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 sayhistory, 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.
