Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
DECLAN
The smell of toast lingers in the air, sunlight stretching slow across the counters.
The coffee maker clicks in rhythm, the kind of quiet morning that feels like a reset.
I’m taking out Sophie’s favorite cereal when I hear it—soft singing from down the hall, clear and sure.
It’s the first time I’ve heard her sing since she walked in on Charlotte and me having dinner last weekend.
And just like that, something in my chest eases.
A minute later, she pads into the kitchen, still in socks, hair pulled back, shoulders looser than they’ve been in days.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” she answers, grabbing a bowl and pouring cereal. It’s been days of short answers and careful silences. But this morning, the air feels different. Easier somehow.
I pour coffee and wait, pretending not to notice the way she glances up at me, then back down again.
“Want strawberries or banana on top?” I ask, reaching for the cutting board.
“Banana,” she says, voice quiet but not closed off.
Progress.
A few minutes pass before she speaks again.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
She fidgets with her spoon, eyes tracing the pattern in the tabletop. “I’m sorry I’ve been weird lately.”
I set my coffee down, careful not to move too fast. “You don’t have to be sorry, Sophie.”
“I just…” She sighs, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you and Charlotte were—like that. I thought she was just your PT.”
“I know,” I say softly. “It was a surprise for both of us, too.”
She nods, quiet again, then blurts, “I like her. I do. She’s nice. It was just weird, seeing her here. With you.”
“That makes sense.” I sit across from her, keeping my tone even. “You’re used to it being just us.”
“Yeah.” She stirs her cereal again, then glances up. “You’ve never dated anyone since Mom.”
The truth lands between us, simple and heavy. “No. I haven’t.”
“Why now, though?” she asks. Not accusing, just curious.
I think about it before answering. “Because she makes things feel… steady. Not easy, exactly, but real.”
Sophie’s eyes soften. “You’ve been smiling more lately.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I have, huh?”
She nods, giving me a smile. “Yeah.”
I can’t help a small chuckle. “You know what’s funny? When I was your age, I thought Charlotte was the most annoying person on the planet.”
Sophie blinks, mid–spoonful. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Always smiling, always talking, always trying to make me join in whatever chaos she and your Uncle David were up to.”
Her mouth quirks like she’s trying not to grin. “You hated fun, didn’t you?”
“Still do,” I tease. “She just stopped letting me get away with it.”
I reach across the table, resting my hand over hers. “I know this was a lot to take in. But this doesn’t change us, okay? You’re still my number one.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand, small and sure.
The quiet that follows isn’t awkward anymore. It’s the kind that feels settled, like an exhale we both needed.
She finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and checks her phone on the counter. “Maya just texted—they’re outside.”
I glance toward the window. Sure enough, Erin’s SUV idles at the curb.
She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Can we make pancakes this weekend?”
“Absolutely. We can even have it with hot chocolate.”
She grins, the easy kind I’ve missed all week. “Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
The door shuts behind her, and the air feels lighter—relief, maybe. Or hope.
Either way, I’ll take it.
By the time I get to the facility, the place is already buzzing with early-day noise—trainers hauling gear, skates clattering in the distance, someone’s coffee machine sputtering near the lounge.
Morning light slants through the narrow hallway windows, cutting across the floor in sharp white stripes.
Charlotte’s in the training room when I step in, sleeves pushed up, hair pinned back, scrolling on her tablet. She glances up, and her smile lands like oxygen after a long hold.
“How’s Sophie?”
The smile comes easier than it has in days. “Better. We talked this morning.”
Her whole face softens. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “She was nervous, but she asked a few things about us. I told her the truth. That I care about you. That she comes first. I think it helped.”
Charlotte exhales, shoulders dropping like she’s been holding that breath since Seattle. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Me too.” I study her for a second. “She’ll come around, Charlie. I can feel it.”
“I hope so,” she says quietly.
“Hey.” I tilt my head, a small smile tugging. “You were right, you know. About giving her time.”
“Professional intuition.”
