Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DECLAN
Iwake before the alarm, the hotel room still dim except for the strip of light cutting through the curtains. My knee aches. It’s not bad, just a reminder that I’m still not cleared. Just over three weeks left, if everything stays on track.
I’m counting every damn day.
The guys pulled it off last night. Conference Final. Even standing behind the bench, I could feel it—the surge when the clock hit zero, the weight lifting off everyone’s shoulders. Pride hits first. Then the burn. I should’ve been on the ice with them.
I stretch my leg, testing my knee. Better. Stronger.
Then my mind betrays me and goes back to yesterday. The quiet after treatment. Her skin still warm against mine. It wasn’t just heat. It was something steadier, heavier. The kind of thing that doesn’t fade overnight.
I lie there for a beat, letting it settle in my chest, before I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
I shouldn’t think about it now, but it keeps finding me anyway.
The guys deserve their captain back. Sophie deserves her dad at full strength. And Charlotte deserves something we don’t have to hide.
Just three more weeks.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand just as I’m pulling on a hoodie.
Eric again. Third time in two days.
I let it ring once, twice, before I finally swipe to answer. “You don’t sleep, do you?”
“Not when you’re trending,” he says. “Listen, I’ve got something for next weekend. One of your sponsors is hosting a charity fundraiser at a community rink—family event, cameras, local kids on the ice. They want you there as the face of it.”
I rub my forehead. “I’m not cleared, Eric. I’m not skating for a photo op.”
“It’s symbolic,” he insists. “Smile for a few photos, wave to the crowd. Sponsors eat that shit up. It shows you’re still leading even off the ice.”
“I’m a player, not a mascot.” The words come out sharper than I mean, but I don’t take them back.
He sighs. “They just want you visible. You’re the story right now.”
“Yeah, and the story is I’m working to get back on the ice. That’s what I’m busy doing.”
“Fine,” he sighs, though I can tell he’s not letting it go. “Just give it some thought, okay? I’ll call you later this afternoon. They’ll keep your spot open if you change your mind.”
“Don’t count on it,” I mutter, hanging up before he starts his next pitch.
The room goes quiet again, and my mind goes to next weekend. Sophie’s supposed to be with her mom.
I wonder if Vanessa will actually show this time. Sophie’s been counting down for days, and every part of me wants to believe it’ll stick—wants to be wrong about her for once.
Still, my mind circles back to the event. I hate the PR angle, but the idea of lacing up—even for show, even for a minute—gets under my skin.
A few hours later, we’re through security and sprawled at the gate. The trainers juggle coffees and protein bars; the guys have their feet up on duffels, half asleep.
Tyler drops into the seat across from me, gives me a look. “You’ve been smiling, Cap. Kinda unnerving.”
Torres leans in like he’s discovered a crime. “Yeah, he even said hi to the ref last night. Nicely.”
“I said it so he’d hear me when I yelled later,” I deadpan.
Tyler smirks. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
I shake my head. Let them chirp. It’s easier than explaining why the edges don’t feel as sharp this week.
“You seem lighter lately,” Tyler says after a beat, half-grinning. “Is it because of the meds or a girl?”
“Pretty sure it’s the drugs,” I deadpan.
Torres laughs. “Nah, come on, Cap. You’ve actually been smiling. Who is she?”
“Nobody you need to know,” I say, adjusting my brace strap. “What you do need to know is I’m aiming to be cleared in three weeks, so you better keep this train rolling till I’m back.”
Tyler smirks. “Pressure noted.”
My phone buzzes—Mom.
Perfect timing.
I step away to answer.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Hey, sweetheart!” Her voice is bright. “We watched last night’s game. You looked so sharp in your suit. They kept catching you on camera.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Mostly pacing and pretending I wasn’t dying to grab a stick.”
Dad’s voice pipes up in the background. “Hell of a win, son. Conference Final! Bet it’s killing you not to be out there.”
“It is,” I admit. “But the guys earned it. I’ll be back soon.”
