minute later, balancing a plate of food with both hands.
“Eat this before it gets cold,” she warns. “You’ll be grumpy otherwise.”
I like her already.
“You’re bossy,” he tells her.
“You’re welcome,” she says, then flops onto the edge of the deck beside Maya, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands.
Declan watches her go.
“You seem like a good dad,” I say before I can overthink it.
He gives a small shrug, like he’s not used to compliments. But he doesn’t deflect either.
“I try.”
Dinner winds down in waves—plates scraped clean, chairs shifted closer to the heaters, laughter carrying across the yard.
At some point, Maya pulls her phone from her hoodie pocket and whispers something to Sophie. The two of them huddle, giggling, then dart over to Erin.
“Can we do it now?” Maya stage-whispers, practically bouncing on her toes.
Erin smiles and waves them on. “Of course. Go on—let’s hear it.”
They light up, racing toward the clear patch of patio like it’s a real stage.
Maya taps at her phone, and a soft instrumental intro floats out into the yard. Something acoustic and sweet. Sophie stands a little stiff at first, hands at her sides, until Maya elbows her.
Then she smiles—wide and unapologetic—and starts to sing.
And holy cow… she’s good.
Her voice is clear, warm, and expressive. She sings like she means it, like she feels it, and Maya backs her with harmonies that make the whole thing feel… kind of magical.
Erin beams. David’s got his arm around her shoulders. I glance to my left.
Declan’s watching Sophie with a quiet kind of pride—shoulders relaxed, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
And in that moment, it’s obvious—he doesn’t need to say he’s proud.
It’s written all over him.
The song ends to clapping and cheers. Maya bows dramatically. Sophie laughs and tugs her into a half-hug before ducking back to the lawn.
“Dang,” I murmur. “She’s got pipes.”
Declan nods. “She does.”
Maya plops down next to me on the porch step, breathless from the performance.
“Did you like it?”
“You two crushed it.” I nudge her knee gently. “Seriously, that was amazing.”
She beams. “We’re doing our musical at school next month. You should come!”
“Yeah?” I smile. “When is it?”
“May 29th. It’s a Friday night.”
I pause, thinking through the team’s rehab and travel schedule in my head.
“I’d love to. I’ll check if I can take that night off and get back to you, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, totally unbothered, already twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
Erin claps her hands. “Alright, anyone who doesn’t help clean up gets stuck with trash duty tomorrow.”
Maya and Sophie groan, scattering into motion. Erin starts collecting plates, and I rise to help without thinking. I’m halfway to the table when I hear David behind me.
“Hey—can you give Declan a ride home? Sophie’s staying over, and he lives pretty close to you.”
I blink, surprised, my stomach fluttering for some reason.
That’s right. He’s not cleared to drive yet.
“Uh, sure. Of course.”
“I can just call a car,” Declan says immediately, already reaching for his phone like that settles it.
“It’s fine,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I don’t mind.”
He hesitates, then nods once—quiet, resigned.
After dessert, the girls start a movie in the living room, and Erin and David drift toward the kitchen with the last of the cleanup.
Declan stays out on the porch, nursing a beer, his gaze flicking occasionally toward the open door where Sophie’s voice floats out.
I settle beside him on the steps without overthinking it.
The porch light catches the sharp lines of his profile, the quiet tension in his jaw, the soft crease between his brows.
“Nice night,” I say, more for something to fill the quiet.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Been a while since I’ve done something like this. Usually too busy. The only benefit of being injured, I guess.”
We just sit like that for a minute—still and companionable—until David pops his head out the door.
“You know, growing up, Dad would have made us earn dessert with a full round of sprints.”
I grin. “Or backwards crossovers in the driveway. Remember when he made you two practice saucer passes through the tire swing?”
David nods, then grimaces. “I still have nightmares about suicide drills.”
Declan smirks. “He made us earn our Gatorade.”
I grin. “And I always wanted to be in the middle of it. I was such a rink rat.”
Declan chuckles, low. “It’s hard to believe your dad, Coach Blake, finally retired.”
I nod, a soft ache behind my ribs. “Right? I wish he was still here. He moved to California after retiring last year. He swore he'd never shovel snow again.”