Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
DECLAN
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m still buzzing from the win two nights ago.
I walk into the training room lighter than I’ve felt in weeks, grinning before I can stop myself.
She glances up from her tablet. “Morning.”
Her smile is instant, warm enough to hit me square in the chest. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, like she’s caught off guard by her own grin. And when our eyes hold for a beat too long, I swear there’s a flicker of the same heat that’s been eating me alive.
“Morning,” I echo, a little too easy.
She sets me up with bands and stretches, all business, but I can’t help myself. I bait her, just enough to see her roll her eyes, and that smile she tries to bite back.
“Not going to take it easy on me?” I tease.
Her brows lift. “Progress doesn’t care about the score, Captain.”
I chuckle, shifting my weight. “You sound like Coach McCarthy.”
“Take it as a compliment,” she shoots back, adjusting my stance. Her hand brushes my calf, firm but steady, and every nerve in me fires hot.
She’s right here, close enough that I have to fight the urge to reach for her. I grip the band harder instead.
I should be focused on my knee, on the mechanics, on the work. But my head’s somewhere else entirely. I want more. Not just another stolen kiss in a quiet hallway, not the ache of wanting her after a win. I need her.
And for the first time, I’m not just thinking it. I’m ready to say it out loud. To David, of all people. Hiding it from him feels wrong, and if I’m going to date her, he deserves to hear it from me first.
And with the team flying out to Dallas tonight, I need to catch him before they go.
Later that afternoon, I track David down in the video room. Just him, the screen glow, and a stack of notes. No staff. No other players. Perfect.
David’s hunched at a monitor, remote in hand, replaying our last game. He barely glances up when I step in.
“Hey,” I start, my throat drier than it should be. “I need to talk to you about Charlie.”
David doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, I know she’s tough. You’re stuck with her, so make the best of it.”
He gives a short laugh, still watching the screen.
“The only way you get rid of her is if you date her.”
He snorts, finally glancing at me. “And we both know that’s not happening.”
The words slam into me like a check I didn’t see coming. I freeze, blood rushing in my ears. I hadn’t even considered what it could cost her. Her job, her career on the line. My stomach twists.
Christ. What am I doing?
I cover it fast, force a chuckle. “I was just gonna say she’s good. She knows what she’s doing.”
I nod toward the monitor. “Anyway, you guys flying out tonight?”
I pull up a chair and make myself watch the clips like nothing’s wrong.
When I head out a half hour later, there’s something I know I have to do, even if it guts me.
I rehearse it the entire drive home. By the time I step inside, I know it has to be short, clean, and to the point. lean. No room for negotiation.
I type out the text:Sorry, Charlie. Can’t do dinner tomorrow.
Feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, I hit send before I can think better of it.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with a reply from Charlie:
Everything okay?
I stare at the screen longer than I should before typing back:
Yeah. Not a good idae right now. We’ll talk later.
Right then, a car door slams. Erin’s here with Sophie. I open the front door and she bursts inside, singing and grinning.
“Glad someone had a good day,” I murmur.
She dumps her backpack and heads for the kitchen.
“I’m making hot chocolate. Want one?”
“Why not,” I say. “I’ll take one.”
We drink our hot chocolate and watch some rom-com she picks, and for a while, I let myself get distracted.
I finally check my phone before bed. No new reply from Charlie. Just the read receipt staring back at me.
I tell myself it’s for the best. She has to go back to being my PT.
Nothing more.
Sunday morning, and there’s still no reply from Charlie.
At the kitchen table, Sophie’s already hunched over a sheet of paper, pencil tapping against it. “Dad, can you look at this list with me?”
I limp over, ice pack in hand. “What list?”
“For the musical.” She slides it across. It’s a jumble of doodles and bullet points: dress, hair pins, lip gloss, shoes.
“Mr. Kenner says we all have to be performance ready by mid-May, so we can practice with the lights. I can’t believe it’s already the end of April.”
She’s practically glowing, rattling off details faster than I can keep up. I strap the ice around my knee, half-listening, half-staring at the phone still sitting face-down on the counter.
She looks up at me. “Mom said she’d help me with the makeup part. I’ve already texted her a couple times this week, but she hasn’t answered yet. Should I try again?”
My jaw tightens at Vanessa’s name. I force a smile. “Yeah, kiddo. Can’t hurt.”
She brightens instantly, thumbing out a message. I lean back, the cold burning into my knee while she beams at her screen. I should be happy she’s excited. But all I can think is how much she deserves someone who shows up.
And how I’m doing the same thing to Charlie.
For once, Vanessa actually replies—promising she’ll “drop it off real quick. I’m in town.”
A couple hours later, I’m on the couch icing my knee when a horn chirps outside. Sophie bolts for the door, already smiling, and I grab my crutches and hobble behind her.
Vanessa pulls up in her SUV, all smiles, oversized sunglasses perched like she’s headed to a photoshoot. Blonde hair glossy, makeup done, nails clicking against the steering wheel as she extends a shopping bag toward Sophie.
“Hey, Soph! Here’s the lip gloss! Isn’t this shade perfect for stage lights? I had to hit three places to find it, but it’s the best.”
Sophie beams, tugging the lip gloss out and clutching it to her chest.
“Thanks, Mom!”
Vanessa leans across the seat, phone already in her hand. “Wait, let’s get a quick picture.”
Sophie hurries closer while Vanessa snaps a couple of shots, both of them smiling wide for the camera. Then she’s already checking the screen, sliding the phone back into her bag.
Vanessa flashes me a quick smile, gives me a once-over.
“Hi, Dec. Long time. You look… tired.”
The way she says it, breezy and careless, lands like a bruise. Before I can answer, she waves, shifts into gear, and she’s gone.
Sophie doesn’t notice. She’s too busy with the lip gloss. I bite my tongue. I won’t ruin her moment.
But inside, it burns. Because this drive-by parenting, these flashes of shiny effort—they don’t mean a damn thing.
Sophie deserves so much better.
And I can’t stop thinking about how different Charlie is. Steady. Reliable. She shows up.
Sophie’s at Maya’s for a sleepover, her laughter still echoing in my head after the door closed behind her. The house feels too quiet now.
Dinner is leftover pasta, straight from the bowl while the TV flickers useless noise in the background. I can’t concentrate on any of it.
This should’ve been dinner with Charlie. I can see it too clearly—her laugh across the table, the way she tucks her hair back when she’s trying not to smile.
I shove the image away, but the guilt sits heavy anyway.
I don’t know what’s worse: that tomorrow morning I’ll have to see her, or that I don’t have a damn clue how to make this right.