Chapter 21 Maggie
MAGGIE
After church on Sunday morning, Cateline calls all the etiquette coaches and football players into the parlor room with lace curtains, pink pastel wallpaper, and silk floral sofas with scalloped wooden frames.
The Boston Bruisers look like a bunch of grizzly bears at Grandma’s house. It’s quite a contrast and could be a good place for a photo shoot for an avant-garde magazine.
Big guys versus delicate, antique furniture. Let the games begin!
In the span of a week, I’ve been busy, but I’ve also gotten to know the other women on the Blancbourg team and the guys assigned to them.
Cateline has Wolf, who has a reputation as a player, off the field, especially. However, if anyone can handle him, it would be her. The woman lords over this place with iron in her eyes...and fists.
A British woman named Pippa coaches Chase—the quarterback. They seem amiable enough, which is good matchmaking for coach and client on Cateline’s part.
Everly, who is as sweet and sunny as can be, is paired up with Grey, whose name is very fitting.
It’s like he stepped out of a black-and-white photograph.
Everly has worn a look of concern on her face all week, but whether it’s because Grey is difficult or for some other reason, I’m not entirely sure.
Not only do the guys take up a lot of physical space, but when they’re together, they command attention. It’s hard not to look at them, listen to them, and feel like something exciting is going on, even if we’re all just seated in a room.
They’re boisterous and brazen, confident like titans, and always messing around like a bunch of schoolboys.
Cateline calls for their attention and when they don’t quiet down, I half expect her to whistle like their coach.
“Gentlemen, I want to remind you why you’re here.” That shuts them up.
“Because we’re a bunch of studs, on the field and off.” Wolf chuckles at his joke.
Cateline’s smile is slim and that’s being generous. “I think you mean you pulled a stunt off the field that was not appreciated. You humiliated yourselves publicly, bringing shame to your commissioner and his family.”
“On the upside, we made a lot of people laugh,” Declan adds.
“More concerningly, some very important people did not think your stunt was amusing. That’s where Blancbourg comes in. We want to teach you to think before you think, speak, and act. I expect progress has been made on that front this week.”
I hear Chase whisper, “Did she say think before we think? I know cows have multiple stomachs, but I think we only have one brain.”
Cateline makes a sharp ahem sound. “As you’re aware by now, we started with coaching lessons here at the academy. Hopefully, you had plenty of practice. Now you will move on to the real-world application of being civilized human beings and not cavemen.”
“I prefer to think of us as studs,” Wolf says.
The way Cateline coils with tension, I expect her to tackle him at any moment. “You could think about it like a game. One you want to win.”
“Wouldn’t want to see what she’d do if we lose,” Chase mutters.
“Our time together will culminate in the First Annual Boston Bruisers Charity Ball, which you could say is the big one.”
“Like the Super Bowl?” Chase asks.
Cateline ignores him and outlines the posh event.
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re not particularly fancy,” Grey says.
“Speak for yourself.” Declan brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders.
Cateline locks her hands primly in front of her chest, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s only so she doesn’t slug one of them. “I have good news. To my surprise, all of you passed the first review. Now, you’ll have lessons in the field—”
“The football field?” Chase asks.
Cateline glowers. “You will have an off-site opportunity to apply what you learned in the classroom to real-life scenarios.”
“Does that mean we’re done here?” Declan asks, casting a furtive glance around the room and landing on me.
Maybe he’s upset I didn’t mention it, but I didn’t have the details or the exact timeline until now.
Before I can offer a look of apology, Declan’s phone rings with the crowd cheering ringtone.
He clicks off his device. Cateline glares and I’m afraid she’s about to vaporize him with her laser beam eyes.
But instead of throwing me under the bus, Declan rushes to my rescue. “Sorry about that. I thought I’d silenced it before coming in here. During our lessons, Maggie made sure I knew to do that.”
I cast him a subtle look of gratitude.
“You said we’re going offsite, but I thought this was a month-long program,” Declan says.
