My mother touches her chest, moved. "That's beautiful. So many young men would have chosen differently."
"I didn't see it as a choice. They're my family."
Across the table, Marcus's jaw is so tight I'm surprised he hasn't started grinding his teeth. He's barely even touched his food.
"And you've had four confirmed concussions over ten years," my father continues. "That's significant neurological trauma. Have you considered the long-term implications?"
"Yes, which is why Ivy's research is so important," Declan says, glancing warmly at me. "Early intervention could change how we approach player safety. She's going to revolutionize the field."
Pride swells in my chest despite my anxiety. He talks about my work like it matters. Like I matter.
"Ivy has always been brilliant," my mother says in a polite, distant tone. "We're worried about her working in such a male-dominated environment."
"She holds her own better than most," Declan replies.
"Still, professional boundaries are important, especially when you're Marcus's sister working with his team," my father says.
The subtext is clear: don't embarrass your brother.
"I maintain strict professional boundaries," I say, the lie tasting bitter. "My relationship with the players is purely research-based."
Marcus snorts. I kick him under the table.
"Of course, sweetheart." My mother's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "We just want you to be careful. These athletes—no offense, Declan—they're used to a certain lifestyle."
"None taken."
But Declan's shoulder tenses, his finger tightening slightly on his glass.
Dinner continues with painful politeness. Declan discusses treatment protocols with my father, compliments my mother's pot roast, and asks intelligent questions about their work.
He's perfect, too perfect.
I can see my mother filing away observations, building a case for or against him that I won't hear about until she's reached a verdict. Marcus says nothing. He just stares at Declan like he's trying to decode a threat.
When dinner finally ends, I help my mother clear dishes while the men migrate to the living room.
"He's very charming," she says, rinsing plates.
"He is."
She glances at me with concern. I haven't seen her focus on me that way in ages.
"Charming men often are the most dangerous. Celebrities keep secrets, sweetheart. Make sure you know all of his before you give him your heart."
The words land like ice water. "Mom..."
She touches my cheek, the maternal affection surprising me as much as the tenderness in her eyes.
"I'm not saying he's a bad person. I'm saying public figures live complicated lives. And you've always been trusting and eager to see the best in people. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm not a child."
"No. You're a brilliant woman who deserves someone equally brilliant." She returns to the dishes. "Just be careful. That's all I ask."
The drive back to my apartment is silent for the first ten minutes. Declan's Mercedes glides through dark streets, the city lights blurring past my window. His hands grip the steering wheel with controlled tension.
"Your family is interesting," he finally says.
