I chuckle. “Yeah. Charlotte told you?”
He nods slowly. “She did. Twins, huh?” He exhales, the sound somewhere between disbelief and a quiet chuckle. “I’ll be honest. I’m still wrapping my head around that one.”
I smile faintly. “You and me both.”
He looks down at his hands, then back up. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. She sounded happy. But she’s my little girl, Declan. It’s hard not to picture her at ten years old, tagging along to practice with orange slices and a clipboard.”
I let out a slow breath, the kind that tries to steady everything else inside me.
“I still remember that. She was fearless even back then.”
He nods, the edge in his expression easing. “I’ve known you a long time. Coached you, watched you look out for David, for your teammates. So if it had to be somebody…” He trails off, shakes his head with a wry smile.
He lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half sigh. “You’re gonna have your hands full, you know that?”
“I know,” I admit, smiling despite the weight in my chest. “She’s been handling it better than I have. Mornings are rough sometimes, but she pushes through. Same way she handles everything.”
He nods, the smile easing into something gentler. “Sounds like Charlotte.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s next,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t interrupt, just waits.
“I love her,” I say finally. “More than I ever thought I could again. She’s changed everything: how I see the game, my life, what home means.”
I take a long breath. “We’re already building a family, but I wanted to ask properly. I’d like your blessing to marry your daughter.”
Tom’s quiet for a long moment, eyes on the muted screen though I know he’s not watching. Then he nods once, voice steady.
“If you love her the way you play this game—with all your heart—you’ve got my blessing.”
My chest tightens. I stand, and so does he. We shake hands, firm and sure, the kind of grip that carries more than words ever could.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’ll never take her trust, or this family, for granted.”
He smiles, warm and certain. “That’s all a father wants to hear.”
The laughter upstairs picks up again, softer now, and Tom claps my shoulder before heading back up.
The drive home is quiet, the kind of quiet you feel more than hear. Streetlights blur by, the city thinning into dark sky and open road.
But this time, it’s not just the ice pulling me forward. It’s Charlotte. Sophie. The twins. The life I finally get to skate toward.
The next morning, the team meets at the private terminal. The air smells like jet fuel and coffee, the kind of mix that means playoff travel.
Charlotte’s near the equipment table, tablet in hand, talking with the trainers. She’s focused, already in game mode. You’d never know she’s been fighting morning sickness half the week. I don’t know how she does it.
Players file in with travel mugs and headphones, trading half-awake chirps about card games and seat assignments.
I drop my bag and catch her eye. She smiles, and I can’t help but grin back.
Torres grins as he walks by. “Look at that. Cap actually smiles now. Didn’t think it was medically possible.”
Tyler smirks over his coffee. “It’s the Charlotte effect. Guy’s domesticated.”
I shake my head. “If you two spent half as much time on the ice as you do in my business, we’d already have the Cup.”
Their laughter trails off, folding back into the low rumble of travel noise: voices, footsteps, the thud of bags.
