28. Declan
Declan
I need privacy—to be alone with you,
to set this hubbub in order.
~ Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Winona is sitting next to me on our drive back to the airport in Nashville. Her head is resting on my shoulder and my arm is around her back.
She’s talking softly, trying to keep the driver from hearing what she’s saying to me.
“Best night ever,” she murmurs into my chest.
“I’ll always remember our first date,” I say softly, bending so my mouth is close to her ear.
She shivers and whispers, “That tickles.”
I chuckle.
“That fan had gumption,” she says, sitting up and looking into my eyes.
“Let’s call it gumption,” I say. “It was definitely over the line. He could tell we were out on a date. He should have smiled and nodded. Approaching our table went too far.”
“So if you were a ref, you would have thrown a flag on the play?” she asks.
I tug her close so I can kiss her.
“What was that for?” she asks, smiling through the darkness.
“You talked football.”
She laughs lightly.
“And yes,” I say. “Total flag on the play. Loss of possession.”
“That’s so harsh. Not even losing fifteen yards. It’s a full turnover?”
I kiss her again.
She pulls back, laughing. “You really do love the football talk.”
“You have no idea,” I admit.
We arrive on the tarmac and I take my crutches from our driver, thanking him. Winona walks ahead of me, already falling into the routine of climbing the steps and greeting the crew like she flies private jets all the time.
We use the lounge on the flight back. I don’t have them turn the couches into beds. It’s too short a flight, but I want to hold Winona after an evening of looking at her from across a table. She nestles into my side and Martina brings us some drinks and macarons.
“I could get used to this,” Winona says, grabbing a cookie off the plate.
“I hope you do,” I tell her. “Next time, I will fly you to St. Thomas. It’s only a four-hour flight. We take a nicer jet when we fly longer distances.”
“Oh, I should hope so,” she says, holding her cookie so her pinky finger is extended. “I can barely stand this one. Abhorrent. Not at all up to my standards. I require a far nicer jet.”
I laugh. “You got me there.”
I haven’t thought of anyone but Winona all night, but her playful taunting brings to mind other women from my past. They would expect a better jet. Not that I ever flew any of them anywhere. But other women always expected me to lavish them with gifts and extravagant dates.
“You’re amazing,” I tell Winona, leaning in and kissing her now that we’re alone.
She melts into me, running her hands through my hair and then resting her forearms on my shoulders while I tug her close.
When she pulls away, she says, “I’m amazing because I demand the very best. I want you to charter Air Force One for us.” She breaks into a peal of laughter at her own joke.
I laugh too, but then our eyes catch and I tell her. “You’re amazing because you could ask me for anything and I’d try to give it to you if I could. But you don’t. You’re just happy with whatever we’re doing.”
“And you’re amazing,” she says, running her hand down my jawline and holding my chin for a moment before leaning in and whispering in my ear. “Because you would try to give me anything I asked for. That’s how amazing you are.”
A chill runs through me, followed by a warmth only she brings.
I don’t know if this is love, but it’s more than I’ve ever felt for anyone.
I’m definitely falling for Winona.
“Thank you for taking me to Nashville,” she says, resting her head on my chest and laying her arm across my waist. “And for sending Ann. And asking Cass to help you. You get all the boyfriend points tonight. Ten out of ten recommend.”
“Ten out of ten?” I laugh.
“Yes. Flying colors. You win. Super Bowl champ of all boyfriends.”
She tilts her head up to look at me. “And that doesn’t mean you have to kiss me just because I used the words Super Bowl.”
“Actually,” I say, lifting my finger and gently sliding a tendril of hair off her cheek. “It does.”
The next morning I wake to the sound of incoming texts.
I rub my eyes and open my lock screen to find a string of messages from Patrick, Mom, and Dad.
There’s even a few from Kate Reynolds, the Thunder’s Director of Communications.
The group chat with the guys on the team is popping off too—on a day when they’re playing the Panthers in Carolina.
And there’s a text from Winona. I open that one first.
Winona: Well, at least they got my good side.
Declan: What?
Winona: In the photo. Haven’t you seen it?
Declan: I slept in. What photo?
Winona: Must be nice. I was sleeping in, but Cass woke me, waving her phone over my head. That fan snuck a photo of us eating dinner together. At least, I think it was him …
I don’t even read the rest of her text. I pull up her contact and press Call.
“Declan?”
“Yeah. So that fan took our picture?”
