Chapter 32 Declan
DECLAN
Idon’t understand what’s happening. Maggie goes from hot to cold to downright chilly in the drafty harborside restaurant. She’d arranged for me to meet with Blair Covell—a renowned reporter and rumor monger—and all I want is for Maggie to be seated in the chair opposite me.
All these years, with every dollar I’ve spent on lavish, stupid, look-at-me things, I’ve been trying to fill a space that is the exact shape and size of Margaret Pearl Byrne.
Joking back and forth on text and seeing, smelling, and touching her in person is a different ball game altogether.
However, football is a game I won’t jeopardize—my teammates mean too much to me.
I’ve learned more than just how to throw a ball and win the Super Bowl throughout my career.
I have some celebrity standing and am regularly called a football star—or moon, depending on who is asked—but I also know the score.
People like the notorious Barry and Sheila Prucell of B&S Media are only in it for the money.
They’d staked their claim by airing videos of people humiliating themselves and went well beyond good-natured bloopers, including—from what it sounds like—at their own daughter’s expense.
How are those creeps Maggie-the-Magnificent’s parents? She is one of the sweetest, kindest people ever, even on par with Aunt Maureen. From what I’ve gathered, Barry and Sheila are downright diabolical. Almost more alarmingly, what made her keep that from me? Why the secret? What is she afraid of?
Or is she worried about losing her job if B&S Media publishes photos of us? Maybe her boss gave her a warning.
I trust Maggie and forgive her for failing to relay the full content of the voicemail from Keefe’s mother, but maybe there is something else she’s not telling me. After all, I still have a secret too. I didn’t go see Mrs. O’Mealley, nor does she know about Siobhan.
Before I can think further, a woman wearing high heels towers over the table.
I quickly get to my feet to welcome her formally and pull out her chair.
Maggie is watching me, assessing for the review.
This is more like torture, but I’ll go along with it only to get to the end of this thirty-day grace period before my life can go back to normal.
And the normal I want is a life with Maggie in it. Not just texts and occasional calls. Face time on the daily—and I don’t mean the video chat app.
Right now is a balancing act of demonstrating I’m a gentleman so I can be done with the finishing school sentence and get started in a relationship with My Maggie.
At the same time, I don’t want to give Blair the wrong idea. I have zero interest in this interview and if what I’ve been told about the likes of her, is that she’ll toy with me and play coy to get me to spill my secrets.
Blair introduces herself and then gets right down to business—asking about my personal life, my love life.
I give vague answers, keep things light, simple.
Then something warm and smooth taps my ankle.
The pointy toe of a high heel tugs at the hem of my pant leg.
I shift my foot away, closer to my chair.
Blair repeats the action, all the while wearing a smile on her face as she asks about numerous women I’ve dated—half of whom I hardly remember.
Clearly, she’s done her homework as well as practiced her footwork. Again, I move my leg away.
A chilling thought zips through me—sports drink with ice dumped over my head chilling. Playing in Minnesota in January frozen.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I sputter.
Maggie mentioned the playbook and to anyone watching, this might appear as if I’m breaking the rules.
“Declan?” Blair’s smoky voice threads into my thoughts. “Hi. You still with me?”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” Maggie sits nearby quietly evaluating and completely distracting me. I’m disoriented. I want her. I can’t have her.
“I have rules,” I say.
“Tell me all about them.” Blair purrs, reaching her hand toward mine.
I tuck it in my lap. “Coach’s rules, um...” Usually, I’m a smooth talker when around attractive women, but my tongue—and stomach—are in knots.
“I should go.” But I don’t want to fail my evaluation or give anyone the wrong idea.
“What’s the matter?” Blair’s tone sharpens like the toe on her high heel, which repeatedly pokes my leg, no matter how many times I shift positions.
My eyes flit from Maggie to Blair and back again. There’s no contest, my heart belongs to the woman across the room, but I don’t want to jeopardize the rest of the team.
