Chapter 8 Declan
DECLAN
Iabruptly silence my maniacal laughter. “You’re not a dude.”
An extraordinarily familiar woman with blonde hair, peachy skin, and wearing a smile jerks back slightly. She wipes a wet piece of blonde hair from her face. A charm strung on a string around her wrist catches my eye.
“I am not a dude, Declan,” she confirms.
My mouth opens and closes as my worlds collide. “You’re not a stranger either.”
She blinks a few times, whether from the squirt gun water or because she’s as shocked as I am, I’m not sure.
“You are My Oh Mags Byrne,” I say, gesturing grandly and using one of many nicknames I have for my best friend.
Her smile is a strange mixture of shock, delight, and dismay.
I step closer, ready to scoop her into my arms in a bear-hug hello, but she stands frozen, as stationary as a football upright. Probably a result of my grand entrance, which was not intended for her.
“What are you doing here?” we both ask at the same time.
She gestures, “You first.”
Wincing, I click my tongue. “About that. I, uh, got into some hot water back in Boston.”
She wrinkles her nose as water drips from the end of it. “Is that so?”
“Cold water. Uh, sorry about that. I thought I’d give the coach or whoever was here to greet me a Declan Printz dousing—”
She clutches a damp file folder to her chest and the situation comes into focus.
I lower the squirt guns. My new coach isn’t short, but she’s not tall either. She’s fit, but curvy where it counts. Her gaze doesn’t meet mine and her hair hangs limply around her face with no thanks to me.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Is this the job overseas you mentioned?”
“Sure is, and it seems you’re my client. Er, student.” She steps closer and I catch a gust of sweet rosewater perfume.
“Then let the fun begin!” I lift the water pistols like a cowboy ready to conquer the west, now that he’s been reunited with his partner in crime.
She slowly shakes her head. “Declan, I need this job and I imagine the fact that we know each other would be a conflict of interest, so as of right now, we do not know each other. Got it?”
I frown. “You’re asking me to pretend I don’t know you?”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling you to,” she whisper-hisses. “They’re serious around here.”
I glance around to make sure we’re alone, then tackle her with a monster hug despite her orders.
She tries to shrug away. “Declan, the headmistress could walk in at any second.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take after not seeing my best friend in what feels like forever.” I squeeze tight enough that I feel her soften a little.
“You’re not going to let go until I give in, are you?” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
“Nope.” Something crackles inside me.
At last, she wraps her arms around my midsection, hugging me back.
She sinks into me as if she needs this embrace as much as I do.
For approximately twenty seconds, I feel at home, at ease.
Like if my football career doesn’t recover from the #BruiserButt scandal, I’ll be okay.
A deep breath, the first in a long time, fills my lungs.
When we part, Maggie looks up at me, hazel eyes bright. Maggie Byrne is so sweet, she’s the kind of girl that could give a guy a cavity.
“How long has it been? Someone was supposed to come to my birthday party but stood me up.” I wag my finger.
“I was there, but the line to meet you was too long.”
“Ouch,” I say, mock flinching. “You’re still wearing the charm I gave you at graduation. But it’s not around your neck.”
Her fingers reach for it. “Yeah, I guess so. The chain broke.”
The crackling inside intensifies and spreads to my chest. “You should’ve told me.
I’d have replaced it. And for the record, if you ever show up anywhere I am and there’s a line, Miss Mags, I want you to cut right to the front.
” I reflexively grip her wrist and rub my thumb over the charm.
If I had my druthers, I could buy her one covered in diamonds instead of this little silver thing—it’s a wonder she still wears it.
“Cut to the front? Ha ha.” The way she drops the sarcastic laugh suggests she’s not the kind of woman to wait in line for a guy, nor should she. In fact, if a guy ever made her wait in line, I’d introduce him to the Boston Bruiser bust-up. It would involve my fists and his ears.
“I’m not joking,” I say out loud as a dark thought creeps in. What if I’ve been that kind of guy to someone’s best friend?
“Joking? But that’s what you do.” Instead of the smile I want to see, her lips dip like she carries disappointment.
It can’t be about #BruiserButt because that’s just par for the course.
I think back to our most recent text and everything seemed fine between us, business as usual with our easy-going banter.
“Ready for your life makeover?” she asks, glancing at the contents of the folder.
“I don’t need a life makeover.”
