Chapter 18
Patrick
… There is nothing that lifts the spirit
and strengthens the soul more than
a good bowl of chili.
~ Harry James
My older brother, Declan, gets one week during the season when he’s “off.” It’s called a bye week in football. And he tends to spend at least part of that time with family to decompress from his high-demand lifestyle as a pro player.
This morning he showed up with a grocery bag in one arm, and he’s basically commandeered my kitchen.
“So, living next to Daisy Clark … How’s that workin’ out for ya?” Declan asks with a look of obvious amusement dancing across his features.
“Pretty much how you’d think.” A groan rises from my chest before I can stop it.
“I saw her yesterday. She’s grown up to be quite a beautiful woman.”
I bristle with an emotion I can’t pinpoint. My jaw flexes involuntarily.
Daisy’s my … enemy? My something. Not Declan’s anything.
“She’s … alright.” My voice cracks like I’m twelve again and my big brother’s cornering me about a crush.
Not that Daisy’s my crush. And, Declan’s right.
Daisy always was pretty—but now? Now she’s the kind of beautiful that makes men stop and turn their heads.
She’s wholly unaware of her pull. Between her chestnut hair cascading down her back and those golden-brown eyes …
the full curve of her lips … Yes. She’s beautiful.
But I’m not about to admit my appreciation to Declan—or anyone.
“Alright?” Declan presses. “She’d attract the attention of my whole team if she were in the stands at a game.
That long brown hair, her perfect complexion, those deep eyes that seem to be holding a secret.
Of course, she nearly sneered at me. But that was hot in its own way.
I love a woman who takes a stand and doesn’t back down. ”
I chuckle at the thought of Daisy sneering at my brother.
And he just defined my idea of the perfect woman: feisty, but not mean. Spirited, but only because she knows her own mind. Someone who’s able to discuss books.
M&M comes to mind briefly. It’s an absurd thought. We’ve agreed, for my sake and the sake of the podcast, to keep our relationship anonymous. But she does seem to fit all the qualities of a woman I’d pursue if I were looking for a romantic relationship.
Daisy probably fits the definition too—only she’d court me like a praying mantis. Heat prickles the back of my neck, and I rub the spot. Decapitation’s a steep price for love.
“I would have thought you’d fall for someone more like Mom,” I say.
“A woman who contentedly dwells under my shadow?” he asks, then quickly adds, “No disrespect to Mom. They’re happy. He’s good to her.”
“Yeah. That’s what I pictured. If you ever settled down, I thought it would be with someone who rotated in your orbit.”
“Nah. Thanks—or no thanks—to my job, women with stars in their eyes throw themselves at me constantly. I don’t want a groupie. I want a partner. You know?”
Declan continues cooking our massive breakfast, including what looks to be about half a pig’s worth of bacon and sausage currently sizzling in my frying pan.
He’s also planning to scramble a dozen eggs for the two of us.
I’m juicing oranges per his command. There are bagels in the toaster, ready to be toasted when the eggs go into the pan.
I eat a lot, but this guy eats like he’s got a ravenous family of raccoons hiding inside his belly.
“Now I know why they pay you the big dollars,” I tease. “They have to cover your grocery bill.”
“Nah. They pay me the big dollars because I’m awesome.” He gives me that unbothered grin of his.
My brother’s only half joking. Scouts sought him out when he was in high school. He had his choice of college teams. And then, agents came knocking and he got drafted into the NFL. His first two years were spent playing for Indiana. When the Thunder made a bid, he came back to Tennessee.
“Mom told me she set you up with Blaire.”
“She told you, huh?”
“Yeah. How was the date?”
“Fine. She’s nice.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Declan shakes his head.
He transfers the meat to the paper towels and starts cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.
He looks up at me with his brows drawn down. “Blaire’s gorgeous, from a good family, smart, and she’s into you. What more could you ask for?”
“I don’t know.” The words push out on a heavy exhale.
I really don’t know. Declan’s right. On paper, Blaire is everything I should want in a woman.
“So you’re not seeing her?” he asks.
“Not unless you count the family supper after our date when Mom invited Blaire without asking me. Thankfully she and I had already had the talk.”
“The talk?” Declan pauses. “Aww, man. You friend zoned her?”
“How do you know she didn’t friend zone me?”
“Because she’s had a thing for you since high school—back when all you wanted to do was hang out with Daisy and talk about books. She still saw something in you despite all that.”