“How soon?” Mom asks, cautious but hopeful.
“Another three weeks if everything stays on track.”
“That’s good to hear.” She pauses, gentler now. “You’re not pushing too hard?”
“Trying not to,” I say, which makes her laugh.
Then, “And how’s Sophie?”
“She’s good. Counting down to next weekend. She’s got plans with her mom.”
“That’s nice,” Mom says carefully.
Dad clears his throat. “And how’s Charlotte?”
“She’s good.” I can’t help the faint smile that creeps in. “Keeps me honest.”
Mom chuckles. “Someone has to. We always liked her.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Me too.”
She doesn’t comment on the pause, just says, “Safe travels back home, okay?”
When the line clicks off, I stare at the boarding sign across the gate, thinking about the waiting. The work. The what-ifs.
By the time I land back in Colorado, I’ve answered half a dozen texts from coaches and trainers. Everyone’s buzzing about the win. Conference Final. Still sounds good every time I think it.
The drive is a blur of highway and replayed highlights in my head. I pull into Erin’s driveway to pick up Sophie. I barely make it to the door before she’s already there, backpack slung over one shoulder, grin wide enough to light the porch.
“Dad!”
I scoop her in carefully, keeping the weight off my knee. “Hey, Soph.”
“You won!” she says into my chest, pulling back with bright eyes. “I stayed up for the whole thing. You looked so serious.”
“Someone has to,” I tease. “Couldn’t let the coaches take all the credit.”
She laughs, and just like that, something in my chest loosens. I thank Erin for watching her while we were on the road, then Sophie and I head out.
She talks the entire drive home—school, her upcoming musical, weekend plans with her mom. Vanessa’s supposed to pick her up Friday. She’s been counting down. I nod along and listen, just hoping this time won’t fall apart.
About halfway home, my phone rings through the truck’s speakers.
I sigh when I see it’s my agent again.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Hey,” Eric starts, too cheerful. “Following up on that charity skate next weekend. Sponsor’s still hoping you’ll do it. Have you thought any more about it? If you’re interested, I’ll loop in team PR to get medical clearance.”
Sophie perks up immediately. “Charity skate?”
I shoot her a look, keeping my voice even. “Not happening, Eric.”
“It’s family-friendly,” he pushes. “Kids, cameras. No skating, just you in skates for optics and your PT there monitoring. Good optics while the team’s prepping for the Conference Final. We don’t even know your matchup yet. The other series is tied. Could take a while.”
Sophie turns in her seat. “That sounds cool. You could be on the ice again.”
Eric chuckles through the speaker. “Smart kid.”
“I’m driving,” I cut in. “Call me later.”
I end the call before he can say anything else.
“I think you should.” Sophie is grinning, undeterred. “It sounds fun.”
I shake my head, can’t help the smile tugging at my mouth.
She hums along with the radio, tapping a rhythm on her thigh. For a few miles, it’s just road and headlights and my kid beside me, the way it should be.
That night, after Sophie’s in bed, I’m half-watching highlights when my phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Vanessa.
I take a deep breath before opening it.
Hey, need to move next weekend. Things are hectic. I’ll let you know when’s a better time.
No apology. No surprise.
I stare at the screen until it goes dark, jaw tight.
Before I can overthink it, I scroll to Eric’s name and hit call.
He answers on the first ring, chipper like always. “Tell me you’ve come to your senses.”
“About that charity thing,” I say. “If it’s still open, I’ll do it, but only if Sophie can come.”
“No problem,” he says immediately. “It’s family-friendly. The sponsor would be thrilled to have your daughter there. I’ll loop in team PR first thing in the morning so they can get medical clearance. You’d just make an appearance—photos, a quick hello, light PR. In and out within an hour.”
“Make sure it’s safe,” I warn. “Standing only.”
“Got it. I’ll handle the rest.”
When we hang up, I drop the phone on the couch cushion beside me and exhale.
It won’t make up for her mom bailing, but at least this weekend Sophie will have something that doesn’t fall through.