“Got a smile out of her,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens—just for a second. I nod once and look down at my tablet like it’s suddenly fascinating.
“Ten-second hold.”
Later, when I record his progress, I can’t help the small pull of pride at how far he’s come.
The weekly medical check-in runs shorter than usual. No new injuries, just maintenance and playoff nerves.
Dr. Patel scrolls through his notes. “Last item. PR sent a request this morning for medical clearance for Tremayne to attend a sponsor event this weekend. Step-on-and-stand only, minimal time on the ice, brace stays on. PR says it’s more of a photo op than anything—no drills, no skating.”
He glances at me. “I don’t see a problem with it as long as he stays within protocol. Charlotte, you’ll handle supervision?”
My pen stills for half a second before I nod. “I’ll handle it,” I say, jotting a note in the margin. “I’ll make sure the restrictions are clear and documented.”
“Good,” Patel says, flipping to the next chart. “And start Tremayne on controlled ice work this week—straight-line balance drills only, restricted range.”
The corner of my mouth twitches before I catch it.
He’s going to like hearing this.
Patel continues, scrolling through the rehab tracker. “You’ll guide the initial ice transition this week. Once he’s steady through balance and load-bearing, Vic can take over next week with the performance staff for the skating mechanics.”
That’s standard protocol—PT leads the medical phase, performance staff handles the on-ice work once stability’s proven. I’ll still manage his daily sessions, clearance benchmarks, and progress notes, but letting Vic take the ice side means we’re finally close to the end of this phase.
It’s a good sign. It means Declan’s almost there.
My phone buzzes with a text from Erin as I’m packing up for the day.
Dinner tomorrow? David will be there. You two could use some catching up.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Catching up. That’s one way to put it.
Still, I type back:
Sure.
I slip my phone into my bag, the twist in my stomach equal parts dread and relief.
Maybe it’s time. Maybe avoiding it has only made the silence worse.
Either way, tomorrow’s going to be interesting.
I scroll to Kristy’s name and hit call.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey. What’s up?”
I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Erin just invited me to dinner tomorrow. David’s going to be there.”
There’s a beat, then, “And why is that a bad thing?”
“He knows about me and Declan now,” I say. “He and Declan already talked, but I haven’t had a conversation with David about it since he found out.”
“Wait—how did he even find out?” she asks.
“Sophie walked in on us having dinner, told Maya, who told David. Total chain reaction.”
