39. Winona #2
“I am. And this time I’m here for good.”
“I’m here for good too,” I tell him. “I’m not backing down. I told you then, and I still mean it. If facing haters online is a price I pay for loving you, I’ll pay that price—gladly.”
He kisses my forehead, cupping my face.
“By the way,” I whisper to him. “You played a good game.”
He smiles.
“I knew Delaney was going for a play action pass,” I tell him. “I called it.”
He smiles a wide smile that makes his dimple pop. Then he leans in and kisses me again, wrapping one arm around my back and tugging me to himself. His kiss is hungry and consuming—one of those kisses that makes me forget everything except him.
“What was that for?” I ask when we separate.
“You. All that football talk.”
“Touchdown … tight end … flag on the play …” I say, teasing him and wagging my brows like I’m being super sexy.
Declan lifts his hand and brushes my hair back. “Will you be here when I’m finished? In the family room?”
“I’ll be here,” I promise him.
His eyes rove down to my jersey as if he’s noticing it for the first time.
“You wore my jersey.”
“I did. I’m here for you. Always. Your biggest fan.”
He smiles.
Treyvon’s voice fills the stadium. “Okay, Thunder fans. Let’s all give it up for O’Connell and Winona!”
Declan laughs with me. He drops his forehead so it touches mine. I stare into his eyes, soaking up the feel of him.
The crowd erupts in cheers. Declan loops his arm behind me and we turn side-by-side, scanning the smiling faces around us and then looking up at the jumbotron at a larger-than-life digital reflection of us together.
I lean into him and he tugs me to his side more tightly.
The image on the jumbotron changes to celebration graphics with Thank You, Thunder Fans! flashing on the screen. Replay highlights roll and the crowd starts to pack up and make their way toward the exits.
Our friends step over, forming a semicircle around us, congratulating Declan and smiling at me.
A member of the coaching staff approaches Declan. “Declan, we've got to get you back.” He turns to me. “You’ll need this. I’m assuming you’re sticking around.”
I thank him, looping the family-access lanyard over my neck.
“I have to go,” Declan says.
He turns to me. “Wait for me.”
“Of course.”
He leans in for one more kiss and then he makes his way to the wall, giving a teen boy and then another few fans high fives along the way. Security helps him back over the wall and I watch as he disappears into the tunnel.
Cass turns to me. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“You did this?” I ask her. Then I turn to our friends. “You were all in on this?”
They nod.
Cass says, “I’d do anything for you.” She laughs. “On the plus side, I still have my spleen.”
“Thank you.” I lean in and pull my sister into a hug. “And no. You can go. I’m pretty sure I have a ride home.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything,” she says.
I make my way through the stadium, stopping to ask directions to the family room once, and then indulging myself by pausing at a souvenir and merch stand to buy a few things.
When I open the door to the family room, people are mingling, eating finger foods and drinking beverages from the bar in the corner. I order a soda and when I turn around, a man who’s the spitting image of Declan, only a quarter-century older approaches me, his wife at his side.
“Winona,” Mr. O’Connell says.
“Hello.”
“We’re so happy for you,” Mrs. O’Connell says, catching me off guard.
“Whatever makes Declan happy,” Mr. O’Connell says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I tell him.
The televisions on several of the walls play the post-game commentary.
“Declan played so well,” I say, looking from his mom to his dad. “You must be proud.”
“He did his job,” his dad says.
“We couldn’t be prouder,” his mom adds.
We stand in a not-quite-awkward silence. And then the television screens change to show the press conference.
Declan is seated at the table with Marcus Delaney. I step closer to one of the screens so I can hear more clearly.
Declan’s wearing a team quarter-zip. His hair is shower-damp. He doesn't look like he just stepped off the field. His eyes are bright, and there’s a lightness to his expression. I imagine it’s a mirror of the way I feel right now.
“How does it feel to be back on the field?” one reporter asks.
Declan answers, telling them how good it was to be able to show up for his team.
A few more questions focus on the game and Declan’s return and how he feels physically.
Then, another reporter asks, “Let’s talk about that declaration, Declan.”
“What can I say?” he says, smiling broadly. “Winona is the best person I know. It killed me to see her torn to shreds by fans and the media. I thought I could protect her by letting her go.”
“That was a pretty romantic gesture,” the reporter says.
Declan nods once. “If our relationship is going to be in the spotlight, I might as well put the focus where it belongs—on how much I love her.”
“You definitely controlled the narrative tonight.”
“Thank you. Are there any other questions about the game?” He redirects the reporter away from talk about me and our relationship.
Marcus answers a few questions and then Coach Clay takes a seat at the table to talk about the Thunder’s strategy for the rest of the playoff season.
A few of the WAGs approach me, introducing themselves and making small talk. Shortly after his press conference ends, the door opens and Declan walks through with a few other players.
Marcus is alongside him, one hand hidden behind his back.
“There you are, Winona!” Marcus shouts. His voice is so loud and commanding, every eye in the room turns toward us.
“I was looking for you.” Marcus holds up a foam cheese head. “Didn’t you say you wanted one of these?"
"Seriously?” Declan says. He’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling.
Then he looks at me and asks, “You’re not actually wearing that, are you?”
"The question isn't whether I’m wearing it,” I say. “The question is whether you’re wearing the matching cheese.” I pull the cheese head I bought at the souvenir stand out of the bag I’m holding.
Declan groans.
I laugh. It’s not a half-hearted laugh, hollowed out with pain and grief. This is my laughter, returning to me because he’s back.
“This,” Declan says, grabbing the cheese head and putting it on his head. “This is why I love you.”
He pulls me close and kisses me.
I hold on to him, sinking into his kiss until the world melts away.
Declan pulls back, smiling down at me. “I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” I tell him. “So much.”
Around us, teammates hug their wives and girlfriends. Children weave through the room. On the wall, the televisions replay the winning touchdown and the Thunder's victory.
I’ll remember every detail of this day for the rest of my life.
After Declan hugs his mom and dad, he looks at me. “Ready to go?”
I nod.
He leans in, his breath brushing over my ear when he whispers, “Let’s go home.”
I look up at him and squeeze his hand. “I’m already home.”