“Sounds like you like it here, dude.” Wolf’s expression sharpens with distaste.
“Nah, I think he’s pumped that we finished early. Take that, Coach Hammer. We’re proper gentlemen,” Chase says with a laugh.
Cateline snorts. “You’re done with classroom instruction, yes, but not with your coaching. Your etiquette teacher will be your constant companion wherever you go and whatever you do for the next three weeks.”
Wolf matches Cateline with a snort. Grey stiffens and doesn’t take his eyes off Everly. As for Chase, I can’t quite gauge his response. Declan is on his phone, presumably checking his message. I can’t imagine he’s pumped to have me as his shadow for the next three weeks.
Neither am I, because the last thing I want to do is trace Declan’s footsteps into the limelight.
Cateline tells us that travel arrangements will be made with the players’ managers and our instructions are in a packet with our name by the door.
Leaving the bubble of Blancbourg should be interesting and a challenge, all things considered.
After ending the meeting, I find Declan standing by the window with his back to me and his phone to his ear. As I approach, he must sense someone behind him because he turns and lowers his device.
Our gazes meet. His expression falls to pieces, then quickly reassembles into stony resolve.
The caller from Ireland must’ve finally gotten in touch with him.
He mutters a word that likely has never been heard in the esteemed and proper rooms of the finishing school.
Cateline’s sharp eyes dart in his direction. “What have we said about language?” she asks.
“Sorry, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me,” he chokes out, then rushes from the room.
Wearing high heels, I follow, but his football training works to his advantage. He’s fast and no longer in the hall by the time I get there.
The other guys must have been preoccupied with the fact that their hopes were dashed and they still have to fulfill the full month-long program, and didn’t notice Declan’s sudden shift in mood. Nor do they join me as I search for him.
I check his room, but he doesn’t answer when I knock. Then I head to the gym, but he isn’t there either. Finally, I poke my head into the kitchen and find him seated on the stainless-steel table, jabbing a spoon into a massive tub of ice cream.
He doesn’t look up as I slide onto the table next to him.
After a beat, I say, “You know how I said I prefer cake to ice cream? I bake it whenever I’m celebrating something...or the opposite.”
“What’s the opposite?” His voice is low, grumbly.
“I also bake when I’m upset.”
“That’s right, you do,” he says as if a specific memory from our shared past floats into his mind.
“Ice cream, on the other hand, is a hot summer day only item,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Is that so? We used to get ice cream rain or shine.”
My nod is swift and sure. “Things change.”
“They sure do.” He glances over at me, the corners of his lips tentative as if he battles with the news he received and something else. “According to these changes, does that mean that I can’t tempt you with a bite?” he asks as if temporarily pressing pause on whatever upsets him.
“I cannot be tempted,” I say with all the determination of someone who is very, very tempted.
He scoops up a bite. “I have to warn you, it’s delicious.”
“I said I didn’t want any. It’s all yours.”
“Nope. You definitely want a bite. I’m pretty sure it’s homemade, super creamy, butter pecan.”
“I’m not interested.”
He waves the spoon in front of me. “Not even a little bit?”
At the same time, our gazes shift from the ice cream and meet.
His upper lip hitches like he’s Elvis Presley and knows there’s no way a woman can say no to him.
I bite my lower lip just so I don’t open my mouth and risk giving in.
“Come on. Just a taste. You won’t be sorry.”
I try to take a deep breath, but it sticks. If this is just about the ice cream, he’s probably right. But if it’s about something else, I’m not so sure.
“This ice cream will change your life. It’s that good.”
“How much of it have you had?”
“Enough to make a decision.” His tone changes and whatever just floated between us dissolves, disappears, and his attention returns to whatever upset him and brought him here—the kitchen of all places.
“A decision about what?”
Declan sets the ice cream aside. He looks at his hands, clasped in his lap.
“Some guys work out when they have something big on their minds. Others run and punch stuff. That usually does the trick, but this is different.” He lowers from the table, landing solidly on his feet.
