Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
DECLAN
The house finally feels still.
No crowds, no cameras. Just sunlight cutting through the living room and the faint clatter of a cardboard box being set down somewhere behind me.
It’s the first real quiet we’ve had since the Final.
The parade was two days ago—half the city’s still ringing from it—and I’m not sure my ears have stopped buzzing yet.
The Cup’s already on its media circuit, passed from one set of hands to the next, but the echo of it still sits in my head—when it was lifted, the roar that followed.
Now, it’s just…home.
Coffee in my mug. Moving boxes stacked around us. Charlotte’s handwriting on masking tape—Kitchen, Bathroom, Bedroom. It makes my chest tighten a little every time I see it.
David’s in the entryway pretending to supervise while Sophie and Charlotte unpack dishes. He came by early to help unload the last boxes from her car. It’s mostly kitchen stuff, a few framed photos, and what Sophie called “grown-up plants.”
“Hey, careful with that,” David calls. “That box says fragile for a reason.”
Charlotte glances over her shoulder, grin easy. “Then maybe don’t hand it to her like a football.”
Sophie laughs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a kid, Uncle David.”
“Tell that to the stack of bubble wrap you were jumping on five minutes ago.”
I lean in the doorway, just watching. David’s sarcasm, Charlotte’s calm voice cutting through it, Sophie laughing so hard she drops a dish towel. It’s messy, loud, a little chaotic.
And somehow perfect.
The same house that used to echo when it was just me and Sophie feels full now. Lived-in. Like the walls finally exhaled.
I take another sip of coffee, let the warmth settle. The championship ring still feels heavy on my hand.
But the one I’ll slip onto her finger—that’s the one that matters most.
Charlotte brushes a strand of hair from her face and looks over at me.
“You okay over there, Captain?”
I nod, smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Better than okay.”
Charlotte arches a brow at my answer, like she doesn’t quite believe it.
“That’s your expert opinion?” she asks.
“Pretty solid self-diagnosis,” I say, setting my mug down. “You’re here. Sophie’s laughing. Twins on the way. I’m better than okay.”
David gestures to himself. “Excuse me. What am I—chopped liver?”
“I’ll put your name on the next box. Fragile.”
Sophie giggles, ducking her head like she’s trying not to laugh.
Charlotte shakes her head, still smiling, as she reaches into a box and starts handing Sophie cups to unwrap. “You two are impossible.”
“Correction,” David says, pointing between us, “he’s impossible. I’m just a supportive observer.”
Charlotte tosses a dish towel at him. It lands square on his shoulder, and he leaves it there like it’s a badge of honor.
Sophie laughs, and I can’t help but watch her. For a long time, it was just her and me and too much quiet. Seeing her laugh with Charlotte like that hits somewhere deep.
Charlotte crouches beside an open box and lifts out a small photo frame wrapped in paper. She peels it back carefully, eyes softening when she sees what’s inside.
It’s from the school musical: Sophie and Maya in costume, cheeks flushed, grinning from the stage steps after their performance.
She turns it toward Sophie, who studies the photo. “I was so nervous before that.”
Charlotte’s voice is gentle. “You couldn’t tell.”
Sophie grins a little. “Guess all those breathing lessons worked.”
For a second, we just pause there—Charlotte with the picture, me beside her, Sophie humming along to the playlist she made for unpacking. The house smells like coffee, cardboard, and lemon cleaner, a quiet sense of something new beginning.
Charlotte sets the frame on the counter. “Feels different seeing my stuff here.”
I smile. “Good different?”
She looks up, soft grin. “The best kind.”
David looks between us with that older-brother grin. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m heading out before this gets sappy. You got it from here?”
Charlotte straightens, laughing. “We’ll manage. Thanks for the help.”
He claps my shoulder on his way out. “Good. Don’t mess it up, Cap.”
The door shuts behind him, and Charlotte carries a stack of towels toward the hallway, humming as she goes.
I glance toward Sophie, sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully unwrapping a set of plates like it’s the Stanley Cup itself. She catches me watching and smiles.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just proud of you.”
She tilts her head. “For what?”
“For making all this feel easy.”
Her grin widens. “It kinda is. I like Charlotte.”
That hits somewhere deep. And just like that, I know—it’s time. Before I ask Charlotte, I need to talk to Sophie first.
Charlotte’s in the hallway now, organizing a stack of folded towels and humming under her breath. Sophie’s still kneeling by the open box, arranging plates into neat piles like she’s solving a puzzle.
