“When I first got the call, I vaguely recognized the number and knew it wasn’t about my aunt. I have her doctors on speed dial and the hospice saved in my contacts. I talk to Aunt Maureen every day.” He smiles slightly. “She knew things were beyond salvaging with Keefe. She says the only one to save him is the Savior. Sadly, I agree. Hopefully, he’s at peace now.”
“Will you go to the funeral?”
Declan’s eyes dim. “He says, he never wanted to see me again, dead or alive.”
“Maybe it would help you, though. You know, to put the past to rest.”
His thumb brushes the soft part of my hand between my pointer finger and thumb. “That part of the past? I already have.”
“What about his mother?”
“I’ll get in touch with her tomorrow and pay my respects.” Declan’s nod is short, giving me the sense that there truly is more to the story. Then again, I’ve successfully omitted most of mine.
He abruptly gets to his feet as if eager to move on. “So weird that I’ve never been here. Let’s go exploring. The Keefe I knew would’ve liked that.”
We tour the house with its two floors, the adjacent flat—or as they called it in the US, the mother-in-law apartment—and end up in the spacious kitchen. The back wall consists entirely of windows. Sailboats bob in the water of Howth Harbor. Moonlight glints off the rigging.
Declan gazes there for a long moment as though sending his thoughts out to sea. “I called ahead to prepare for our arrival. Make yourself at home. I need to go freshen up. You’re welcome to do the same in the adjacent flat. After, we can have something to eat.” His heavy footsteps echo down the hall.
Since landing in Ireland, his Irish accent has become stronger. It has a low, soothing quality when he isn’t joking around and being boisterous. I have a strange desire to hear him read poetry and tell me stories. I try to dismiss the silly notion. I’m not an actual princess or aristocratic royalty, inclined to a life of romance. For the next few weeks, I’m Declan’s coach.
And I just told him that I’d lied.
The thing is, he forgave me. It’s a relatively small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but if he can forgive me, who can I forgive in my life?
27
MAGGIE
Ifind my way to the small apartment adjacent to the main house. My bags are on a table by the door. I didn’t bring much, since I wasn’t sure how long we’d be in Ireland, which may have been a mistake.
Doesn’t Declan have football-related off-season events back in the States? Or did the coach clear the calendar during the guys’ etiquette rehab?
The strange thing is, the Declan I’d first met and the man I’m presently with at a townhome in Ireland are two entirely different people. One is thoughtful and sincere. The other is carefree and cocky. All things considered, he gets an A+ for today manners-wise, but I’m not always sure which guy I’m going to get.
Distress creeps toward me as I try to distract myself with the décor in the house. It’s modern meets minimalist with tech gadgets and top-of-the-line appliances. Some people might be impressed by his jet, yacht, and this multi-million-dollar home, but I see the end of the friend I knew and someone who has the potential to lose sight of what’s important.
How far has he traveled down the road of selfish, self-serving lavishness without thought or care about relationships and connections in a never-ending quest for more?
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that a million isn’t enough. Five million doesn’t do the trick. Boats, planes, none of it satisfies. Instead, it’s the ruin of all that’s good and true.
After the long day of travel, my battery is low and I have to admit, the bed looks pretty cloud-like. Being a frugal bugle these days, I convince myself it’ll save Declan money to stay here instead of at the hotel—even though he doesn’t seem bothered by blowing cash on a gold-plated Lego set. On my way up here, I passed a game room where it gleamed on a shelf along with an antique billiards table and an old-school pinball machine.
I change into leggings and my favorite oversized Bruisers’ sweatshirt. Declan gave it to me when he made the team. My stomach grumbles with hunger, signaling I’d better head to the kitchen.
There, he stands in front of a pantry cabinet and watches me approach. I try to make sense of the pinch between his eyebrows and the softness in his eyes.
“You’re in the kitchen. Cooking. Wonders never cease and all that,” I say, surprised to find him donning an apron that saysKiss the Cook.
The little bluebirds inside warble.
Declan shifts from foot to foot. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I didn’t want you to go hungry.”
“Nice place.” My voice is flatter than I mean it to be.
“You don’t like it,” he says more as a statement rather than a question and spins his finger in our general vicinity.
I clear my throat. “It’s tasteful, but it’s peculiar that you’ve never been here.”
