Chapter 30
MAGGIE
During the next week, Declan has to increase his workouts since he intends to stay on the team and has to start training for the upcoming season. He also attends a few press events.
More than once, it’s obvious he restrains himself from the usual hijinks the Boston Bruiser’s wide receiver is known for.
However, he handles his public appearances without any commentary or instruction from me.
It’s almost like I’m not on the job. More like I’m traveling around Ireland with my boyfriend.
I mean my best friend.
I mean Declan.
I don’t know what we are, but the highlights of the week involve the frequent kisses he steals when we’re alone.
I never knew something as simple as a pair of lips pecking my cheek, the space behind my ear, my temple, forehead, the top of my head, and my lips could ignite me in such a way.
I’ve hardly stopped smiling because it’s like I’m living in a fairy tale.
I didn’t mean to tell him about Sly the Single Guy who’d smashed my cupcake dreams. It was shortly after I’d left school.
Too bad my business degree didn’t cover how to protect my heart and not get duped.
I hardly ever thought about my lousy ex, but my dream to open a bakery someday or have some other cake-related business is ever-present.
It’s a someday kind of thing, though, but being away from my normal routine and with Declan makes anything seem possible.
We visit Aunt Maureen every day, see sites in the city, which amounts to a lot of walking, and go on a boating excursion. Even though it’s summer, it’s too cold to swim in the sea, but we take a dip in the infinity pool behind the townhome in Howth.
One afternoon, Declan finally goes to pay his respects to Keefe’s mother. I take the rare moment alone to Facetime Etta Jo in Florida.
Before I’m able to ask her about her new studio, with a startle, Etta Jo says, “Maggie, that smile. What is that smile? You look like the cat who got the cream.”
“Well, the food here is phenomenal. Whoever made up the rumor that food across the pond leaves something to be desired hasn’t dined in Dublin lately.”
“No, I mean, you look tickled pink. Like you’re floating on blissy, swoony clouds.”
I tilt my head, looking at myself in the little square on my phone’s screen. “We went boating the other day. Maybe I got a bit more sun than I thought.”
“You goofball. I mean, you’re smiling like a girl who has her first crush, or should I say, kiss?”
My cheeks blaze.
“Does that smile and that rosy glow have anything to do with player number forty-four, wide receiver for the Bruisers?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do,” Etta Jo singsongs.
I’m not ready to confess that we kissed and that I might have feelings for Declan. Scratch that, I do have feelings for him. Big ones. Yards and yards of a football field, a ball sailing through the uprights, and into a fathomless night sky-sized feelings.
I change the subject, directing the conversation away from guys, but my rosy glow doesn’t fade. That may be because I can’t stop thinking about Declan. Sure, he’s been spoiling me, but his attention is enough. More than enough. It means everything to me. But I’m afraid to tell him why.
Etta Jo manages to shift the conversation back to Declan and me.
Before we get off FaceTime, I tell her about how he’s been so thoughtful.
Not even realizing it was my birthday, he made up Official Maggie Day and got up early to bake me a cake.
My favorite kind of cake. Shenanigans aside, he’s also fun to be around.
It’s like we built upon our friendship, getting closer, going deeper.
He has a hidden, secret sweet spot hidden under his tough, tattooed exterior—one I only caught glimmers of before. On top of that, he’s a man of faith, something deeply important to me.
The truth is—and it’s something I can hardly admit to myself, never mind confess to him—I love Declan Printz. That I keep to myself.
Just then, a door slams, footsteps stomp up the stairs, and then another door slams. He’s back from his visit to Keefe’s mother. Perhaps it didn’t go so well.
My stomach jitters and not from Cinderella’s bluebirds.
The sun is setting over the harbor when I get to the kitchen. Most nights, we’ve eaten dinner out after visiting Aunt Maureen, but recalling what he said about a home-cooked meal, I rifle through the pantry until I locate all the ingredients for my favorite comfort food.
As the water boils and the sauce comes together for mashed potatoes with melty cheese, my phone jingles with an incoming call. I must’ve left it in the hallway. Declan appears, expression knotted with emotion and hands it to me.
I stare at the name on the screen. Mom.
It rings again.
“Going to answer that?” Declan asks.
“Yeah,” I say. Turning to face the windows and hoping to be anchored by the boats in the harbor, I say a tentative, “Hello.” My voice sounds small, weak.
In contrast, my mother blares through the earpiece. “Happy birthday, Lefty.” My father’s voice echoes the sentiment in the background.
“Uh, thanks? Do you mean official Maggie Day?” I almost feel silly asking, but how could they know about that?
Before my mother can reply, Declan is behind me. He squeezes my shoulders and then laces his arms around me in a reverse hug. My back presses against his chest and his heartbeat steadies me.
However, I don’t want him to hear any part of the conversation.
Yet, his presence does what the boats cannot.
He holds me here, giving me the support and grounding I need to get through what amounts to a stormy phone call with my parents.
Declan anchors me so I’m not carried away by a tide of tears.
“Mom, my name is Maggie, not Lefty.”
“Come on, you were always Lefty to us.”
Yeah, left alone.
“Wait? It’s not your birthday? Gosh, I’ll have to correct my assistant. She thought it was today. Do you know that I’m on my sixth personal assistant in as many months? Some people have the competence of a trout,” Dad says.
“Trout are fairly intelligent and resilient, as far as fish go,” I mutter.
“Is that so? Speaking of swimming. We saw your little stunt in the fountain. Who was that kid? We’ve tried to track him down for an interview.” My father guffaws.
“Glad to see you traded him in for a football star,” my mother adds.
My mind wipes blank like a computer screen that lost power. I don’t comprehend the words she spoke. Awareness filters back as I realize Declan can hear it too.
