31. Declan
Declan
Blessed is the season which engages the whole world
in a conspiracy of love.
~ Hamilton Wright Mabie
Christmas is everywhere. As soon as the Thanksgiving leftovers were sealed in Tupperware and stashed in the refrigerator, the whole town shifted into holiday mode.
Candy canes and elves, garlands and wreaths are everywhere.
Twinkle lights criss-cross over Main Street and cover the eaves of most of the houses.
We’re playing the Dallas Cowboys this weekend. I’m in my fifth week wearing the boot. I take it off for workouts and conditioning training. I’m getting around without the crutches, bearing more weight and rebuilding my leg muscles to prepare for my return.
I can almost taste the finish line.
But my recovery’s not what’s dominating my thoughts while I towel off and dress in the facility locker room.
I’m taking Winona to the Waterford town square tree lighting tonight.
It’s less than two weeks ‘til Christmas and I need to figure out what to get her.
I made the mistake of opening my mouth and asking Linc for suggestions in front of the guys.
“Just buy her a new car,” Treyvon says. “After putting up with us crashing Thanksgiving, it’s the least you can do.”
“Do I look like Oprah?” I ask Trey.
“No. Oprah’s way cuter than you.” He flicks his towel in my direction and cracks up at his own joke. “And she’s more generous.”
A chorus of “You get a car … and you get a car … and you get a car!” erupts from my teammates.
“I know what you should get her,” Keller shouts from where he’s tossing his practice jersey into the hamper.
I take the bait. “What?”
“How about an invisibility cloak?”
“I’m serious,” I say, shaking my head.
“So am I,” he says. “With all this talk about your relationship in the media … it has to be hard on her.”
“It’s not easy,” I say. “I hate that she has to endure it. I wanted to protect her from all of that.”
“It’s a necessary evil,” Linc says. “Comes with the job.”
“She didn’t ask for this.”
“Did you?” he asks.
“Not exactly. But I get the perks. I do what I love for a living. I’m playing for the NFL.”
“Living the dream!” Brady shouts.
A bunch of guys whoop and echo his words.
She’s my dream.
A few moments later, my phone pings with a text.
Winona: I’m here. Out in the parking lot. Want me to come in?
Declan: No need. I’m on my way out.
I say goodbye to the guys and walk out of the facility into the chill December air.
My face lights up when I see her, sitting behind the steering wheel of her car. I pick up my pace and settle into the passenger seat, leaning over to give her a kiss.
“What I wouldn’t give to whisk you away to St. Thomas right now.”
“And miss the tree lighting?” she asks.
I smile, shaking my head. It still blows my mind how grounded she is. Most women would jump on me saying I want to take them on a tropical vacation in the middle of winter. Not Winona. She wants to be a part of our town traditions.
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to miss the tree lighting.”
“It’s our first Christmas together.” She smiles and pushes the ignition. “I already got your present too!”
“Are we exchanging presents?” I ask, just to tease her.
“Declan, you’re joking, right?”
“Yeah. I am. I’ve got plans. They’re coming together.”
At least I’ve ruled out a new car or an invisibility cloak. That’s a start. I want what I give her to be perfect—meaningful.
Winona comes over for dinner and then she drives us to the town square. The parking spaces are full, so she drops me off and drives a block over to park the car.
I see Cass standing with their friend group, so I make my way over to her.
“Hey, Declan,” Cass says, smiling at me, but then looking over my shoulder and glancing around. “Where’s Winona?”
“She’s parking the car. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” She turns to her friends and excuses herself.
We step aside and I say, “I need your help.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to get your sister the perfect Christmas gift.” I run my hand through my hair.
Cass just stands there, not saying anything.
“The guys suggested a new car … among other things.”
“She’d hate that.”
I laugh. I know exactly what she means. Winona would feel like I got this massive gift and whatever she got me would feel small and insignificant next to my inappropriately large gesture.