Blair huffs. “Why is that woman staring at us? Is she some crazed fan? She can’t take her eyes off you. But you keep looking at her, too.”
Maggie writes something down in a notebook.
“She’s my, um, coach.”
“Your football coach?”
“More like a life coach.” A love coach. She’s the one who brought my heart back to life.
“But you’re not looking at her the way you would a professional. No, there’s something else. Would you rather she be in my seat?” Blair asks pointedly.
The honest answer is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Yes.”
Her face hardens. “I thought so. Good thing I came prepared. Come here, Declan. I have to tell you something.” She gestures, I move closer.
I lean in and Blair grips the sides of my face. Before I’m able to jerk away, she plants a kiss on my lips.
The snap of cameras flashing clashes with the clink of silverware and the single word, the plea, that flies out of my mouth. “No.”
I know what’s going to happen. They caught the moment on film.
I know what it looked like—not a tame interview like Maggie had intended.
I know what Coach Hammer, the commissioner, and the world will think when all I want to do is shout from the rooftops how much I love a princess named Maggie.
Everything is ruined.
Blair sits back in her chair, wearing an impish grin. “The player got played.”
I don’t have anything to say to her that doesn’t involve words forbidden by my etiquette training.
Shuffling backward, I scan the room for Maggie. She’s not here. I hurry outside. The sidewalk is empty.
I try texting and calling. No answer.
I go home. She’s not there.
Staring out the window into the harbor, I’m lost at sea.
I regret going along with the dumb interview.
Should’ve trusted my gut. I should have told Maggie that I have feelings for her when I had the chance.
But she put on the brakes because Coach Hammer gave me an ultimatum.
I don’t want to ruin the guys’ careers and now it’s going to look like I did.
I have to talk to Maggie. Where could she be?
After searching on my phone, I learn that it’s official fluffernutter day. Marshmallow fluff and peanut butter make me think of desserts...which makes me think of cupcakes.
The driver brings me to the neighborhood where we’d seen the bakery cafe hosting a little kid’s birthday party when we’d first toured the city on Maggie Day.
Traffic moves slowly, so I hop out of the car at a traffic light and hurry the rest of the way on foot.
The strumming of a guitar and singing filters from down the street. Low light sparkles from inside. The bakery is hosting an open mic night and people are perched everywhere, watching and nodding their heads to the beat of the music.
I spot Maggie in the corner. Cutting through the crowd, I don’t take my eyes off her. When I get close, her eyes are damp.
“I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find you,” I say.
She looks up at me and blinks a few times. She must not have heard me over the music. I want to talk, but don’t want to be rude to the performers and patrons. I lean in, catching her sugar-sweet scent. “Can we go outside?”
Maggie gives a slight nod and we head outside and sit on a low wall.
I reach for her hand, not sure whether to start with an apology or an explanation.
She speaks first. “There’s something I want to tell you.
Growing up, my favorite thing was holding hands.
It made me feel connected, less alone.” She takes mine.
“You heard my parents call me Lefty. Partially because I’m left-handed, but I started to think it was because I was always to the left of what they thought was cool—I liked nature, reading, and baking.
While they were all about money and their reputations.
I just wasn’t built with the factory settings they wanted. ”
“I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“I didn’t fully explain that I was a child TV star. Honey Holiday on Friends of the Family.” I slowly deflate like a balloon with a hole in it.
“Regrettably, I can’t say I’ve heard of it. Didn’t grow up with much access to television.”
“That’s not a bad thing. It was sometimes fun, but there was a lot of pressure.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“It was my whole life until I was eleven. My parents were chasing fame. I felt like an alien. Like I didn’t belong.
They never included me. They’d travel, vacation, go to dinners, and they left me behind.
I was raised by nannies. Most of them were nice, but it wasn’t the same.
For a while, I was hoping I was adopted.
No such luck, but I was always so afraid I’d turn out like them.
They’re self-obsessed, selfish, social climbers who wanted nothing to do with me and who take pleasure in humiliating people.
