“What about your dad?”

I hesitate, but only briefly. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve been trying to keep my parents from worrying about me for way too long. I’ve been trying so hard to be the good daughter, to somehow make up for losing Casey, that I’ve lost myself in the process. Maybe it’s time I start living for me.”

Declan squeezes my hand, his gaze never leaving mine. His thumb traces my bottom lip. “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, even as tears threaten to fall.

“It’s gonna sound crazy,” he continues, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, “but some part of me knew you were gonna be mine the very first time I kissed you that night.”

I answer with my lips on his, pouring everything I can’t articulate into our kiss. Dealing with my father won’t be easy, and the media will certainly have opinions, but right now, all that matters is Declan.

Because I’m his, and he’s mine. Officially. No more beating around the bush, no more unspoken tension between us. No more tiptoeing around my father or anyone else on the team.

We’re really doing this.

* * *

Soft morning light filters through the hospital blinds when I open my eyes. My neck aches from sleeping in the chair beside Declan’s bed, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. His hand is still in mine, just the way it was when I finally dozed off sometime after midnight.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.

I stretch, wincing at the stiffness in my back. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” His eyes are clearer today, the foggy confusion gone. “You didn’t have to stay all night.”

“Yes, I did.” I lean over to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Isn’t that what girlfriends do? Stay with their boyfriends in the hospital after they take a hit on the ice?”

A grin tilts his lips, and he tugs me closer for a kiss. “Hell yeah, it is.”

A knock interrupts us, and the doctor enters, clipboard in hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Murray. How’s the head today?” she asks while checking his vitals.

“Much better,” Declan replies, sitting up straighter.

The doctor shines a light in his eyes, asks him to follow her finger, then smiles. “Well, I’m pleased to tell you everything looks good. We’ll need you to take it easy for a few days—no hockey, no screens, no strenuous activity—but I’m comfortable discharging you this morning. Do you have someone who can stay with you for the next 24 hours?”

“He does,” I answer quickly. “Me.”

“Excellent. I’ll have the nurse bring in your discharge papers.”