“Yeah. I’d get her anything, but I know she doesn’t want it to be extravagant.”
“Though, she loved that date you took her on.”
“I loved it too.”
Cass smiles at me. “Honestly, my sister’s a simple person, Declan. She just wants to enjoy the people she loves and spend time with them. Maybe … a book?”
“A book? That’s it?”
“Trust me. If you pick the right book, it will feel special to her.”
“How do I pick the right book?”
“Well, that’s where I come in,” Cass smiles and lifts her brows. “Consider me your personal shopper. It can’t hurt to throw in some goodies—we can make a gift basket with the book.”
“I don’t expect you to shop for me.”
“Consider it my stamp of approval.”
“Of approval?”
“Of you and Winona. I like you for her.”
“Thanks. That means a lot. And I owe you.”
“Don’t I know it?”
I catch sight of Winona walking toward us, a scarf around her neck and mittens on her hands. Cass and I rejoin her friends.
The guys on the team don’t usually come out to local events like this. It causes a stir when a bunch of us are out in public together. So, tonight it’s just me and the book club women.
Winona reaches us and immediately loops her arm around me.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and we stand with her friends while my brother is lifted in the bucket at the end of the hydraulic fire truck ladder so he can place the star on the tree.
A choir from one of the local churches sings O, Christmas Tree.
The star flares to life, and light spills down the tree, traveling along each strand of twinkle lights, branch by branch, until the whole tree glows. The crowd of townspeople sends up a cheer when the last light flickers to life.
Winona’s face is alight with wonder, the yellow-white from the tree reflecting in her eyes.
I stare down at her and say, “I love you.”
The words slip out, softly, without any forethought. I would have planned a scene, staged it, prepared myself and maybe even her.
She stares up at me. “What?”
I know she heard me. There’s a look of wonder in her expression.
“I love you, Winona.”
She smiles up at me. “I love you too, Declan.”
I bend in and kiss her. It’s not the kiss I want to give her. We’re here in the middle of the town square, surrounded by families and townspeople.
When I pull back, she’s smiling up at me.
“You’re it for me,” I tell her.
“Same,” she says. “I’m so in love with you.”
The smile that takes over my face feels like it came from somewhere deep inside me. My whole body is smiling, if that’s possible.
We nestle into one another, side-by-side, staring at the tree, our breaths puffing into the night air while we watch children grabbing ornaments from the boxes that have been brought out every Christmas to this same spot.
Years ago, we were kids digging through to find our favorite ornament.
Maybe one day, our kids will be doing the same.
“I want to hang ornaments,” Winona says with her trademark enthusiasm. “Do you?”
“I’d rather watch you hang ornaments.”
“Hang one with me,” she says. “Then you can go back to being all broody and introverted.”
I chuckle, and of course I oblige her. Whatever she wants. That’s what I’ll do.
The following week, I’m deeper into rehab.
We’re doing functional training now. I get to actually attend practice: running progression, cutting progression, route-running drills, position work, film study.
I’m exhausted, but it’s the best feeling I’ve had in months.
I’m back. Practically ready to play again.
If all goes well this week, I could play in next week’s game.
Every day I’m at the facility, coaches evaluate my progress. Trainers keep watchful eyes for any signs of setback.
Friday I get the news that I’ll be playing next Sunday against the Washington Commanders at home if I don’t have any problems at practice the coming week.
When Winona picks me up, she says, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
“It’s in your kitchen.”
“Is it a goat?” I tease.
“Definitely not.”
On the drive home, Winona asks me about my progress.
I called her as soon as my coaches gave me the news today.
When I had called my parents, Dad said, “That’s good, Declan. Keep up the good work.”
Winona, on the other hand, squealed and shouted and then she surprised me by actually crying. “I’m just so happy for you. It’s finally here!”
“Close your eyes,” she says when she pulls in the driveway.
“How about I close my eyes after I get in the house?”
