34. Declan
Declan
I love football and I love winning,
and when things aren't going right I get annoyed.
~ David Beckham
I’m on the couch after the game, watching sports commentaries and thinking about Winona.
When my phone rings, I think it’s going to be her.
I expected her to come home with me after the game.
Something was off. She wasn’t exhausted—or at least that wasn’t the only thing going on with her.
But she obviously didn’t want to get into whatever it was.
I was on too much of a high from my first game back to give her excuse much of a thought in the moment, but since I’ve been home, it’s almost all I’ve been thinking about.
I pick up my cell. It’s Cass.
“Declan?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Good game.”
“Thanks. Is that why you called? To congratulate me?”
“No. I’m calling because Winona’s been holed up in her room ever since we got home.”
“I think she might be sleeping,” I say, but an uneasy feeling spreads over me. “She said she was exhausted.”
“I might agree with you, except she was sobbing.”
My gut hollows out just below my rib cage like a shotgun blew through me at close range.
“Sobbing?”
“She went straight upstairs, said she wasn’t hungry and shut her door. Being the nosier twin, I followed her quietly. After what happened today, I was concerned.”
I’m afraid to ask, but I need to know. I should have read the room.
When I walked into the Thunder family room, she was off in a chair with her Kindle.
She’s usually way more social and never cares one stitch about who’s who.
She’d befriend Dolly Parton as quickly as she did our janitor.
But there she was, sitting alone, her face in a book.
“What happened today?” I ask.
“She didn’t tell you?”
“We were swarmed by reporters when we stepped out of the family room. I walked her to her car. She told me she wasn’t coming home with me because she felt exhausted.”
“Oh.”
From what I’ve seen, Cass doesn’t usually restrain herself. She’s silent.
I wait.
“Are you going to tell me what happened, Cass?”
“We sat in the seats you gave us—thank you, by the way—and the moment we sat down, the woman next to Winona recognized her.”
She goes on to tell me about the slurs and whispers and people taking out their phones to take pictures of Winona.
I’ve never actually understood it when people said their blood boiled.
I get it now. I want to tear down the stadium with my bare hands, crack phones in half, break the internet …
I also want to run to Winona and cradle her, scoop her up in my arms, shield her, drive to the tarmac and fly her somewhere safe—away from the constant intrusion and harassment.
“I don’t know what to do, Declan. I’ve never been through anything like this. She hasn’t either. Everyone always loves her. Now, total strangers hate her.”
“It’s my fault,” I say.
“No.”
“It is. If I weren’t in her life, she’d be free of the spotlight—free of this mess.”
“Declan …” Cass doesn’t fight me. She knows I’m right.
“I’d come over, but I don’t know if she wants to see me right now,” I say.
“She loves you,” Cass says.
“I love her.”
“I know. She knows too.”
“I’d do anything to spare her this pain,” I tell Cass.
“I know you would. I would too.”
Fact is, I’m the only one who can do something. Kate said not to do anything. It will blow over. It doesn’t matter whether this particular storm will end today or in a month.
This is already too much. She’s suffering—because of me. No one should have to endure this kind of hatred from people—especially not Winona.
And I know now.
I can do something about it.
It might kill me. But I can do it.
“If you think it would help to see me tonight, encourage her to call me,” I say. “Otherwise, I think the situation will get better soon.”
“You do?” Cass seems surprised at my prediction.
“I know it will. Just give me a few days and I’m sure things will take a turn.”
The hollowed-out space beneath my ribs spreads into a consuming black cavern.
Life without Winona was my normal for thirty years. But now I’ve had her sunshine and her laughter. I’ve tasted her kisses. I’ve held her close in quiet moments we’ve shared. I’ve pictured a life with her—building a family, growing old together.
Losing her will be the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through. But it will free her from all the hate. Reporters will leave her alone. Her life can go back to normal.
I’ll take the hit for her.
I caused this. I can fix it.
I hang up with Cass and stare at the muted television where four men sit at a desk discussing the results of today’s games. It all seems meaningless. I huff out one short burst of laughter remembering Winona’s take on the sport before she became a fan. Men throwing a ball for a living.
My phone rings again. I reach for it with lightning speed only to see the caller ID and sink back into the couch. Dad. I don’t want to talk to him right now, but putting him off won’t keep him from calling when he wants to talk, so I answer.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hello, Declan. That was an impressive game.”
“Thanks.”
