“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.
33
MAGGIE
Everything has fallen apart.
My parents remind me of that fact when they call to ask about Declan and me.
When I see the photos and articles they manufactured with headlines likePro ballplayer on probation but still playing the fieldandLeading ball player leading women on.Beneath it are images of Declan and me together, as well as him and Blair. It’s made to look like there’s a love triangle and he’s passed me over. As always, I’m the loser. In the article, they portray him as a womanizing jerk. Blair steals the spotlight. It’ll ruin Declan’s career and likely affect his teammates.
Guilt forms in the pit of my stomach, but I’m not sure how to fix any of it.
It’s too late for Declan and me because as soon as his time in the Blancbourg program is over, never mind returning to friends who text, he’ll probably want to forget about me. More than anything, I don’t want to be the cause of him losing his job and his passion, football—the thing he’s worked so hard to achieve.
On top of that, Aunt Maureen passed away and Declan is understandably distraught, coming apart at the seams.
I stay a few nights at the townhouse, but figure it’s time to book a room at a hotel and then head back to Florida. No doubt I lost my job.