“Hey, Soph,” I say quietly, leaning on the counter. “Can I steal you for a minute?”
She looks up, head tilted. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not yet.”
That earns a laugh, and she sets the plate down, brushing her hands on her jeans before following me toward the back porch. Late afternoon light cuts across the yard, soft gold on the fence line. The air smells like grass and summer.
We sit on the steps, side by side. It’s quiet enough to hear the hum of the highway a few blocks away.
For a while, she swings her legs, sneakers knocking lightly against the wood. She’s growing fast—twelve going on twenty—but moments like this still knock me sideways.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say finally.
She glances over, cautious but curious. “Okay.”
I take a breath, try to line the words up right. “You know how much Charlotte means to me.”
Her smile comes fast. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echo, fighting a grin. “Well…I’ve been thinking about asking her to marry me.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Wait—really?”
“Really.”
Her grin breaks wide open, but her eyes soften in that way I’ve learned to recognize—when she’s feeling something big but trying to play it cool. She tucks her knees up to her chest, chin resting there.
“I kind of figured,” she admits. “The way you look at her.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And the way she looks at you.”
My throat tightens. “Feels like she fits with us.”
After a moment, I clear my throat. “You okay with me asking her? I wanted to make sure you were good with it before I did anything.”
She turns to look at me, eyes bright. “Dad, you don’t need my permission.”
“Maybe not. But I wanted it anyway.”
That earns me a small, proud smile. The kind she used to give after a perfect test score or nailing a solo she’d practiced for weeks.
“I think you should,” she says softly. “You both deserve it.”
The words hit harder than I expect. She’s so calm about it. No hesitation. No doubt. Just this steady kind of certainty that makes me realize how far we’ve both come.
I pull her into my side, kiss the top of her head, and she leans against me.
For a second, I can’t find words. It’s all there, though: the gratitude, the relief, the quiet, overwhelming love for both of them.
She pulls back and grins. “Can I help plan the wedding?”
I laugh. “Let’s see if she says yes first.”
By the time the sun dips low, most of Charlotte’s boxes are unpacked.
Charlotte’s curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath her, hair falling loose. There’s a half-empty mug on the table beside her and a stack of flattened boxes leaning against the wall. The place already looks more like home than it ever has.
Sophie’s upstairs, on the phone with Maya. Every few seconds, her laughter drifts down the stairs.
Charlotte’s scrolling through her tablet, probably checking something she swore could wait. She looks up when she senses me there.
“What?” she asks, smiling faintly.
“Nothing. Just watching you try to pretend you’re not working.”
She sets the tablet aside, mock offended. “Hey, it’s only emails.”
“Uh-huh.” I cross the room and sit beside her, the couch dipping under my weight.
The moment stretches quiet and warm between us. There’s music playing low—something soft and wordless. Her hand finds mine without looking, fingers tracing the edge of my ring.
“You realize,” she says softly, “you’ve been pacing for the last hour.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I exhale slowly, my thumb finding the edge of the tiny box in my pocket. I turn it over once, twice, like that’ll steady my pulse.
“I talked to your dad last week,” I say quietly.
Her brow lifts, a small smile tugging like she’s not sure whether to be amused or concerned.
“Oh?”
“And Sophie,” I add.
Now she sits up straighter. “Okay…should I be nervous?”
“Not unless you plan on saying no.”
Her breath catches a little. “Declan—”
I reach into my pocket before I can lose my nerve and drop to one knee. Her breath catches, eyes widening.
“Charlotte Blake,” I say, voice rough but sure. “I want this. You, me, Sophie, the twins. The life we are building, one moment at a time. And I can’t imagine a single day without you in it.”
A tear slips free before she presses her hand to her lips, a quiet sound catching in her throat.
“I want forever with you, Charlie.” I open the box, the diamond catching the light. “Marry me.”
She shakes her head, tears falling freely now.
“I can’t even—” She doesn’t finish. She just leans forward and kisses me, her hands framing my face like she’s memorizing it.
When she finally pulls back, she whispers against my lips, “Yes. Of course yes.”
The rush that hits me is even bigger than that final horn in New York.
Louder, steadier, right down to the bone.
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she looks down at it like she’s trying to believe it’s real. Then she looks back up at me, eyes shining.
The room goes quiet again, warm with lamplight.
“I love you,” she breathes, voice breaking on the words.
“You sure?” I tease softly.
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Completely.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
I kiss her, slow and sure, and as her fingers thread through mine, I let the moment sink in deep.
Just this.
Her.
Home.