I hover near the tunnel entrance, ready for whoever limps off first. Between shifts, I help the athletic trainers swap out tape and check minor injuries before they send the players back out.
The air smells like sweat, rubber, and that sharp chill that clings to fresh ice—the familiar chaos that usually grounds me.
But tonight, everything’s just a little off-kilter.
Declan told me what happened with my brother yesterday. David’s concerned, and I understand why. I haven’t talked to him yet. I’m giving him space to cool off before we talk, but the air between us feels different now, more cautious than it used to be.
During the first intermission, David passes me in the hall outside the locker room. Usually he cracks a joke or asks how rehab’s going. Tonight, just a polite nod and a quick “Hey.”
It’s not anger. It’s distance.
And I get it. I’d probably be the same way in his position, trying to balance loyalty, family, and rules.
By the third period, the Foxes are up 2–1. Declan’s behind the bench again, crutch under his arm, voice low as he calls out shifts. Even on the sidelines, he commands the ice. Calm. Controlled. Focused.
He catches my eye once between whistles. It’s just a flicker, but it steadies something inside me.
Minutes later, we close it out with a win: 3–1.
The crowd explodes. Helmets crash together, gloves tap shoulders, the anthem remix blares through the speakers.
And for a few minutes, it’s easy to forget everything else.
Post-game chaos fills the hallway: sticks clattering, trainers hauling carts, David debriefing with coaches. I wait until it thins out before heading toward the treatment room. Declan’s already there, leaning against the table, brace strapped over his joggers.
He must’ve come straight here from the bench—still in his team gear, the captain even when he’s not skating.
He looks tired, but lighter.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He nods, glancing up. “Yeah. Good win. We needed that.”
I fold my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “How’s Sophie?”
He sighs slowly. “Quiet. Every time I try to talk to her, she shuts down. Said she didn’t sleep great.”
I frown. “That’s understandable. It’s a lot to process.”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes distant. “She likes you, Charlie. I think that may be what’s messing with her. She’s trying to fit what she saw with what she already feels. Plus, I haven’t dated anyone seriously since her mom and I divorced.”
The honesty in his voice softens the tightness in my chest.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” I ask quietly. “Just to check in? I don’t want her thinking I’d ever try to replace anyone.”
He shakes his head. “Give her a little time. She’s figuring it out.”
“Still,” I say softly, “I don’t want her to feel blindsided. Or like she can’t talk to me.”
His eyes lift, tired but full of something that looks a lot like gratitude.
“Thank you,” he says after a beat, quiet but certain. “For caring about her.”
For a second, it feels like we’re just… us again. No rules, no noise, no eyes on us. Just two people trying to figure it out.
I glance at the clock, breaking the moment. “You should head home. Rest that leg.”
“You heading out too?”