“It might have been a staff at The Standard. But the angle looks like it was taken from the table next to us. It’s a nice photo, if that’s any consolation.”
“How did you find out? Cass showed you?”
I sit up, pivoting and stepping out of bed carefully so most of my weight lands on my good leg.
“Yeah. It’s on social media.”
“Okay. Well … Let me pull myself together and look at everything. Are you okay?”
“Declan. Someone took a photo of us on a date. It’s not that big of a deal. I’m fine.”
“Good. That’s all that matters.”
“I might have it framed,” she says.
“Of course you would,” I say. “Lemonade from lemons.”
“I do love lemonade,” she jokes.
“Okay. I’ll call you in a bit,” I say.
“I …” I almost say, I love you. It’s on the tip of my tongue, like one of those truth bombs that fall so easily before you’re fully awake.
I walk into the bathroom, telling Winona, “I will call you after I get all the details.”
“Declan?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not a big deal. Keep it in perspective.”
“Okay. Yeah. I will.”
She knows about Ginger. And I’m probably overreacting since I’ve seen how ugly the media can be. Still, I hate that our private night out is now out there for public consumption.
Once I’m dressed, I do a quick search of my name on social media.
I shouldn’t be surprised when our photo comes up everywhere.
Pubity, People Magazine, and a bunch of celebrity news accounts all have posts.
There are only two clips. One is the photo of the two of us.
Winona’s right. They got her good side. She looks even more gorgeous than I remember.
And there’s a short video of us leaving The Standard and getting into the limo.
That can’t have been taken by the fan who interrupted our date.
I dial Kate Reynolds.
“Declan.”
“I saw the photo and the video clip. Just got your message.”
“No worries. It’s not major. Mostly speculation as to who this woman is, but considering how far it spread and how fast, I want to be in the loop and get ahead of anything if there’s anything to get ahead of.”
“There’s nothing. That’s my girlfriend, Winona. Andrew cleared me to take her to Nashville for an evening.”
“Okay. Well, that seems cut and dry. Is there anything else you think I need to know?”
I know what she’s really asking. “She’s a small town girl. No background issues.”
“How did you meet?”
“She was my home health nurse’s aide.”
“Is she private?”
“She and I talked this morning. She was the one talking me off the ledge. She’s not looking for the spotlight, but she’s surprisingly comfortable when my job interferes with our relationship.”
“Do you anticipate things with her continuing?”
“I do.”
“Okay, then. I think this is a non-issue for now. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Thanks, Kate.”
We hang up and I open Patrick’s text next.
Patrick: Saw the photo. Well, Daisy saw it and showed me. Just checking if you’re okay.
Declan: I’m good. We had a nice night out. Someone decided to share the joy.
Patrick: I don’t envy you, living in the limelight.
Declan: It has its perks and then there’s stuff like this.
Patrick: Well, I’m glad you had a nice night out.
Declan: Thanks.
I take a deep breath and open the texts from my parents. I only read the first one from my dad and then I’m dialing them.
Dad: Saw the picture, son. Who is the woman?
Dad picks up on the first ring.
“Declan.”
“Dad.”
“You’re not even back in the game and you’re making headlines.”
“Just took a woman on a date.”
“Who was she? Your mother and I didn’t recognize her as someone we should know. And the media is stabbing in the dark at her identity.”
It’s not lost on me that he’s met her twice and been at town halls with her far more often, and yet he doesn’t recognize her. Makeup or no, she’s not a face most people would forget.
I take another steadying breath, almost like I do when I’m at the line before a snap. “She’s my girlfriend.”
There’s a beat of silence and then, “Girlfriend. I was unaware that you had a girlfriend. Is this new?”
“It’s been almost six weeks.”
My dad can do basic math. “We’ve seen you since then. At Boston’s birthday party.”
“She was there.”
More silence.
“Winona, Dad. It’s Winona.”
“The nurse?”
“Yes. She works for the home health agency.”
“Declan.” He sounds like he’s about to head into one of his speeches.
“Dad.” My tone holds a note of warning.
“Son, it’s not uncommon for a man—one who is alone and lonely and vulnerable from injury—to have an attraction …”
I cut him off before he can go any further. “That’s not what this is. I wanted to tell you sooner, but you and Mom weren’t exactly open to her—even before you knew we were dating.”
“We were cordial.”
I’m not here to argue with my dad. “Well, I was going to tell you in person.”
“And then the news leaked before you had a chance.”
“Exactly.”