“Yeah. Good. That’s good. The last thing you need is to trip on your way into the house.”
When we’re inside the foyer, she reaches up and covers my eyes, guiding me into the kitchen.
Then she drops her hand and shouts, “Surprise!”
I stare down at the counter at a brown lump. That’s icing. Brown icing. It kind of looks like a mud cake, the kind Maeve and Patrick and I would make in the back yard when we were little. Then we’d get scolded for getting dirty.
“Thanks,” I say, looking over at Winona. “I love it.”
She purses her lips and stares up at me. “Do you even know what it is?”
“A cake?”
“It’s a football! A football cake!”
I stand back, squint, and close one eye. “I see it. In a Picasso sort of way.”
She playfully hits my arm.
“It kind of sunk into itself,” she says. “But I think it’s going to be extra delicious to make up for what it lacks in appearance.”
“I love it. Really.”
“Want me to cut a slice?” she offers.
“Let’s eat first. I’ll check what Claudette made.”
My phone rings before I even open the refrigerator.
“It’s Kate,” I tell Winona, pressing to accept the call.
“Declan, I hate to bother you on a Friday evening. The press is snooping around about Winona. There’s a rash of new smear posts about her.”
My stomach sinks.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“More of the same. But there are new photos. Some of the two of you kissing in her car. A few of her walking some dogs.”
“That means there are photographers here—in Waterford.”
Winona’s eyes meet mine.
“Yes,” Kate says.
“I wanted to get to you so you could call Winona and give her a heads-up so she hears it from you first.”
“She’s here with me,” I say.
At the mention of her name, Winona’s expression grows curious.
“Remind her not to respond online. Don’t engage with the trolls.”
“I will,” I say, clenching my molars.
I look away from Winona. She’s in this because of me.
“Tell her not to read comments. You either. People jump on the bandwagon with this kind of stuff. They use it as a dumping ground. Reading through it is my job. You two protect your mental health by leaving comment sections to me and my team.”
“Okay,” I say.
Winona approaches me, stepping in front of me and looking up into my face.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that could fend off the storm that’s looming. She wraps her arms around me and I let her.
“Expect photographers,” Kate says. “You might not spot them, but they’ll spot you. And call me if anyone is on your property, in your neighborhood, following you or her … You know the drill.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Hang in there, Declan. This will pass.”
“Yeah. It will.”
The question isn’t whether this storm passes. They always eventually do. The question is whether I have any right dragging someone like Winona into this kind of scrutiny and abuse.
I hang up with Kate and stare down at Winona.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“There’s more junk online. Some people took photos of us.”
“What kind of photos?”
“Us kissing in your car. Something else. I can’t even think straight.”
“Come sit down. I’ll get dinner. You should elevate your foot anyway.”
“They’re saying ugly things about you,” I say.
I run through everything Kate said. Winona listens. Her face contorts.
She’s hurting. This time, it hurts.
“I thought they’d get bored of this,” she says. “I’m not that interesting.”
“You’re wrong about that,” I say. “You’re the most interesting person I know. But yeah. The media is unpredictable. Social media’s even worse. They go wherever there’s blood in the water.”
She looks up at me, her brow wrinkled. Eyes filled with emotion. “Declan, you don’t think I’m dating you for your money, do you?”
“What? No! Not at all.”
“Good. Because you could be poor and I’d still love you.”
She leans in and hugs me. I pull her close.
The fact that she’s being hurt because of me and my fame sends a physical ache through my body.
I joke, “I’d still love you if you were filthy rich too.”
Winona laughs into my chest. But there’s a hollowness to the sound that haunts me.
I’m dragging her into this life.
The call from Kate puts a damper on our evening, but we still have slices of cake after our roast beef and veggies.
When Winona’s about to leave, she says, “I’m going to Sycamore Assisted Living tomorrow. Want to come?”
“Hanging out with a bunch of seniors?” I ask. “Yeah. Count me in.”