I picture Blaire’s hopeful smile—and Daisy’s glare. The smile should move me, but it barely registers. The glare should drive me crazy ... and, well, it does.
“Thanks for the ringing endorsement,” I say.
“I don’t mean anything by it.” Declan shakes his head. Then he shifts into all-knowing big-brother mode. “You know what your problem is?”
“Didn’t know I had one.”
“It’s the books, Pat. Lay off the romance novels. You’ll never settle for average if you keep waiting on some storybook princess to make your life a happily ever after.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Do you even know what you’re talking about? The women in those books are normal, everyday women. It’s the men we have to worry about—they’re perfect.”
“Being perfect doesn’t mean you’ll find a woman who interests you.”
He says it so easily, as if he’s tested the theory by actually being perfect.
He does have what I call the golden trifecta: looks, money, fame.
He’s a good man on top of all that. And he’s got a great sense of humor, not that I’m going to tell him that.
Declan’s got confidence to spare. But despite his assets, he’s still single.
“The women of Waterford are a bunch of bookworms with unrealistic expectations,” Declan practically grumbles.
My thoughts wander to a particular bookworm.
I wanted to say something to her last night on the porch, to ask how she’s holding up after Dad’s announcement.
But I can’t. My hands are tied. I see the anguish in her face—the invisible weight she’s carrying.
I wish I could lift some of that off her shoulders.
The urge to hug her was so powerful last night—of all the things.
She probably would have called the cops and had me arrested for assault.
I chuckle to myself.
“What’s so funny?” Declan asks.
“The bookworms of Waterford.”
He laughs. “Yeah. You’d think they’d all be into you, seeing how you love books so much.”
He has no idea the length to which I’ve taken my love of books. I almost tell him. I half suspect he’d support me. But he might let the cat out of the bag to Mom and Dad and I can’t risk that exposure or criticism.
I press the button on the toaster and pour the juice while Declan cooks the eggs. Then we plate everything and sit at my kitchen table.
“You want any help setting up for the cook-off today?” Declan asks around his first bite. “I’ve got nothing but time this week.”
“I think we’re good. Are you planning to come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I love a chili cook-off, and the one in Waterford always makes me homesick.”
“For Waterford?” My shock isn’t hidden in the least.
“Yes, for Waterford. Where else would I be homesick for? I grew up here. It’s my hometown.”
“Yeah. I just … I don’t know. I figured you couldn’t wait to get out of here. And you never came back.”
“I was a normal teen. All teens itch to flee their home towns. It’s part of growing up and defining yourself apart from your family. And the NFL doesn’t exactly have a team in Waterford. But as soon as I got a chance to be closer to home, I took it. I love this town.”
“Huh.”
Declan spears me with a look. Did my assessment hurt him?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. You spend a lot of time in Nashville when Mom and Dad are there. I thought that would be your city of choice.”
“I like my parents,” he says with a shrug.
“Our parents,” I correct him, even though there’s something incredibly telling about him claiming them as his own.
I always felt like an alien in my own family.
There were a few years where I legitimately wondered if I had been adopted.
If it weren’t for the fact that I look just like my dad and brother, I’d have probably investigated my suspicion.
I never felt as naturally included and accepted as Declan and Maeve are.
“You okay?” Declan asks.
“I think I’m having a mid-life crisis,” I admit.
“In your twenties?” His question isn’t mocking.
“What can I say? I’m a savant.”
“You’re just figuring out your lines,” Declan says with easy assurance. “I had it easy that way. I never came back home—found my place in the world—separate from the O’Connell legacy.”
“And you play football—for the pros. You lived up to what they wanted.”
He nods. I’m shocked at how a simple bob of his head has the impact of a year’s worth of therapy. I feel validated and seen.
“I’m sure our parents being back has been an adjustment,” he says.
“Yeah. It has. Mom’s dead set on seeing me engaged to a debutante. Dad’s got this development in mind …” I trail off, not knowing what side of the fence Declan is on. He tends to be team Mom and Dad on most issues.
“That’s his business, Pat. He’s a developer. He always wants to improve things. There’s a sense of leadership and protection he brings to every situation and community. He believes he’s doing a favor to the people. Usually, he’s not wrong.”
“What if he is?” I ask.
“Then that town gets a Home Mart or a condominium complex. Life goes on.”
“Life goes on,” I echo.