Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
CHARLOTTE
Ican feel the tension radiating off him before he says a word—shoulders squared, jaw tight, every movement on edge.
“Let’s go again,” I say, looping the band around the table leg and handing him the other end.
“They’re playing Game 1 tomorrow. Without me.” His grip tightens on the band, knuckles pale. “Feels like I should be doing more than this.”
I steady my voice despite the bite in his words. “This is how you get back there, Declan. Every pull matters. You know that. We’re seeing so much improvement already.”
His eyes cut to mine—sharp, searching. The glare should sting, but it doesn’t. Not when I see what’s under it: frustration, fear, hunger. Something in my chest tightens, not with sympathy, but with a pull that feels more dangerous.
“Fine,” he mutters, resetting.
He wobbles in his stance halfway through, and I step in, palm braced at his side. My shoulder nearly brushes his chest, his breath warm against my temple. For a second too long, neither of us moves.
“Got you,” I say softly, my hand firm against him.
His eyes drop to mine—briefly, but long enough to jolt heat through my stomach.
I step back, pretending to fuss with the timer. “Reset. You’ve got it.”
He exhales slowly, adjusts, and finishes the set cleanly.
But when I bend to re-loop the band, I feel his gaze stick. Heavy. Curious. It prickles across my skin until I straighten again and meet his eyes head-on. For a heartbeat, it feels like we’re both caught in something unspoken.
Then he blinks, looks away, and I clear my throat. “Better. Stronger every day.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters, but the edge in his tone has dulled.
With a small smile, I tilt my head. “I don’t think you mean that.”
He hesitates, like the words don’t come easy, then lets out a slow breath.
“Fine,” he says after a pause, like dragging the word out takes effort. “It’s better. Doesn’t hurt half as much now—just stiff, tender if I press on it.” His mouth tugs into a reluctant smile, like admitting progress chips away at his pride.
It’s softer than anything else he’s shown me today, and my pulse skips, sharp and traitorous, as I fight to ignore it.
We shift into balance drills, single-leg stands with a slight reach. It’s clinical, the kind of exercise I’ve cued a hundred times before, but with Declan it doesn’t feel routine. He’s hyper-focused, muscles taut under the strain, and every time he steadies against me, it’s like the room tilts.
“Again,” I say, keeping my voice brisk.
He pushes through, but his jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid. I can practically hear the thoughts he’s not saying.
I cue the next drill, and his movements are sharp, almost punishing.
“Easy,” I murmur. “You’re not racing anyone here.”
He raises an eyebrow, his breath still a little uneven. “Good thing. In my state, I’d come in dead last.”
I tip my head, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “Slow and steady, remember?”
We work through the rest of the circuit, the rhythm steadier now. By the time he sinks onto the table for cooldown stretches, there’s a sheen of sweat at his temples and his breathing has evened out.
“Better,” I say, guiding his leg into position. “Stronger every day, whether you want to admit it or not.”
He tips his head back against the wall, eyes closed, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re relentless.”
His eyes open again, steady on me. “Guess some things don’t change.”
Heat pricks low in my chest at that—embarrassingly teenage.
“Guilty.” I hold the stretch a moment longer, then release. “Okay. That’s it for today.”
He sits up, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “That’s it? No extra torture today?”
I grin. “Tempted. But no. You’re off the hook for today.”
I gather the band, set it aside, then pause. “Actually, there’s one more thing.”
His eyes narrow. “That sounds suspicious.”
“Relax,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. “I talked to Dr. Patel this morning. Based on your strength tests and stability scores…” I let the pause hang, enjoying the flicker of impatience that crosses his face. “You’re cleared to drive again. As long as you keep the brace on.”
For the first time all session, his whole expression shifts—surprise, then something that almost looks like relief breaking through the storm cloud he’s been carrying.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Don’t make me regret telling you.”
The sheepish smile is back, only brighter this time, and it does something unsettling to my chest.
