Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
CHARLOTTE
It takes everything I have not to think about the kiss.
Yesterday morning at PT, I played it cool. Kept my voice even. My cues sharp. Clinical. Professional.
But every time I adjusted his brace or checked his quad activation, I felt it—that hum under my skin, that tension just below the surface.
He didn’t say a word about it—didn’t even flinch, just stared straight ahead and acted like nothing happened.
And I did the same, because if I’d let myself soften, even for a second, it all would’ve spilled out.
Was it a mistake to him? Just a moment he’s already filed away as nothing?
I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. My mind says to let it go. My body refuses to listen.
Now, the silence is louder than ever.
I’m still in my kitchen, sipping lukewarm coffee and telling myself I imagined it—that I read too much into it—when my cell rings.
Not a text. Not a ping.
A call.
From Declan.
My heart kicks.
I swipe to answer. “Hey—everything okay?”
His voice is low, but there’s a tightness there. Like he’s holding something in.
“It’s Sophie. I think she just got her period. First one. She woke up freaking out. She keeps asking for her mom and… Vanessa’s not answering. I didn’t know what to do. I figured… maybe you would.”
I’m already grabbing my purse and PT bag.
“I’ll be right there.”
On the way, I stop by a corner store for some essentials.
Declan opens the front door before I can knock.
His hair’s a mess. He’s barefoot. The relief in his eyes when he sees me?
It nearly floors me.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, stepping aside. “She’s upstairs in her room.”
“It’s no problem,” I murmur.
He nods and leads me up the stairs. There’s a framed team photo at the landing, a photo of Sophie in a glittery frame on the wall, and the faintest trace of vanilla and peppermint in the air.
He gestures toward the second door. “She’s in there.”
I knock softly, then crack the door open. “Hey, Sophie. It’s me.”
She’s curled sideways on the bed in a hoodie and pajama shorts, hugging a pillow to her stomach, cheeks blotchy and eyes puffy.
“It really hurts,” she whispers. “And I feel gross.”
“I know what to do, kind of,” she mumbles into the pillow. “They talked about it in health class, and some of my friends already got theirs. But when it actually happened, I just… freaked out.”
I nod. “That’s normal. Knowing it in your head and going through it for real are two totally different things.”
I set my bag on the desk and move closer, keeping my voice light. “Well, good news. I come bearing supplies.”
From the bag, I pull out a full pack of pads, two kinds of herbal tea, a heat pack, a bar of chocolate, and a travel bottle of mild pain reliever.
Her eyes go round. “Wait—you brought all that for me?”
“It should make today a whole lot easier, believe me.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and let her stay curled up while I talk her through what’s happening—what the cramps mean, how long they might last, how to track her cycle on a free app I recommend.
Sophie listens without interrupting, face half-buried in the pillow. The longer we talk, the more the tension eases from her shoulders.
The whole time, I keep my tone easy, like this is no big deal. Because it isn’t—not really.
I talk her through how to use everything I brought, and she slips into the bathroom for a few minutes.
When she returns, she looks a little lighter, like just having a plan eased some of the weight.
She climbs back into bed and sets her phone on the nightstand. Then, after a beat, she picks it back up and glances at me.
“Can I text you? Just in case I forget something later?”
“Of course,” I say. “Here.”
I tell her my number, and a second later, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Hi it’s Sophie ??
I smile, warmth flooding through me. “Got it.”
She leans against the pillow, pressing the heating pad against her stomach.
“I’m glad you came,” she whispers. “You don’t make it feel like this huge, embarrassing thing.”
That one hits me square in the chest.
I brush a strand of hair from her face. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s normal. You’re allowed to feel crappy about it. And hey, at least you get to miss school today.”
She nods into the pillow, and I squeeze her hand before heading back downstairs.
Declan is waiting in the kitchen, one hand braced on the counter, the other raking through his hair. He looks like it took everything in him not to pace outside her door.
The second he sees me, the question’s already on his lips.
“She okay?” he asks.
“She will be. First time’s rough, especially when you’re twelve and everything’s new and weird.”
He exhales through his nose. “Thanks for coming. I owe you, big time.”
