DECLAN
David and Erin’s house has that late-night calm to it.
Erin met us at the door earlier, hugged me, then gave David one of those looks that says she knows we needed time to talk.
The Game 2 highlights play quietly on the TV while Maya and Sophie laugh upstairs, their voices drifting downstairs every so often.
David and I have been sitting here a while, half-watching the clips, half just… being. It’s one of those rare quiet nights between the storms.
He leans back, beer in hand, grinning. “Twins, man. You know you’re outnumbered now, right?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be a dad again. Let alone twins.”
“Guess the universe figured you needed the challenge.”
“Maybe,” I admit, smile tugging despite myself. “It’s a lot. But… it feels right, you know? Like everything finally fits.”
David’s grin softens. “Yeah. You look like it fits. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this settled.”
“Settled,” I echo, rolling the word around like it’s still new. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d be again.”
He snorts. “Please. If anyone can handle you, it’s Charlotte. Always has been.”
That earns a laugh out of me, a quiet one. “You’re not wrong.”
We sit there for a bit longer, just letting the silence stretch. Two guys who’ve been through enough seasons, on the ice and off, that they don’t need to fill every space with words.
The muted game rolls into post-game interviews, the flicker of the screen catching the edge of David’s glass. The girls’ laughter trickles down again.
David glances toward the stairs. “We should check on the girls before they turn movie night into an all-night marathon,” he says, pushing up from the couch.
I stand, stretching my back. “Sounds good. I should say good night to Sophie and head out soon.”
We head upstairs, the sound growing clearer—music, giggling, the crunch of chips. In the entertainment room, the lights are dim, the big sectional crowded with blankets and bowls of popcorn. Erin’s perched on the armrest, laughing as Maya and Sophie belt out lyrics from whatever song’s playing. Tom’s there, standing near the doorway with a mug in hand, smiling like he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Everything good up here?” David asks, leaning on the doorframe.
“Better than good,” Erin says. “They’ve already seen this movie twice, but apparently it’s still funny.”
Sophie grins over at me. “We’re just watching the best parts!”
I grin back. “Alright. Try to keep it under concert volume, yeah?”
That earns a few dramatic groans and a giggle from Maya. Tom chuckles, setting his mug on the shelf by the door. “I’ll walk down with you before they recruit me for the next sing-along.”
David stays behind, dropping onto the arm of the couch beside Erin as I follow Tom back down the stairs.
When we reach the quiet of the living room again, he lowers himself into the chair David left, rubbing a hand over his face. “Figured I’d get some quiet time before they rope me into another performance,” he says with a chuckle.
I laugh, but there’s a tightness under it I can’t shake. The room feels different now. Quieter, heavier. The kind of quiet that makes you notice every thought you haven’t said out loud yet.
For a minute, we just sit there. The muted TV flickers, the faint soundtrack of laughter drifts from upstairs.
My hands are loose on my knees, but my chest feels wired, the kind of nervous you get before a playoff game.
Only this isn’t a game.
Tom glances over. “Heard you’ve got some big news.”
