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 wordtwins.
Declan had left the clinic first, duty calling him back for interviews and captain things. We barely spoke beyond a dazedsee you later. Even now, hours later, I can’t shake the image of his face when he heard the wordtwins—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.