“The headmistress says we have to take our lessons into the real world. Well, I have to go to Ireland.” His expression pinches with dread rather than the excitement I’d expect if going home.
Then again, I can relate because where is home?
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
“You can’t come.”
“Why not?” My head tucks back with surprise.
We’re friends first and I want to be there for him. I know the gist of the message. Likely, he does now, too. I’m also concerned about telling Cateline that I can’t go and what this might mean for his career. Just how tough is Coach Hammer? If his name gives anything away, he’s as tough as nails.
Declan shakes his head. “I don’t want to let the guys down.”
“Like if you don’t complete the Blancbourg program, the guys are off the team?” I ask, paraphrasing what he told me. “Then complete it. We’ll figure something out. That’s what friends are for.”
“I can’t take you where I’m going.” He speaks with finality.
“I don’t understand. Ireland is a beautiful country. I’ve always wanted to visit.” I say earnestly.
He remains quiet.
I try a different tactic. “Whatever you have to deal with, I’m your coach. We’ll work through it together.”
“I can’t take you into the past with me.” His voice is low, measured.
When we were texting, Declan said he wanted to make me laugh, and I’m overcome with the same desire—or at least see him smile, if only to lighten the load.
I know how important the team is to him and won’t allow him to let down the others.
I also don’t want to lose my job. Part of me feels responsible because I should’ve told him about the content of the voicemail right away, if that’s what this is about.
Swallowing thickly, I ask, “Declan, do you have a time machine?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, but his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Still seated on the table with Declan standing opposite me, we’re almost at eye level. My gaze doesn’t leave his.
“I’m going to Ireland as your coach in the present—not the past. I’m going to Ireland and will see the rolling green hills, the countryside, the cities rich with—” I was going to say history, but cut myself off if the past is burdening him.
“I’m going to see what I’m going to see and if the past—your past—isn’t part of that, then so be it. But I won’t let you lose this game.”
His gaze catches mine and holds as if he’s measuring the distance between my promise and the truth.
The bluebirds inside wake up, look around, then turn pink-cheeked.
Declan lets out a long breath, then closes the space between us, wrapping his arms around me as if relieved that someone else led the team in play for once.
Massive arms close around me and Declan’s chest presses against mine like a human shield to protect me from viral video viewers, meanie parents, and my inner troll. I wish I could do the same for him.
As he squeezes tighter, I wonder if holding onto me helps shield him from ghosts of his past.
I could curl up in Declan’s arms and stay here a while. The bluebirds let out contented little sighs.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper.
His shoulders drop a fraction as he melts into me with relief. Until now, I never really thought about Declan having a soft side hidden under his massive muscles, mischievous expression, and giant personality.
When we part, he says, “I don’t know if it’s going to be okay, but thank you, Magster.”
Declan extends his hand for me to take. When his fingers wrap around mine and our palms press together, I feel a singe that’s hardly left my skin since he’d led me to the kitchen in the middle of the night a week earlier.
In the hallway, I let go of his hand in case anyone passes.
“Go pack,” he says.
“Please, go pack,” I correct, keeping in character as his etiquette coach.
“Please, go pack,” he repeats.
“We’re leaving now?” I ask.
“Now,” he says in a low, commanding tone that’s laced with a gravity that I’m guessing I’ll understand when we get to Ireland.
Declan’s eyes drop to mine and remain there. It’s not an intense stare, more like they hold a question. I’m not sure what it is, but no matter what, my response is the same.
We’re best friends. Whatever he needs, I’m here.
“Now. Before I have second thoughts. There’s no one else, Maggerina.”
Before I get to my suite, I trip over what he said about there not being anyone else.
Now, a few paces away from me, he gives his head a little shake as if to snap out of it.
Our gazes meet and it’s almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time or with new eyes.
I wish my hair weren’t quite so windswept. Likely my eye makeup flaked onto my cheekbones.
I tell my inner troll to pipe down. I’m in charge. Well, of my body. My heart is another matter entirely.