Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
CHARLOTTE
The floor’s a minefield of half-filled boxes and packing paper.
The one in front of me reads Kitchen, flanked by others marked Donate, Storage, Bedroom, and Bathroom.
My chest tightens in that fluttery way that’s half nerves, half excitement.
My phone buzzes with a text from Kristy.
Kristy: How’re you feeling today? You keeping your feet up at all or still running circles around everyone?
Me: Somewhere in between. Trying to remember to breathe.
Kristy: Breathe, yes. Overachieve, no. Safe travels to New York tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.
My phone buzzes again, and this time it’s Declan.
Declan: How are you feeling?
Me: Trying to make a dent in packing before Dad and David pick me up.
Declan: Sophie wants to help you pack up. Said we should come by.
Me: You don’t have to do that.
Declan: We want to. You gave me a key so we’re all set. Promise we won’t break anything.
I shake my head, warmth spreading through my chest.
I’m moving in with Declan.
The thought doesn’t make my stomach twist. It settles it.
This afternoon, I’ll be with Dad and David, visiting Mom’s grave. It’s something we haven’t done together in years. I’m nervous and comforted all at once. It feels overdue.
I glance at the wall where the sunlight hits the old framed photo of my parents. Dad is in his coaching jacket behind the bench, Mom bundled in her big parka beside me in the stands. She’s laughing at something I must’ve said, her eyes crinkled.
Tomorrow we fly out to New York for Games 3 and 4, but today’s about family, and about her.
Dad and David pick me up just after lunch. The sun’s high, the air warm enough that the snowmelt’s turned everything to that early-spring smell—wet earth, pine, faint asphalt heat.
The car ride starts light. David fills Dad in on team updates, half-teasing him about over-analyzing every play. Dad fires back about assistant coaches thinking they know everything.
I just listen, smiling out the window.
But the closer we get to the cemetery, the quieter it gets. The laughter fades, replaced by a kind of silence that feels careful, like everyone’s bracing for a memory.
When we pull into the small parking lot, I carry Mom’s favorite flowers—white tulips.
The wind cuts a little sharper up here, threading through the trees. We follow the worn gravel path, boots crunching in rhythm, until we reach her spot halfway up the hill.
Her name’s carved clean into the stone, sunlight catching on the edges of each letter. It’s been years since the three of us came here together.
Dad clears his throat first. “Your mom always loved this view,” he says, nodding toward the valley below.
I kneel to brush away a bit of dirt from the base, fingers cold against the marble. “She’d like that we all made it back here together.”
David nods. “Yeah. And she’d definitely make us take a picture.”
For a while we just stand there. No small talk, no hurry.
Then David exhales, kneeling down. “Hey, Mom,” he says softly. “We made it to the Final.”
I crouch next to him, fingers tracing the edge of the stone. The sunlight feels warm on my shoulders, even with the wind cutting across the hill. A lump rises in my throat—not sadness, exactly. Something softer.
I take a slow breath, eyes fixed on her name.
“You’re going to be a grandma again,” I say quietly. “Twins, actually.”
For a second, nothing happens.
Then David blinks, frowning. “Wait… what?”
Dad turns, brows drawing together. “Charlotte, what did you just—”
I lift my head, smiling even as my eyes sting. “I’m pregnant.”
Both of them stare at me. David’s mouth falls open. “You’re—what—you’re pregnant?”
I nod, laughing a little through the tears. “Yeah.”
Dad’s hand goes to his chest like he’s making sure his heart’s still there. “You’re having a baby?”
“Two,” I say softly.
There’s a long beat before it lands, before they both snap their eyes to me again.
David lets out a stunned laugh, one hand dragging through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Twins?”
“Apparently,” I say, laughing with him now. “Overachiever, remember?”
Dad’s laugh comes next: low, full, the kind that breaks whatever was left of the tension. “Jesus, Char. You’re really something.” He crouches beside me, eyes wet. “Your mom would’ve been over the moon.”
David grins, still shaking his head. “She’d have knitted a matching set of everything within a week.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, throat tight again. “She would’ve.”
Dad reaches for my hand, his grip warm and solid. “You okay with all of this?”
“I am,” I tell him. “It feels… right. Like exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
He nods slowly, smile deepening. “Then she’d be so proud. I know I am.”
For a long moment, the three of us just stand there, the wind moving through the trees, the air full of sunlight and something bigger than words.
When we finally head back down the path, I feel lighter, like something in me finally eased.
By the time Dad and David drop me back at the duplex, the air feels softer. Declan’s truck is already out front.
When I walk in, the counters are covered in newspaper and half-wrapped mugs. Declan is carefully packing dishes while Sophie’s labeling boxes with my sharpie in handwriting twice the size of mine.
I stop in the doorway for a second, just taking it in. Sophie’s messy ponytail, Declan’s steady hands, sunlight catching the curve of his smile. For a heartbeat, I just watch.
“Hey,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “How’s the operation?”
“Messy,” Sophie says proudly. “But efficient.”
Declan grins up at me from where he’s crouched. “You’re looking at our quality control manager.”
“I can see that.” I lean down to kiss his cheek, the faint smell of cardboard and coffee clinging to him.
“Did you have a good afternoon?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the counter. “It was… a lot, but good. Really good.”
He studies me for a beat, then just nods. “You hungry? Sophie’s been campaigning for Thai.”
“Starving,” I admit with a smile.
Sophie pops up from the floor, eyes bright. “Pad thai! And those dumplings!”
Declan laughs, shaking his head. “I already ordered. It should be here any minute.”
We spread dinner out on the kitchen table, the same one already half-surrounded by boxes. Sophie insists on using chopsticks while Declan keeps stealing bites from my noodles. It’s easy, warm, and ordinary in a way that feels extraordinary lately.
After dinner, Declan and Sophie stack a few boxes before Declan announces, “Alright, kiddo. Time to get ready for your sleepover. Maya’s expecting you.”
She shrugs, then steps in for a quick hug. “See you when you get back.”
“Can’t wait,” I tell her as she heads out.
Declan leans in, kisses me once, soft and steady.
“Love you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
The warmth in his voice sinks deep, quiet and certain.
“Love you, too,” I whisper, smiling.
He squeezes my hand and follows her out to drop her off.
When the door closes, the house goes still again. Most of the boxes are half-full or waiting—just enough progress to make it feel real without emptying the place completely.
I move through the quiet, turning off lights one by one. I keep picturing the twins, wondering what life will look like when they’re here.
I set my hand on my belly and smile. “We’re really doing this,” I whisper.
Tomorrow we’ll fly to New York. There’ll be noise and cameras and pressure, all of it big and bright. But tonight, it’s just this—quiet and full.
As the darkness settles around me, I imagine my mom and smile.
I think she’d say this is exactly where I was meant to be.