Maya is already pressing play.
The lyrics flash up on the TV, bouncing across the screen in neon text. The first bars of a pop song I know by heart pour from the speaker. The girls are bouncing, pointing at me like I’m the missing piece of their trio. By the chorus, I give in, and the three of us are practically yelling the lyrics, Erin cheering from the doorway like it’s a sold-out show.
I can’t carry a tune to save my life, and no one cares. We’re all laughing too hard to notice anyway.
Between songs, Sophie flops onto the couch beside me, stealing a handful of popcorn. Her voice drops, quieter. “You’re still coming to the musical, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Her whole face lights up before she launches back into a debate with Maya over the next duet.
I lean back, watching them bicker over playlists—Erin laughing as she grabs a pizza slice—and something eases inside me. I’ve missed this—noise, family, being part of the little in-between moments.
Erin glances over just then, her smile soft. “Glad you came.”
“Me too,” I admit, surprised by how much I mean it.
For the rest of the night, the living room is all laughter, song, and the kind of easy warmth I carry with me all the way home.
By the time I’m back at my place, my cheeks still ache from laughing with the girls. It’s been a long time since I felt that easy, folded into family like I never left.
The dashboard clock glows past ten when my phone buzzes on the console. A text from Kristy lights the screen:
Drinks soon? You owe me a night out.
I laugh, shaking my head as I text her back.
Deal.
I slip my phone into my bag, warmth lingering in my chest. Being back here has always felt familiar, but tonight it feels different—more rooted, like home is finally shaping itself around me again.
Only now, that includes Declan. And I’m still not sure what to do with that.
Chapter Twelve
DECLAN
The pregame show buzzes through the living room, analysts already arguing about whether the Denver Ice Foxes can steal one on the road against the Dallas Wranglers. I prop my left leg on a pillow and pretend my stomach isn’t in knots.
Sophie drops onto the couch beside me with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of M&Ms.
“Last night was the best,” she says, grinning. “Charlotte actually sang with us. Like, full-on karaoke. She was hilarious.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “Yeah?”
She nods. “And she’s still coming to the musical. She promised.”
Sophie kicks her heel against the cushion, then grabs the remote and turns the volume up.
“And I believe her.”
The words land sharp in my chest. I’m glad she trusts Charlotte—I really am. But it scares me too.
“It sucks you can’t play,” she says matter-of-factly. “I hate it for you.”
My throat goes tight. There’s nothing simple to say back to that.
We watch the opening shift. I catch myself pointing out a neutral-zone read, then shut up before I turn into a coach.