“Guess that’s one win this week,” he murmurs. He glances toward his crutches, then back at me. “So that means no more chauffeur service?”
I grin. “Afraid so. Better enjoy your last ride home with team services today.”
The look he gives me then—grateful, softened, still a little stormy—sticks longer than it should. And I realize I’m smiling back like an idiot.
By the time I’ve logged my session notes and packed up my kit, the arena feels cavernous. With most of the roster on the road for Round 1, there isn’t much left to cover here. My main priority now is Declan—and keeping his recovery on track.
I’m halfway to my car when my phone buzzes with a text from Erin.
David’s on the road and it’s just us tonight. Come over? Girls’ night—me, Sophie, Maya, and you. We’d love to have you.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I realize it. It’s been a while since I’ve had an easy night like that, and it hits me: I need that.
Count me in, I type back.
On the drive over, I make a mental note to swing by the store for snacks. Girls’ night deserves sugar and carbs.
I barely knock before the door swings open and Maya barrels into me, nearly colliding with the grocery bag on my arm.
“Aunt Charlotte! Come on—we already picked songs.”
I laugh, tightening my grip on the bag so I don’t drop it. “Good thing I brought reinforcements.”
Sophie’s right behind her, hair in a topknot, remote clutched like it’s a mic. She grins. “Good. We needed another singer.”
I laugh as Maya tugs me inside. “You two have this all planned, don’t you?”
“Obviously,” Sophie says, already queuing something on the speaker.
Erin appears in the doorway just then, eyeing the bag on my arm.
“You came prepared,” she says, taking it from me and heading for the kitchen. “I’ll add it to the stash.”
The living room’s a riot of snacks—a pizza box open on the coffee table, chips spilling out of bowls, the bag of candy I brought sitting open beside it, Erin ferrying cans of sparkling water from the kitchen. She hands me one as I drop my coat.
“You cut the brownies, I’ll plate?” she says, nudging the cutting board toward me with a grin.
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re bossy.”
“Efficient,” she shoots back, and bumps my hip before disappearing to referee the girls.
Maya and Sophie launch into their opening number from the musical, and I still can’t get over how good they sound together. They belt with zero hesitation, trading lines, nudging each other when one misses a note. By the end, both are doubled over laughing.
“Okay, your turn.” Sophie shoves the extra mic at me before I can protest.
“Wait—me?”
Maya is already pressing play.
The lyrics flash up on the TV, bouncing across the screen in neon text.
The first bars of a pop song I know by heart pour from the speaker.
The girls are bouncing, pointing at me like I’m the missing piece of their trio.
By the chorus, I give in, and the three of us are practically yelling the lyrics, Erin cheering from the doorway like it’s a sold-out show.
I can’t carry a tune to save my life, and no one cares. We’re all laughing too hard to notice anyway.
Between songs, Sophie flops onto the couch beside me, stealing a handful of popcorn. Her voice drops, quieter. “You’re still coming to the musical, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Her whole face lights up before she launches back into a debate with Maya over the next duet.
I lean back, watching them bicker over playlists—Erin laughing as she grabs a pizza slice—and something eases inside me. I’ve missed this—noise, family, being part of the little in-between moments.
Erin glances over just then, her smile soft. “Glad you came.”
“Me too,” I admit, surprised by how much I mean it.
For the rest of the night, the living room is all laughter, song, and the kind of easy warmth I carry with me all the way home.
By the time I’m back at my place, my cheeks still ache from laughing with the girls. It’s been a long time since I felt that easy, folded into family like I never left.
The dashboard clock glows past ten when my phone buzzes on the console. A text from Kristy lights the screen:
Drinks soon? You owe me a night out.
I laugh, shaking my head as I text her back.
Deal.
I slip my phone into my bag, warmth lingering in my chest. Being back here has always felt familiar, but tonight it feels different—more rooted, like home is finally shaping itself around me again.
Only now, that includes Declan. And I’m still not sure what to do with that.