Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHARLOTTE
The facility feels half-awake after travel day. No morning skate today, just recovery sessions and the scoreboard from last night looping on the lounge TV, everyone speculating about who we’ll face in the Conference Final.
Declan’s in the PT room when I walk in, hoodie sleeves shoved up, his knee brace set aside for the session. He looks focused and alert, the kind of calm that comes after a win and just before the next storm.
“Morning,” I say.
His gaze lifts, and for a split second it’s not captain and PT, it’s us.
Memories of the visiting PT room flash through my mind—heat, skin, the sound of his voice when he said my name.
I blink hard and reach for my tablet, pretending I need to check something.
“Hey,” he says, voice steady but lower than usual.
I cross to the table, pretending my hands don’t remember how easily they fit on him.
“How’s the knee?”
He stretches out, movements careful. The stiffness is there but less than last week. “Feels decent.”
He hesitates, then says, “Meant to tell you. I talked to my agent last night. Told him I’d do a charity thing he’s been pushing.”
I glance up, surprised. “Really?”
He shrugs, a faint grin at one corner. “Some sponsor event. Family-friendly, good PR. Sophie’s excited, and that’s what counts.”
Something inside me gives. I look down at my tablet before my face gives me away.
“That was a good call,” I say softly.
He frowns, his eyes lowering. “She was upset when her mom canceled for the weekend, so I figured this might help.”
The knot in my chest loosens a little. “I bet it did.”
“Got a smile out of her,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens—just for a second. I nod once and look down at my tablet like it’s suddenly fascinating.
“Ten-second hold.”
Later, when I record his progress, I can’t help the small pull of pride at how far he’s come.
The weekly medical check-in runs shorter than usual. No new injuries, just maintenance and playoff nerves.
Dr. Patel scrolls through his notes. “Last item. PR sent a request this morning for medical clearance for Tremayne to attend a sponsor event this weekend. Step-on-and-stand only, minimal time on the ice, brace stays on. PR says it’s more of a photo op than anything—no drills, no skating.”
He glances at me. “I don’t see a problem with it as long as he stays within protocol. Charlotte, you’ll handle supervision?”
My pen stills for half a second before I nod. “I’ll handle it,” I say, jotting a note in the margin. “I’ll make sure the restrictions are clear and documented.”
“Good,” Patel says, flipping to the next chart. “And start Tremayne on controlled ice work this week—straight-line balance drills only, restricted range.”
The corner of my mouth twitches before I catch it.
He’s going to like hearing this.
Patel continues, scrolling through the rehab tracker. “You’ll guide the initial ice transition this week. Once he’s steady through balance and load-bearing, Vic can take over next week with the performance staff for the skating mechanics.”
That’s standard protocol—PT leads the medical phase, performance staff handles the on-ice work once stability’s proven. I’ll still manage his daily sessions, clearance benchmarks, and progress notes, but letting Vic take the ice side means we’re finally close to the end of this phase.
It’s a good sign. It means Declan’s almost there.
My phone buzzes with a text from Erin as I’m packing up for the day.
Dinner tomorrow? David will be there. You two could use some catching up.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Catching up. That’s one way to put it.
Still, I type back:
Sure.
I slip my phone into my bag, the twist in my stomach equal parts dread and relief.
Maybe it’s time. Maybe avoiding it has only made the silence worse.
Either way, tomorrow’s going to be interesting.
I scroll to Kristy’s name and hit call.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey. What’s up?”
I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Erin just invited me to dinner tomorrow. David’s going to be there.”
There’s a beat, then, “And why is that a bad thing?”
“He knows about me and Declan now,” I say. “He and Declan already talked, but I haven’t had a conversation with David about it since he found out.”
“Wait—how did he even find out?” she asks.
“Sophie walked in on us having dinner, told Maya, who told David. Total chain reaction.”
“Oh my god,” Kristy groans. “The kid grapevine strikes again.”
I can’t help a small laugh. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” she says, voice gentler now. “So tomorrow’s clearing the air, not the end of the world. Just go, eat, breathe, and let him process. Text me after so I know if I should chill the wine or the tequila.”
