But I can feel it. He’s already getting comfortable in the role.
Maybe a little too comfortable.
Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.
He was one of the names on my short list last season when Coach asked for alternate captain input. Ambitious. Steady. Marketable. A good guy on paper.
Still is.
But watching him now—casual, comfortable, settled in—lands like a punch to the ribs.
He claps my shoulder. “Let me know. Would be good to have you around.”
Then he’s gone, footsteps echoing down the tunnel.
I don’t move right away.
I remind myself of what Coach McCarthy told me yesterday.
“You’re still the captain, Declan. Let Tyler handle the bench for now, but this is your room. Focus on recovery. It’ll be waiting when you’re back.”
I lean on the crutch and exhale.
But as I head out, another thought takes over:
Did Vanessa tell Sophie she’s not coming this weekend?
Or is Sophie still waiting, hoping this time will be different?
Chapter Five
CHARLOTTE
The moment Declan steps into the training room, I know something’s off.
He doesn’t say good morning. Doesn’t glance my way. Doesn’t even grumble a half-hearted complaint about the resistance bands he hates. Just limps in, brace locked tight, jaw even tighter, and sits on the table without a word.
I close the folder in my lap and stand, smoothing my hand over my thigh. “Morning,” I offer, keeping my tone light. “Brace on already? That’s dedication. I’m impressed.”
He exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. Not quite anything. “Didn’t feel like dealing with it here.”
I nod, but his posture says more than his voice does. He’s usually composed. Guarded, sure. But today it’s different. His stillness isn’t control—it’s tension. His left hand flexes against his thigh like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
I set the resistance ladder beside the table and gesture to the edge. “We’ll start light. Lateral step-ups. Just until I can see how your quad’s holding up after yesterday’s work.”
He slides off the table slowly, his movements jerky. Silent. No protest when I adjust the height. No snide comment about the mini hurdles or band colors. That’s when I know for sure—something’s wrong.
He moves through the first few reps like he’s trying to outrun his own thoughts. It’s not his form I’m watching, not really. It’s the way his eyes stay fixed on a spot past my shoulder. Like if he doesn’t look at me, I won’t notice how distracted he is.
But I do.
“Declan,” I say quietly, waiting until he pauses. “You doing okay today?”
He shrugs. It’s the kind of non-answer people give when they’re not ready to talk but also don’t want to lie. His gaze drops to the floor, and for a second, I think that’s all I’ll get.
“Didn’t sleep much,” he mutters finally. “It’s fine.”
I tilt my head slightly, watching him. “Is it your knee?”