“That kid practically pushed me into the fountain. He was—”
“I know a ploy for the press when I see it. You learned from the best, Lefty,” my father says into the phone. “Great idea using it to make a move on a star football player.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know what you mean. How do you know about Declan?” I crane my head to look at him, but his expression remains impassive. He doesn’t let me go.
“We have our sources. Remember, the cameras are everywhere and we just hope this blows up as big as your tenth birthday party.” This time, my mother chortles.
“Mom, it’s not like that.”
“The kisses you shared at the Kitten Whisker’s pub in Dublin and on the boat suggest otherwise.”
My breath disappears. The oxygen leaves the room. I’m limp, little more than a sodden rag doll. Of course, they have cameras and sources everywhere. They’re probably following Declan after the #BruiserButt scandal, then realized it was their daughter with him.
“I’m Declan’s coach.”
“Sure you are. You wouldn’t know a football from a soccer ball if it hit you in the head. Oh, wait, Barry, do you remember when we got that footage of her getting beaned on the head at the game? Who was playing? Gosh, I can’t remember. She has two left hands and two left feet. Classic Lefty.”
My stomach churns and my knees turn limp. “Mom, I have to go.”
My father hollers, “Sheila, the limo is waiting. The Bertrams are expecting us at the club.”
“We have a big event this afternoon with the well-heeled in Hollywood. Ta ta.”
The phone goes silent. Declan’s arms around me try to dam the tears, but not even he can hold them back. I try to get loose from his arms, but he holds me in place, slowly turning me around until he embraces me in a comforting hug that’s even better than cheesy mashed potatoes.
I half expect Declan to toss me like yesterday’s trash, knowing now that my mother and father implicated me in trying to use him for publicity. For what purpose? Well, that’s the million-dollar question, literally, to my mother’s single-mindedness. Money. Fame. Influence.
When I finally slow to sniffle, Declan cradles my jaw and smooths away the remainder of my tears with his thumbs. Then he sits me down at the table before dishing us each a heaping scoop of cheesy mashed potatoes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“Well, I have something to say.”
I glance up sharply, awaiting another blow. He believed them. He hates me. He wants me out of his house.
But Declan cups his hand over mine. “I’d noticed that they’ve never really been part of your life. Granted, I didn’t grow up with parents the way most kids did, but it’s safe to assume moms and dads usually call if they can. Right?”
“I didn’t grow up with parents the way most kids did, either.” I draw a breath that lifts my shoulders to my ears. Here goes. “Declan, whereas you grew up poor, I was rich, which just goes to show you that money doesn’t equal love.”
His lips press together, forming a thin line. “For all my flash and flair. I know that.”
“I never went hungry or anything, but they were gone most of the time. They didn’t pay me any attention, didn’t remember my birthdays.
Left me with nannies. Then, that private school in Boston for high school when I wasn’t exactly the teen star they wanted.
I was always on the outside looking in. They lived a high-profile lifestyle, but I became a hidden secret, a burden.
When I was little, I sometimes wondered if they even wanted me. ”
Declan levels me with his gaze. “Maggie, you are definitely wanted.”
My heart swells with hope, then crashes when my phone rings yet again. This time it’s from Cateline, my boss. If my parents, owners of the biggest print and online gossip empire in the world—B&S Media—had seen us together, chances are the headmistress at Blancbourg did too.
“I should take this.” I get up from the table and hurry to the other room.
Cateline bypasses pleasantries. “I see your reviews of your pupil are coming in positively. I’m happy to hear it.
Because we’ve been short-staffed, I’m out of the country with a pupil of my own, but some visuals have come to my attention.
It appears you and Declan Printz are very, um, comfortable with each other. ”
“What do you mean?” We’ve kissed enough in the last week, but it’s been in private, not something to be splashed in the tabloids.
“There is a photograph of him holding your hand. Like he was leading you toward a boat.”
“Oh, that. Um, I’m not a big fan of maritime pursuits and considering, um, I have to chaperone him...” I hate the lie, but don’t want him to get in trouble.
Cateline clicks her tongue. “I see. Please remember that you are his teacher. He is your student. The relationship begins and ends there.” She hesitates. “We have a reputation to uphold at Blancbourg.”
“Of course. My apologies if that looked like anything more than it was—”
“Glad you understand,” Cateline says, finishing.
Without returning to the kitchen, I say goodbye and go to my room.
I can’t risk Declan and me being seen together in the media because of what it could do to him and his team.
He said his coach told them women were off-limits during their etiquette training, meaning no dating.
They’re attending Blancbourg to reform their lives.
Not only that, but I don’t want to lose my job.
Now that my parents know, we’ll have people tailing us, trying to get a prime shot.
But the biggest reason we can only be friends is that eventually, everyone leaves me.
Left-y indeed.
Declan will find someone more dazzling, just like Sly the Single Guy did.
Before a pair of tears break loose from the corners of my eyes, a light rapping sounds on my door.
“Maggie-roo, can we talk?”
I squish up my eyes and turn the doorknob.
Declan leans on the doorframe, arms crossed, brown eyes soft. “You okay?”
“Are we just into this because it’s against the rules?”
“What’s this?” he asks like he wants me to spell it out.
I gesture between us.
“When have you ever broken the rules?” he asks.
“I can think of a few times. Your ice cream distribution scheme? The pumpkin picking spree? And let’s not forget when we snuck into Gillette Stadium.”
“Tickets were sold out. I had an in.” He winks.
Declan Printz’s winks would decimate a weaker woman. Then again, they’ve never been directed at me in this way.
“You were my accomplice. See, you’ve broken every rule ever made.”
“Am I just a rule to break?” I regret asking the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but we shouldn’t blur the line between friendship and whatever this -ship is.
Like a boat leaving port, I have to put distance between us.