Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
CHARLOTTE
By the time I pull into the staff lot, the sun’s just spilling over the mountains, and the air still smells faintly like rain. I’m queasy again, but it’s easier to breathe today.
Yesterday feels like a dream. The way Declan smiled when I told him, the way he said we’re okay like it was the simplest truth in the world. I’ve replayed it at least a hundred times. Every time I do, the fear softens a little.
It’s a quieter rink day before the Final. I should be wiped out, but there’s this low hum of energy in me that won’t quit.
Declan texted before sunrise.
Morning, Sunshine. Try to eat something before work. I’ll come to your appointment today if I can.
The message makes me smile before I can stop it. He’s busier than ever, but he’s still trying. He’s steady. And it makes me feel like I can be too.
Inside the training room, everything smells like disinfectant and tape—predictable, grounding.
Dan’s already setting up ice tubs, humming off-key to whatever’s in his earbuds.
I grab my tablet and fall into rhythm: hydration check-ins, post-series recovery plans, a winger’s sore shoulder.
My hands move automatically, but under it all there’s this quiet, glowing current of something new.
By early afternoon, the dizziness creeps back, so I step outside for air. The chill feels good against my skin, crisp enough to steady me. Two hours until my prenatal appointment.
I press a hand lightly to my stomach, just for a second, and smile. “We’re okay,” I whisper, echoing his words.
The breeze is cool against my face, sharp with the smell of ice drifting from the open zamboni doors. I scroll through my contacts, and before I can overthink it, I call Dad.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey, kiddo. You working hard or hardly working?”
I smile, leaning against the railing. “Bit of both. A recovery day before the Final means more talking than taping.”
He chuckles. “Good. You were due for a breather. David says you’ve been logging overtime since the playoffs started.”
“Yeah, well, you know me.”
“I do,” he says, warmth in his voice. “Which is why I hope you’re remembering to eat.”
“Trying,” I say. “Coffee counts as breakfast, right?”
“You always did think coffee was a food group,” he says, chuckling. “How’s the team holding up?”
“Good. Better than good, actually.” I hesitate, then add, “And… there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
He goes quiet. “Oh?”
I take a breath. “It’s Declan. We’ve been seeing each other.”
There’s a pause, just long enough that I can picture the look on his face—the one he used to give when he was trying to decide whether to be Dad or Coach.
“Declan Tremayne?” he says finally. “My old center?”
I smile, already hearing the grin in his voice. “That’s the one.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. You and Tremayne.”
I laugh too. “You sound shocked.”
“Not shocked,” he says. “Just remembering all those mornings I had to pry you off the boards because you wouldn’t stop hanging around the rink. Your mom always said you’d end up with a hockey player.”
That makes my throat tighten in the best way. “She’d be happy for us, wouldn’t she?”
“She would,” he says quietly. “She used to tease that you were the sunshine he didn’t know he needed. Guess she wasn’t wrong.”
The silence stretches, comfortable this time.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “The anniversary of your mom’s passing is next weekend. I thought I’d drive down so you, David, and I could visit the cemetery together. Maybe get dinner after. I’ll stay at David and Erin’s while I’m there.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”
“Good. I know the Cup Final schedule might make it tricky for you and David, but since the first two games will be at home, I’m hoping we can make it work.”
He pauses again. “And if Declan’s free, you should bring him. I’d like to see him—make sure he’s treating my daughter right.”
I laugh again, wiping a tear that sneaks out. “He is. Better than I ever expected.”
We talk a few minutes more about logistics—flights, the Final schedule, and when he’s coming—before he hangs up.
When the line goes quiet, I just stand there for a second, phone still in my hand. I could’ve told him everything right then. It was right there, sitting on my tongue.
But it feels right to wait. To tell him in person, when he’s here, when we’re standing by Mom’s grave.
She’d want to be part of this moment too.
Declan meets me at the doctor’s office, cap pulled low and hoodie zipped up like he’s sneaking into enemy territory. It makes me laugh, and for a second, I forget to be nervous.
He squeezes my hand as we check in, thumb brushing small circles against my skin. “You okay?”
“Mostly,” I whisper. “Ask me again in ten minutes.”
The nurse leads us into a small exam room that smells faintly like sanitizer and lavender. Declan takes the chair beside the bed, knees bouncing like he’s the one about to be scanned.
The doctor comes in with a gentle smile. “Good to see you both. Let’s get a sense of how far along you are, hmm?”
