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.
22
DECLAN
Urgency moves my body toward my room to pack, but my thoughts trail behind, lingering over questions about Maggie and what she means to me.
Everything.
I think back to our texting conversation when we’d accidentally swapped phones.
Why did she post the gagging face? Does she think I’m attractive or is she just being a good friend and doing her job? There’s no denying the crackling inside me. Did it also light a fire between us?
Bottom line, I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have with me for this particular visit to Dublin. It’s hard to be on autopilot when I’m around Maggie. She turns on my senses. Makes cake and ice cream taste infinitely better. Draws my smile wider. Makes me laugh louder. Brings out the gentleman in me. The one who wants someone to care for, to share my life with.
But we’re best friends. How can we possibly navigate the murky waters of friends to love? I’m not even sure she feels the same way. That piece of information floats in the deepest depths, and I don’t think she’s ready to let it come to the surface.
Silently reprimanding myself for not packing faster, I stuff all my things into my suitcase and hurry downstairs. Arthur, the butler, bellman, and I don’t know what else, wait by the door. I’ve overheard him mention his wife’s health, which reminds me of why I’m racing back to Ireland when I told myself I’d never return.
For weeks, it’s like I’ve perpetually been in a doctor’s office waiting room, expecting a call from my Aunt Maureen’s care providers at any moment. I’ve known for a while that it was only a matter of time. Before I set foot on the field, I always offer up a prayer for her to make it to see me play again.
She’s struggled with health issues for a few years and has taken a turn. The painful truth is, I don’t want to accept the reality that the last living person in my immediate family will soon pass. She’s the only person who would get me to return to Ireland. Not my street family—the people I grew up with when I was in and out of foster homes. They’ve long since forgotten about me. But that isn’t all. I’m on edge, anticipating another call from Mrs. O’Mealley, someone who I wish had lost my number. I’m glad I didn’t listen to her message, and I hope I don’t see her or Keefe, if he’s out of jail.
Aunt Maureen had been there for me during my roughest time. It’s thanks to her that I went to the US and found my martial arts family, which led to my football family.
Before departing the Blancbourg school in Concordia, I put in a few calls to get things prepared for my arrival in Dublin. It’s hard to believe I haven’t been back for almost ten years. How has it been that long? My aunt returned to Ireland a few years after I’d made the Bruisers, saying it was time for her to go home. I guess she considered her work, reforming me, done. Ironic that here I am in a reform school-type setting again. Though admittedly, this is rather fancy and nothing like the places I’d been before my aunt bailed me out.
I also think Aunt Maureen knew she was sick back then and wanted to be somewhere more familiar than the States. Even so, she made the effort to travel to see at least two or three of my games each season.
When the worst of my juvenile delinquencies were behind me, I realized that my aunt had the patience of a saint. She’d brought out the best in me, even though I had to punch through walls to get there—literally as part of my mixed martial arts training. But that was better than punching faces, which I’d been known to do.
Aunt Maureen saw some good in me. Not only had she and MMA saved my life, but they also prepared me for the rigors of football.
All packed, I meet Maggie in the grand foyer of the Blancbourg school manor house. With her blonde hair in loose waves and held back with a clip, along with a blue button-up jacket, she is like a beam of sunshine breaking through clouds on an overcast day.
“Are you ready, Mr. Printz?”
I pick up her bag and sling it into the trunk of the town car. I wonder what the luggage tag would look like if it read Maggie Printz.Margaret Pearl Printzhas a good ring to it.
“Thanks for doing this, Magoodles.” My voice strains, revealing my inner landscape.
She glances around as if making sure Cateline isn’t lurking. “My pleasure, Declando.” She wrinkles her nose. “I never tried giving you a nickname. Doesn’t quite have the same—” She shrugs. “I’ll stick with Declan.”
We both chuckle and get into the awaiting car.
On the way to the airport, we pass through the capital of Concordia, Intherness. It’s a combination of a modern city and a charming village with quaint lanes disappearing around corners. The late-day sun lights Maggie’s profile in pastels as she sitsquietly beside me, gazing with wonder out the window. The royal castle sits high on the mountainside. The tires roll over the cobblestone streets and past shops with elaborately decorated windows and restaurants pumping out savory smells.