I never told you about them because I was ashamed, yet wanted nothing more than their attention. ”
“You’re not your parents, Maggie,” I say.
“I used to try to make them like me. When that didn’t work, I just faded into the background.” Her eyes pinch as she holds back tears.
I want to show the world how amazing she is, but know My Mag-wonderful well enough to understand that isn’t what she wants. Instead, I listen to her story.
“On my twelfth birthday, they hosted a surprise party. I was shocked, delighted. But it turned out they’d hired a team of clowns, knowing that I was deathly afraid. I know it’s irrational—” She shakes her head.
“I love to laugh, but don’t think clowns are funny. You’re not alone.” I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Of course, I freaked out. They caught the ordeal on film and used it as one of their big media blitzes. It has been one of the most-watched videos on their site, ever. Despite that, I was always waiting for them. Waiting for them to acknowledge me. Waiting for them to love me. Instead, they used me as a pawn to advance their business. They’ve been straight-up mean to me, insulting my appearance, my life choices.
..” She gazes at her shoe, scuffing the ground. “They don’t even know me.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re right, but you are someone worth knowing. You’re beautiful, fun, smart...I could go on. You’re the kind of person I want to be friends with. More than friends with.”
She glances up at me and then dips her head. In that split second, I glimpse joy on her face, but she quickly hides it.
“Maggie, I want you to trust me. What you saw back at the restaurant with Blair was no different than what your parents did.”
“What? Like ignore me?” she snaps. “It was clear the two of you enjoyed being together. She was tall, beautiful, and well-connected. You kissed.”
“What? You’re the one who set the thing up.
I said it was a bad idea. For the record, she kissed me because she saw me glancing over my shoulder at you every two seconds.
I told Blair I’d rather you be sitting in her chair.
She didn’t like that and had planted a photographer—probably to get a shot of us together and she got what she wanted. But that wasn’t what I wanted.”
“What do you want?”
“You. Us. The truth. I know it’s hard to open up. It’s not easy for me either. But I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to mess things up.” My phone beeps in my pocket, but I ignore it, giving Maggie my full attention. The phone rings and I sigh, glancing at the caller’s name on the screen.
“Oh, no. It’s the hospice.” I’ve been visiting my aunt every day since my return to Dublin and was told they’d only call if she’d taken a turn.
I answer and the night closes around me, suffocating me. I turn to Maggie. “I have to go.”
Without thinking, I rush to the waiting car. I know this looks like I’m turning my back on Maggie. She trails after me. In the car, she silently takes my hand and doesn’t let go.
The next hours are a fog of tears and heartache, and signing papers.
Maggie remains by me, praying, and being the exact steadying presence that I need. However, like a trigger, memories of losing Siobhan dredge up old emotions and threaten to swallow me whole.
Over the next days, life gradually comes back into focus as I arrange Aunt Maureen’s funeral service.
Maggie is a quiet partner, supporting me, but she’s also doing her job as an etiquette teacher.
The experiential finishing school portion likely doesn’t have a grading system for memorials, but I try to carry it off with grace even though I’m breaking inside.
All I want to do is pull on a pair of sweats and sit in a dark room with a cold drink and SportsCenter.
I want to escape it all, especially the photograph of Blair kissing me that’s been splashed all over society pages, gossip magazines, and the internet.
Maggie’s parents, of B&S Media, used the footage they had of Maggie and me, positioned it against the image of Blair and me, and generated a stir among people who follow that kind of trash. It’s only a matter of time before I hear from Coach Hammer.
For the first time in my professional football career, I ignore it all and silence my phone. I don’t want anything to do with the media chatter.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I gaze out at the water. Even though no one will leave me alone, I feel that way, likely how Maggie felt when she was growing up. But I’ve already been abandoned, orphaned, and now the single member of my family that I knew is gone.
Soon, my career will be over. Maggie will leave. Ironic that I’m right back where I started, lost and alone in Dublin.