I nod, my eyes flicking over to the living room couch—the same spot we sat two nights ago when I helped him in, just before that almost-kiss.
That was here.
Right there.
A flicker of heat rises in my chest before I force it back down.
Because I’m here for Sophie. And because if I keep remembering the way he looked at me that night, I might not be able to pretend it didn’t mean anything.
He hesitates. “Can we do PT here today? I don’t want to leave her.”
I smile. “Let me check in.”
I pull out my work phone and call Dr. Patel. I explain the situation, assure him I have everything I need in my kit and that I’ll file session notes as usual.
He approves it without hesitation.
“Oh, and Charlotte?” he adds at the end, his voice light. “That personal day you requested? May 29th? It’s cleared. You’re all set.”
Relief floods me. I’ll be able to see Sophie and Maya’s musical. “Thank you.”
When I hang up, I turn to Declan. “We’re good to go.”
He looks genuinely grateful, and for a second, there’s a soft silence between us. No awkwardness, no tension—just two people moving through the morning together.
We start with mobility work—gentle stretching, some weight shifts on the stairs, then move to core stabilization using a resistance band I loop around the stair railing. His form is tight, his concentration sharper than yesterday, but it’s the in-between moments that catch me.
Like the way his eyes soften when I reset the timer and he murmurs, “Thanks for showing up.” Or the quiet sound of Sophie’s playlist drifting down from upstairs—a mix of musical theater and mellow indie pop that makes the space feel lived-in.
We don’t talk about the kiss. Not once. But I feel it in every glance that lingers too long, in the moments our fingers brush as I hand him the band.
By the time we wrap, Sophie’s padding downstairs in fuzzy socks, wrapped in a blanket. She curls into the corner of the couch, her eyes still puffy but more relaxed.
I turn to her with a smile. “Good timing. I just found out I can be at your and Maya’s musical next month.”
Her face lights up. “Wait, really? You can meet my mom!”
I glance up just in time to catch the change in Declan’s expression. Subtle, but undeniable. A flicker in his eyes. A muscle in his jaw tightening. Like he already knows that meeting might not happen.
“I hope I get the chance,” I say gently, smoothing the edge of Sophie’s blanket.
Declan doesn’t say anything.
The silence between us suddenly says a whole lot more.
Sophie’s curled up again with her heating pad and earbuds in by the time I gather my things. The living room’s quiet now, sunlight slanting in through the back windows. Declan stands near the door, crutch propped against the wall, knee brace adjusted from our earlier session.
“I should head to the facility,” I say, grabbing my tablet. “Catch up on notes and finish the afternoon shift.”
“Thanks again… for all of this.” His voice is rough with exhaustion and something else, something quieter.
“You don’t have to thank me, Declan.”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking at me like he’s trying to find the right words and coming up empty.
I should leave. I know I should.
But I linger in the doorway anyway, clutching the strap of my bag like it might anchor me.
“She’s lucky to have you, you know.”
His jaw tenses. “I don’t always feel like enough.”
Something about the way he says it—flat, without drama, like it’s just the truth—knocks the wind out of me.
“You are,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His eyes flick toward mine, and for a second, we stand there. He draws in a breath, like he’s right on the edge of saying something.
My pulse jumps, waiting, but then he exhales instead, lips flattening into a firm line. The moment slips away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, breaking the moment gently.
“Yeah.”
I step outside into the sharp afternoon air and let the door click shut behind me. My fingers fumble for my keys as I replay the quiet look on his face a moment ago.
On the drive to the arena, Kristy calls. She’s halfway through asking about my morning when my silence gives me away.
“Okay, what happened?” she demands, suspicion sharp under the tease.
I almost tell her. Almost spill everything about Sophie, about Declan, about that kiss I still can’t stop replaying in my head.
But I don’t. Not yet.
“Nothing,” I say lightly. “Just… I’ll dive into it later with you, I promise.”
There’s a pause, then her voice softens. “Fine. Keep your secrets. For now. But you know I’ll drag it out of you eventually.”
I smile despite myself. She’s not wrong.
And for once, I’m glad she lets me go, because I’m still not sure what any of it means.
My mind drifts back to Declan.
We still haven’t talked about the kiss.
But something shifted today.