“Yeah? Thought it was personal.”
That earns me a soft laugh, her eyes brightening just a little.
For a moment, we just stay there in the easy quiet, the worst of it finally behind us.
Then I grin. “You realize how fast we got caught?”
She groans. “Don’t remind me.”
“Guess there’s truth to what they say about best-laid plans.”
She smirks, shaking her head. “We didn’t even make it a week.”
“Rookie numbers,” I say.
Her laugh fills the space, warm and real. “Alright, Captain. Let’s get to work.”
By the time the sun’s down, the building hums long before puck drop—crowd on its feet, towels spinning, the kind of noise that crawls up through your chest.
Round 2, Game 4. Home ice. One win away from taking control of the series.
I take my place behind the bench, brace snug over my slacks, crutch tucked out of sight.
From here, everything feels alive—sweat, ice spray, the thud of gloves against boards.
Tyler’s pacing like a caged animal. Dalton’s calm as ever—forearm on the dasher, chewing his mouthguard, eyes steady on the ice.
Charlotte’s easy to spot down the tunnel—hair pinned back, tablet in hand, headset tilted just right. She moves like she belongs here now. Every time she leans toward Vic to pass along a note or check a player, she’s focused and unshakable. The rest of the staff reads her cues without a word.
Seattle comes out hard, but the Foxes settle fast. Mid-second, Torres drives the crease and shoves one past their goalie. Crowd explodes. Then Reed buries another on the power play, glove raised, grin wide enough to light the whole bench.
I grip the railing, pulse hammering. My body still reacts like I’m the one out there, but this—being in it, feeling the team’s heartbeat this close—it’s enough to quiet the part of me that still aches to skate.
The final horn blows—4-2, Ice Foxes—and the place detonates. Towels, shouting, the metallic clang of sticks on the boards. I can barely hear myself think, and I don’t need to.
Down the tunnel, Charlotte’s laughing as she dodges a spray of water from the guys heading off the ice. She glances toward the bench and just for a heartbeat, our eyes meet. One nod.
We’re good.
In the locker room, steam and music and chaos swallow everything. I hang back by the doorway, listening to them yell over each other, voices hoarse, joy unfiltered. Dalton’s got Torres in a headlock, McCarthy’s trying not to smile.
Someone’s blasting music through a speaker, the beat rattling the walls, a jersey spinning overhead like a flag.
For the first time in weeks, everything feels balanced again—Sophie, Charlie, the team.
By the time I get home, the noise of the win still hums faintly in my chest. The house is dark. Erin picked Sophie up earlier for a sleepover with Maya so I could pack for the trip. Her backpack’s still by the door, a stray scrunchie looped around one strap.
I drop my gear bag beside the couch and sink down carefully, knee stretched out, ice pack balanced where it always ends up. The brace is tight but holding. We’re up three-one in the series. One more and we close it out.
The highlight reel flickers silently on the muted TV—Torres’s goal, the guys piling in, towels flying from the stands.
Pride hits first, sharp and clean, followed by something quieter.
Gratitude, maybe. The team found its rhythm again.
Sophie’s smiling again. Charlotte’s still here, steady through all of it.
My phone buzzes once on the counter with a text from Charlotte:
See you tomorrow on the bus. I’ll have extra tape packed for your brace.
Simple. Work-related. Exactly what it should be.
Still, it pulls a small smile from me as I text her back.
Appreciate it. Night, Charlie.
Three dots flicker, then vanish. A few seconds later—
Good night, Declan.
I set the phone face-down and lean back, the quiet filling in around me. It isn’t heavy this time. It feels settled.
Sophie’s laughter from earlier still echoes faintly in my head—the way she teased me about “hating fun.” For once, she sounded like herself again.
I grab my travel bag, double-check the flight itinerary, then switch off the light. The house goes dark except for the faint glow from the street outside.
Tomorrow it’s back to the grind—the travel, the noise, the fight to finish what we started.
But tonight, for once, everything feels exactly where it should be.