Declan’s eyes are icy and he gets out of the car.
A moment later, he comes around to the passenger side and opens my door.
I figure I’ll go back to the hotel after I dropped that truth bomb, but he holds out his hand to help me out of the vehicle.
“Come on, Maggles. We have to talk.”
26
MAGGIE
Ifollow Declan up a hedge-lined, lantern-lit path to the house. Salt and seaweed scent the breeze. The lights are already on inside. A fire crackles in a brick hearth, taking the dampness out of the air even though it’s late spring.
Declan stands in the foyer and looks around. “Believe it or not, I’ve never been here before.” He takes off his coat and then sits on the sofa.
Bracing for a scolding, I follow him.
He sighs and then pats the couch next to him. “Come on, Magglesworth. I may have been a tough teenager and am now a Boston Bruiser, but those days are behind me. I’m not mad.”
Hesitating, it’s not like I expect him to punch me. More like blast me with a water gun.
“I’m sorry I insisted you listen to the message. I apologize for putting you in that position.”
I try to refute his apology, but he holds up his hands for me to stop, but his fingers wiggle slightly.
Declan looks around shiftily and wears a mischievous smile. Oh, I know that look.
Anticipating what’s coming, I perch on the edge of the sofa, ready to flee in the event of a prank.
In one swift motion, Declan tackle hugs me. I shriek and he laughs, but his weight is warm and welcome until his fingers start to wiggle. I try to shoo his hand away, but that only makes him more determined as he starts to tickle me.
With a feather-light touch, his big, strong hands work their way up my side along my ribs, toward the soft part under my arm, before reaching my neck. I laugh in the maniacal way that only happens when something feels so good, yet is absolute torture.
Trying to hold still is futile, it just makes him go harder as if it’s his greatest joy to hear me laugh.
I am a writhing, uncontrollable heap of playful delight as I try to tickle Declan back. I get him a few times and his expression turns serenely joyful, like whatever thoughts hang heavy in his mind float away as if on a cloud.
I guess this is what swoony, blissy love is like.
When we both catch our breath, we exchange a long look.
“Lady Maggie, this is all really heavy for me, but it’s in the past. This is the present, but here’s the story. Keefe was my best friend when I was growing up—if you could call ours a friendship. More like survive-ship. Even though I’d moved numerous times, we always found our way back to each other. He taught me everything I knew about lying, stealing, and cheating. Aunt Maureen used a choice word when I told her about him for the first time and said she’ll thank God until the end of time that she got me out of there.”
“It was that bad?” I ask.
Declan nods gravely. “When we were kids, we did pranks, harmless stuff mostly. Then, when we were barely teenagers, twelve or thirteen, he started running with a different crowd. They were harder. Got into drugs. That was the end. He changedafter that. I lost him, but didn’t give up on him.” Declan scrubs his hand down his face. “I tried to get him back on track. Stuff happened. He never forgave me.” The words are clipped like he’s reaching back into memory and seeing the whole picture, but only sharing snapshots.
“I’m sorry, Declan. That sounds hard.” I know my words hardly suffice in this situation.
“The worst part was when he told me that as long as he was alive or dead, he never wanted to see me again. That just about broke me. It got dark in my life, but then Aunt Maureen led me to the light. Jesus taught, ‘If you forgive others their transgressions, your heavenly Father will forgive you’ (Matthew 6:14).” Declan’s jaw twitches.
I’m glad he’s a man of faith, but sense there is something more, something he’s hung up on and not telling me.
“Again, I apologize for keeping the voicemail from you, but thank you for sharing about your past.” I dig my teeth into my lip, still feeling awful.
“I accept your apology, but even if I had gotten the message in time, I couldn’t have gone. I respected Keefe’s wishes.”
He presses his much larger palm against my hand, lacing and locking his fingers around mine. His gaze tugs at me as if we both realize things could’ve been different, but they aren’t and more importantly, we have each other.
