There’s a quiet laugh.
“Bet he’s driving the trainers nuts though.”
“Guaranteed.”
More laughter. A door creaks. The moment shifts.
I keep walking—steady, unhurried, pretending I didn’t hear anything. But the words linger. I’d already started to see past the gruff exterior.
Now I wonder how much more I haven’t seen.
I don’t realize how tired I am until I’m finally home, standing in the kitchen with a mug of tea I haven’t taken a single sip from.
The house is still. Quiet. But my thoughts are anything but.
Three days ago, Declan Tremayne barely looked at me.
Today, he was different.
The way he talked about Sophie, it caught me off guard. Not because he said a lot. But for someone who guards every expression like it might cost him something, even a few quiet truths felt... loud.
I rest my hip against the counter, staring at nothing.
Hearing how much he loves his daughter—feeling it when he said her name—that was new.
For the first time, I didn’t just see the captain, or the injury, or the impossible expectations wrapped around both.
I saw someone trying. Struggling, maybe. But not checked out. Not cold. Not really.
Just… careful.
And maybe that's fair.
He doesn't know me anymore.
But today felt like the first step toward something more than just protocol.
I wrap my hands tighter around the mug.
Just a shift.
A start.
A reminder that behind all that ice and steel, there’s still a heartbeat.
Chapter Six
DECLAN
I’m at the counter spreading butter on toast when Sophie starts pacing around the kitchen again, script in one hand, pencil tucked behind her ear.
“Okay,” she mumbles, then clears her throat. “You think Iwantto deal with this? I didn’t ask for any of it!”
I glance up as she scowls at the fridge like it personally offended her.
“That was bad,” she mutters. “It needs more... I don’t know, edge.”
“Sounded strong to me,” I say, turning to pour her juice. “Convincing, even.”