Her eyes, not meeting mine, land on the water pistols. “Declan, I beg to differ.”
I’ve never seen this version of my best friend. Instead of a cheerful reunion, I get cold, dead-eyed, irritable outlaw Maggie.
Again, the water probably didn’t help.
“I’m, uh, sorry,” I start.
“Are you, though?”
I lift my shoulder because she knows me too well.
“If it weren’t you standing in this room, then no.
Not at all. I’m the kind of guy who brings the heat.
I figured the guys would be in here with a team representative ready to give us a stern scolding about our behavior, so I wanted to cool things off. ”
The words I speak, ordinarily met with an eager smile from the women I woo, are stale in my mouth. Out of place. Lyrics to a song that has grown old. Yet I said them anyway. I have to keep up my persona, right? But Maggie is different. She’s not some random chick. She’s My Mags.
“Is that really the first impression you wanted to make?” she asks.
“My first impression, and I’ll never forget the first day we met, you were wearing a white cotton tank top with yellow flowers. Your hair was loose and kind of tangled in a pair of hoop earrings. You wore cut-off shorts and sandals.” I glance down at her feet. “And you had a toe ring on.”
“We first met in Mr. Sanderson’s global history class and you asked me about being a California girl.”
Even though distance has separated us, I’ve never forgotten Maggie’s bright and sunny smile. “We officially met when he partnered us for that project. But we unofficially met the day before. You were walking toward Riverdale Dorm and I was coming from touring the dining hall.”
The space between her eyebrows pinches as if she’s trying to remember.
“We were walking toward each other. You were carrying a large ceramic garden gnome. Someone’s dog was loose with its leash trailing behind as it bounded toward you.
I made a daring save Coach Hammer would be proud of and got ahold of the leash before it crashed into you and knocked the gnome out of your hands. ”
Recognition brightens her eyes. “I remember that gnome.”
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s what you got from that story and not my daring rescue?”
“Thank you for keeping the dog from knocking me over and saving Bagwick Wiggletop,” Maggie says, lips quirking.
“Who?”
“The gnome. I traded him to a nice elderly woman in St. Augustine for a chocolate cake recipe that I made into cupcakes.”
“That’s weird. Should I be worried?”
“No, he has a good home. Coincidentally, she had a gnome named Brassy Bunnyhop.”
I burst into laughter and bright sunshine fills my mind. I can’t help but think Maggie and I have been on a collision course and now, reunited, I’m home after a long time away.
Her eyes flick to mine for a moment and her cheeks turn pink. Then she presses her lips to a thin line. “What did you say before? You bring the heat? Then you doused me with water?” Her voice sounds faintly like an echo.
I’ve never seen such a beautiful face crumble so fully, so sadly, so terribly, or so quickly. Maggie has always had a sweet innocence, a girl-next-door quality, and I feel like the biggest jerk on earth for trampling all over it with my cocky behavior.
Then again, I didn’t expect to find my best friend in Concordia. “I maintain my innocence. I didn’t realize you’d be here. You texted about a job, but not where.”
“Yet here I am...and here you are.” It’s almost like she wants to say more, but hides the words behind her back like a kid with a cookie from the cookie jar.
“And there I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you and I am happy to see you now, but—” She pinches her damp skirt and pulls its cling from her curves.
I wince. “I’m sorry.” Then, without hesitating, once more I pull her into my arms, not caring that I’ll too be damp from my water gun spree.
My thoughts land on how good it feels to have Maggie in my arms. To hold onto something, someone, who is a constant in my ever-changing life.
She doesn’t hug back this time. “Not funny, Declan.”
I let her go. “At least it wasn’t a sports drink. That would’ve left you super sticky.”
Maggie lets out a little growl. Admittedly, it’s cute.
“If you want to dump a bucket of water over my head in revenge, you have full permission.”
“Getting revenge when you least expect it would be more satisfying. But considering all the rules at this place, it’s safe to assume we’re not supposed to know each other, Declan. We have to fake not having a friendship,” she whispers.
Shifting from foot to foot, I say, “I’m a football player, not an actor.”
“Thank goodness,” she mutters.
“And I apologize about the water guns. As I mentioned, I figured the guys from the team would be in here.”
“Didn’t you travel together?”
“The moment the plane landed in Concordia, I went to check out the city—Intherness.”
“Meaning you went MIA. No wonder you were late.” Disappointment laces her voice.