“Declan, a man of our status and means … a woman can …”
I cut him off again. “Dad, you don’t know her. Please don’t insult her. She might be a part of my life for a long time. Whatever you say now will stick with both of us, and you don’t want to say something you’ll come to regret. Choose your words wisely.”
“Very well.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
I want to tell him all about Winona—to help him see her. But I know I can’t control how my dad views people, so I leave it alone.
“I’ll tell your mother,” Dad finally says.
“Do you want me to tell her?”
“No.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve got to get to some calls.”
“Be careful, Declan.”
“She’s not Ginger,” I say, naming the elephant in the room.
“We’ll see.”
Dad and I hang up. For some reason, I hear Winona’s voice in my head saying something about how my dad’s just looking out for me and I should be grateful he cares so much.
I smile. I’ve developed an inner Winona. When did that happen?
Last, but not least, I open the group text. The guys are all going crazy.
Delaney: Declan, my man. Looking sharp.
Pierce: He’s not looking nearly as sharp as our girl Winona.
Linc: She’s too good for you, man.
Delaney: Seriously, O’Connell. We saw the photo. You doing okay?
Pierce: Delaney’s getting all sympathetic over here.
Delaney: I’m a caring friend.
Linc: Let us know if you need anything.
I laugh to myself and then I text them back.
Declan: I’m good. Had “the talk” with Kate.
I make my way downstairs so I can get something to eat. It takes a few minutes for them to respond.
Delaney: I had “the talk” in eighth grade health class.
I chuckle. I set myself up for that.
Declan: Not that talk. She had to ask me about Winona. I think this will blow over.
Pierce: The media is all over this like white on rice. They want to know her identity.
Declan: Well, they can wonder. Good luck today.
Linc: What is this luck you speak of? We’re relying on sheer skill.
I laugh, setting my phone on the counter and making myself a green drink.
I make my smoothie, drink it, and then settle on the couch. I promised to call Winona once I talked to Kate, so I grab my cell and click her contact.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
“Well, I told my parents about you.” I don’t know why that’s the first thing I say.
“Bet that went well,” she jokes.
“They watched me go through Ginger. They get concerned.”
“Well, they care,” she says. “That’s a gift.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” I shift the pillow behind my back. “How are you?”
“I’m good. It’s kind of fun watching the media guess at my identity.”
“It’s all fun until it isn’t,” I say, sounding grumpier than I mean to. I just don’t want her swept into a media storm.
“Some of the comments are mean,” she says. “But they don’t know me.”
“People can be hateful. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I don’t love being hacked apart in public, but I’m fine. If this is the price I pay for being with you?” she says, “Worth it.”
“I’m going to do my best to protect you from anything negative.”
“You’re not God, Declan.” She pauses. “Like I said, you’re worth it.”
Over the following week, people seem to lose interest in Winona and our date. The internet is a weird place. The memory is long, but the attention span can be mercifully short.
I’m cleared to sit on the sidelines during our game against the Eagles at home on Sunday.
Finally.
Even though I’m not playing, it feels like a milestone to be able to put on my uniform and be on the bench. If you’d have asked me when I first broke my ankle how I’d be feeling today, I’d have told you antsy, eager to get to work, buzzing with anticipation. And I am all that.
Alongside all my feelings about getting back on the field is something I never saw coming: my feelings for Winona.
Every day closer to being back full time also means less time with her and more of the spotlight on the two of us—on her.
She said she’s fine with it, and she’s handling it far better than I thought she might, but I don’t love the idea of our relationship being out on display.
After the game, a reporter I’ve come to know over the past few years approaches me.
“Good to see you on the sidelines, Declan. Does this mean we can expect you back in the game soon?”
“If all goes well. I’m feeling great, Marcy. I still have some weeks of treatment. Hoping to be back before the end of the season.”
“Good to hear.” She pauses. Her smile doesn’t prepare me for where she goes next. “I have to ask the question that’s on everyone’s mind. We all saw the photo. Is this someone special?”
I breathe in slowly, controlling myself so the camera won’t detect anything.
Then I say, “I appreciate the support from fans. I’m keeping my private life private these days.”
Marcy says, “Of course. Well, thank you, Declan. And congratulations on your recovery. We’re looking forward to seeing you on the field.”
I thank her and then the camera’s off and she says, “Sorry, Declan. Just doing my job.”
“I understand,” I tell her.
Though I really don’t. Some things should be off limits.
My love life isn’t public property.