I nod, trying not to stare at the monitor as she preps the ultrasound. The room fills with soft static, then a flicker of light on the screen, and I grab Declan’s hand tighter. The doctor hums under her breath, adjusting the angle.
“There we go…” she says quietly. “Looks like you’re around six to seven weeks.”
Declan’s hand tightens around mine. “Already?”
She smiles, adjusting the angle. “And… I’m seeing a second heartbeat.”
My brows knit. “What do you mean?”
The doctor tilts the screen toward us, her tone warm. “Two heartbeats. Congratulations—you’re having twins.”
For a second, all the air leaves me.
Declan’s head jerks up. “Twins?”
The doctor nods, laughing softly. “Both look right on track.”
I press a hand to my mouth, tears blurring the screen. Everything inside me goes still, equal parts awe and disbelief.
Two.
I can’t even form a word.
Declan leans forward, staring at the image, his expression a mix of disbelief and pure wonder. Then he lets out a low laugh and squeezes my hand. “Guess we don’t do anything halfway, huh?”
That breaks something in me, and I start laughing through the tears. He kisses my temple, still smiling at the screen. “They’re perfect.”
The doctor talks through next steps—prenatal vitamins, a follow-up scan, scheduling our first full visit—but it’s all background noise. My focus is on those two tiny flickers on the screen, and the warmth of his hand around mine.
When it’s over, she prints a few images and hands them to me. I hold them like they’re glass. Declan studies them too, his grin still soft but certain. “Two,” he murmurs. “We’re really doing this.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, voice thick. “We are.”
I look down at the photos again. Two tiny heartbeats.
Two futures.
And somehow, I don’t feel scared. I just feel ready.
By the time I finish up at the rink that afternoon, my brain’s still replaying the same moment over and over: the doctor’s smile, the flicker on the screen, the word twins.
Declan had left the clinic first, duty calling him back for interviews and captain things. We barely spoke beyond a dazed see you later. Even now, hours later, I can’t shake the image of his face when he heard the word twins—that stunned, disbelieving joy that made my chest ache.
When I finally get to his place that night, he’s already home, still in sweats and a team tee, barefoot, leaning against the counter like he’s been waiting for me.
Sophie’s at Maya’s for a movie night and sleepover, which means it’s just us.
“Hey,” he says, that low, steady warmth in his voice. “You okay?”
I nod, setting my bag down. “Still processing.”
He grins softly. “Yeah. Same.” He pulls me in, and for a second, neither of us moves.
Then he laughs under his breath. “Two, Charlie. We’re really having two.”
I laugh too, the sound shaky. “I know. It still doesn’t feel real, does it?”
He brushes his thumb along my cheek. “I kept thinking about that screen all day. Those little heartbeats—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “Feels like everything’s falling into place.”
I press a hand to his chest. “I was so scared you’d be overwhelmed.”
“I am,” he admits. “But not in a bad way. I keep picturing Sophie’s face when she finds out.”
That makes my throat tighten. “She’s going to be the best big sister.”
Declan’s gaze softens. “We’ll tell her soon. After the Final, once things calm down. She deserves a moment that’s just hers.”
I nod, relieved he feels the same. “And David? My dad?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” he says simply. “I know it’s different, telling your family, but you don’t have to do it alone.”
I swallow, emotion tightening my throat. “I was thinking maybe when Dad comes down this weekend and we visit Mom’s grave together. It feels… right.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” he says quietly.
We eat leftovers on the couch, too distracted to notice the TV murmuring in the background. Eventually, he leans his head against mine. “They still don’t know who we’re playing. The East is going to Game 7 tomorrow.”
“So we’ve got home ice for Game 1?”
He exhales. “End of the week, most likely.”
The words hang between us—the Final and the twins, two huge futures coming fast.
He leans back against the couch. “We should start thinking about the timing for you moving in,” he says. “You said your rent is month to month, right?”
I nod. “I was thinking I can start bringing things over once the playoffs settle.”
He nods, thoughtful. “Good. Gives us a little breathing room to talk to Sophie first. She should hear it from us together.”
“I just hope she’s okay with it,” I say quietly. “It’s a lot of change.”
“She will be,” he says, steady and sure.
My throat tightens a little, but in the best way. “I hope so.”
He slides his arm around me, pulling me closer. “Hey,” he murmurs against my hair, “we’ve got this.”
And I believe him.