“Deal.”
The next evening comes faster than I expect.
By the time I park out front, my stomach’s already tight enough to make me wish I’d skipped lunch—and it knots tighter with every step up the walkway.
The porch light’s on, the sound of laughter drifting faintly from inside. I pause at the door, square my shoulders, and remind myself this is just dinner with family.
Erin opens the door before I can knock.
“You made it,” she says, smiling like nothing’s strained.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I manage, hoping it sounds lighter than it feels.
Dinner’s on the table: pasta, salad, a bottle of wine breathing in the middle like a peace offering. David’s there too, sleeves rolled up, still in work clothes. He gives a quiet nod that I return with one of my own.
The first few minutes are easy enough. Erin keeps the conversation moving with playoff talk, and Maya and Sophie’s musical coming up.
I add what I can between bites, pretending the tension at the far end of the table isn’t there.
Erin turns to me, smiling. “Sophie was telling me there’s some kind of sponsor skate this weekend. She said her dad might even be on the ice—she’s so excited.”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “He’s cleared for controlled ice work, so it’s safe. I’ll be there to supervise. It’s just a short standing appearance.”
David’s fork stills midair. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching.
And then Maya tilts her head, expression open and curious. “Is Sophie’s dad your boyfriend?”
The room goes quiet. Erin freezes, wineglass halfway up. David looks down.
I take a slow breath, set my napkin on the table.
“We’ve been spending some time together,” I say gently. “We’re getting to know each other for now.”
Maya grins like she’s solved a puzzle. “That’s what Sophie said. She thinks it’s romantic.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I manage a small smile.
Erin recovers first. “Who wants dessert?” she says, standing before anyone can answer.
David clears his throat. “I’ll help you,” he mutters, pushing back his chair.
As they disappear into the kitchen, Maya leans toward me, whispering conspiratorially, “I think it’s cute.”
I manage a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”
When Erin and David return with plates of brownies, the conversation shifts to Maya’s school concert and family stuff. It’s lighter, easier. But the quiet looks between me and my brother stay.
Not angry—just not settled.
When Erin and Maya head to the kitchen to pack up leftovers, David lingers by the table.
“Walk with me?” he asks quietly.
We step out onto the back deck. The night air’s cool, the porch light above us.
For a while, neither of us says anything.
Finally, he exhales. “You and Declan. It’s serious, isn’t it?”
I fold my arms, eyes on the railing. “Yeah. It is.”
He nods slowly, eyes still on the yard. “Then you’ve got to be smart about it, Charlotte. You know how this looks. Captain and medical staff. If this gets out before he’s cleared—”
“I know,” I murmur. “I’ve run through every version of what could go wrong.”
David leans on the porch railing, studying me. “You’re my sister. He’s my captain. I get that you’re adults, but this is messy as hell, Char.”
I sigh, nodding. “But it doesn’t change how I feel about him. Or how careful we’re being.”
He pauses, quieter now. “You really think he’s worth all this?”
“Yeah,” I say simply. “I do.”
His mouth twitches—half frown, half reluctant smile. “Then I hope you’re right.”
I hesitate. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For keeping this between us. I know it puts you in a weird spot.”
His jaw flexes, and he exhales through his nose. “Yeah. It does. He’s my captain. My best friend. And you’re my sister.” He shakes his head, half-disbelieving. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around how the hell that even happened.”
“Me too,” I admit, a small smile tugging at my mouth.
His expression softens slightly. “But… he’s a good guy. Been through a lot. It’s nice seeing him a little less miserable for once.”
That draws a quiet laugh out of me. “I’ll take that as approval?”
“Don’t push it,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. “Just be careful, both of you.”
“We will.”
He pushes off the railing, nodding toward the door. “Alright then. Ready to head back in?”
I hesitate for a second, then step forward and hug him. He goes still, surprised, before his hand comes up to rest briefly on my back.
When we head back inside, the ease from the kitchen hits me—Erin laughing with Maya, dishes clattering, life moving forward like nothing’s shifted.
But something has.
It’s not perfect yet.
Still, it’s enough. For now.