His eyes narrow. “That sounds suspicious.”
“Relax,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. “I talked to Dr. Patel this morning. Based on your strength tests and stability scores…” I let the pause hang, enjoying the flicker of impatience that crosses his face. “You’re cleared to drive again. As long as you keep the brace on.”
For the first time all session, his whole expression shifts—surprise, then something that almost looks like relief breaking through the storm cloud he’s been carrying.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Don’t make me regret telling you.”
The sheepish smile is back, only brighter this time, and it does something unsettling to my chest.
“Guess that’s one win this week,” he murmurs. He glances toward his crutches, then back at me. “So that means no more chauffeur service?”
I grin. “Afraid so. Better enjoy your last ride home with team services today.”
The look he gives me then—grateful, softened, still a little stormy—sticks longer than it should. And I realize I’m smiling back like an idiot.
By the time I’ve logged my session notes and packed up my kit, the arena feels cavernous. With most of the roster on the road for Round 1, there isn’t much left to cover here. My main priority now is Declan—and keeping his recovery on track.
I’m halfway to my car when my phone buzzes with a text from Erin.
David’s on the road and it’s just us tonight. Come over? Girls’ night—me, Sophie, Maya, and you. We’d love to have you.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I realize it. It’s been a while since I’ve had an easy night like that, and it hits me: I need that.
Count me in,I type back.
On the drive over, I make a mental note to swing by the store for snacks. Girls’ night deserves sugar and carbs.
I barely knock before the door swings open and Maya barrels into me, nearly colliding with the grocery bag on my arm.
“Aunt Charlotte! Come on—we already picked songs.”
I laugh, tightening my grip on the bag so I don’t drop it. “Good thing I brought reinforcements.”
Sophie’s right behind her, hair in a topknot, remote clutched like it’s a mic. She grins. “Good. We needed another singer.”
I laugh as Maya tugs me inside. “You two have this all planned, don’t you?”
“Obviously,” Sophie says, already queuing something on the speaker.
Erin appears in the doorway just then, eyeing the bag on my arm.
“You came prepared,” she says, taking it from me and heading for the kitchen. “I’ll add it to the stash.”
The living room’s a riot of snacks—a pizza box open on the coffee table, chips spilling out of bowls, the bag of candy I brought sitting open beside it, Erin ferrying cans of sparkling water from the kitchen. She hands me one as I drop my coat.
“You cut the brownies, I’ll plate?” she says, nudging the cutting board toward me with a grin.
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re bossy.”
“Efficient,” she shoots back, and bumps my hip before disappearing to referee the girls.
Maya and Sophie launch into their opening number from the musical, and I still can’t get over how good they sound together. They belt with zero hesitation, trading lines, nudging each other when one misses a note. By the end, both are doubled over laughing.
“Okay, your turn.” Sophie shoves the extra mic at me before I can protest.
“Wait—me?”