“You made it back.”
“Yep.”
“I’m actually calling about another matter.”
“What is it?”
“The nurse.”
“Winona?”
“Yes.”
“You need to end this, Declan. You’ve had your fun. The media should be focusing on your return. Instead, you’re in the middle of another frenzy over a woman. Cut her loose. You need to focus on the game and salvage your image.”
Dad never was one to mince words. He became one of the most successful and dominant developers in Tennessee because he cuts to the chase.
“You don’t know her,” I say. “You can’t just direct my private life.”
“I’m not trying to direct you, Declan. But sometimes, as men, we get swept up in something. A woman can blind us to the bigger picture. So, as someone on the sidelines, I have a different view of the field. I’m telling you, she’s in your blind spot. You need to end this.”
For some inexplicable reason, my mind flashes to the conversation where Winona told me I was like my dad and then she turned that into a compliment of both of us. Only Winona could plainly see the flaws in a person, but still come out saying one of the nicest things anyone ever said about them.
“I’ll make my own decisions where she’s concerned.”
I already made my decision.
My dad and his paranoia and single-minded focus on achievement doesn’t have any say in what I do or don’t do with Winona.
“Choose wisely, Declan. You were out on injury all season. You came back strong, but the Thunder will be looking at contracts between seasons. You don’t want this cloud over you after a year on injured reserves.”
“You’ve said your piece,” I say. And then it’s like Winona’s standing in the room, smiling softly at me, silently encouraging me to be nice to my dad. “Thanks for caring about all that,” I add.
“Your mom wants to talk to you,” Dad says, aware I’m about to cut the call and say goodbye.
“Pulling out the big guns?” I mutter.
“Your mother is not the big guns. She’s your mom.”
“Right. Yes. You’re right.”
“Declan,” Dad says before handing the phone to Mom. “I know I came across as blunt. It is what it is. I’m calling because I care.”
“I know, Dad.” I don’t thank him.
I’m not exactly grateful that my dad called the evening of my first return game to order me to call things off with the woman I love.
I do see his heart behind his approach. And, ironically, I have Winona to thank for my increased compassion.
My dad doesn’t even say goodbye. Next thing I know, Mom’s on the phone.
“Declan, sweetheart. We’re so proud. You played a great game.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“How’s your ankle feeling?”
“I feel it. But the trainers checked me out. I got treatment. I’m strong.”
“You sure are.” She pauses. Then she says, “Declan, I know your dad can be bold when he presents ideas.”
I laugh. “Bold. Yeah.”
“He and I have talked a lot about this situation. Your image is only part of our concern.”
“I’m listening.”
“Winona is a small-town girl. She isn’t used to this life.”
“You’re not wrong.”
I don’t mention how well she fits with the team. I definitely don’t mention how she feels like this piece of life I’ve been missing and finally found.
“The women I have arranged to meet you aren’t chosen at random,” Mom says.
It’s the first time she so openly acknowledged her matchmaking mission.
“I always ask myself, How would she do living alongside my son? It’s up to you to find someone compatible.
All I’m doing is screening for their capacity to endure the heat. ”
“You’re screening candidates.” I don’t even phrase it as a question.
“A supermodel or actress already lives in the spotlight. They’re not injured when the world smears their name. They’re used to the haters and media sensationalism and to the demands of living in the public eye.”
I never saw her efforts as anything other than meddling. I tease her. “Here I thought Dad was the strategic one.”
“Behind every successful man …” she tapers off.
“I’m not diminishing you as a person, Mom. I just thought you liked taking the back seat.”
“I prefer shotgun.”
I’m silent, considering the women Mom has sent to meet me over the years.
Not one of them appeals to me.
They’re not Winona.
I only want her.
I’d rather die single than date another woman.
“I don’t care what Winona makes or what she does for a living,” Mom says. “All I’m saying is that she may not be cut out for this life. I’m imagining how all this negative press must be affecting her. Being torn apart on the world’s stage is really a lot to ask of her.”
“I know.”
“That’s all.”
To her credit, my mom doesn’t say anything else.
She’s right. It’s not right to ask this of Winona.
I love her.
Love means you do what’s best for a person even if it costs you everything.
And letting her go will cost me everything.
But it will spare her the pain she’s going through for me right now.
“Are you still there?” Mom’s question cuts through my thoughts.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m here. You don’t need to worry. I had already decided I needed to break up with her.”