Every time my phone beeps, I expect Cateline to announce that I’m fired.
The questions I’d asked myself when leaving the States circle my thoughts once more. Who am I? What do I want? I’m not a princess in title, but I want to rescue myself and figure out a way to stop living paycheck to paycheck.
I’ve failed and am going to end up right where I started.
I’m so far from my mobile cupcake shop dreams, it’s laughable. More than anything, I want to make people happy because that makes me happy. My parents always threw high-end events but excluded me. Long ago, I decided if they were going to miss my birthdays and other special occasions, I’d start celebrating official days because every day should be joyful. I helped myself once, I could do it again. Right?
While I pack my belongings, shouting comes from the other room.
“I did not break the playbook rules. That image was not what you think. I did no such thing. I wouldn’t. You know what I value.” This is followed by stomping. Then a door slams. A few moments later, Declan’s voice rumbles from the kitchen, “Coach, please listen...”
My stomach sinks, swims with guilt. Not only will I lose my best friend, but he’s also about to lose his career and everything he’s worked for.
It’s time to make some phone calls of my own. First, I dial my father, who is only slightly more responsive than my mother. No answer. I leave a message and then try Sheila—yes, she prefers I call her by her first name. I reach voicemail. It could be weeks or months before they respond, given they’ve missed my birthday of all things. But I have to stand up to them. Tell them how I feel,how they’ve hurt me, and demand that they remove anything from the internet that they posted about Declan.
I have to do this now, so I open up an email and pour out my heart, telling them how they’d hurt me. I copy them and their assistants on it.
Afterward, I plunk down on the bed, struggling to figure out a way to make things right. An idea pops into my mind.
Silence replaces the rise and fall of Declan’s voice from the kitchen. I find him seated at the table, chin in his hands, and gazing at the harbor. His phone is by his elbow and the screen dark.
With a flat chuckle, he says, “I have a yacht. Would it be so bad to prepare it for departure, leave all of this, and just sail into the sunset?”
“You might get lonely,” I say.
“I wouldn’t if you were there.” He grasps for me, but I’m just out of reach. No sense in making things worse and giving in to the yearning only to have it taken away.
Instead, I sit down beside him. “Declan, you know that we can only be friends. Our lives are too different. And the truth is, now that you know about my past, you understand why I don’t want any part of the limelight. Can you imagine what my parents would do if we were together? They’d have a field day.”
He levels me with a gaze. “You can’t exist in the limbo of wanting their attention and fearing it.”
My face falls slack and I lean back. He’s right, but I don’t like it and don’t know how to change it.
“And if we were together, things would be different,” he says softly. He tries to meet my eyes.
If I do, I’ll give in, captivated, magnetized, charmed by him. “Would things be different, though? Last I checked, Declan Printz, wide receiver for the Bruisers, is very much in the spotlight, and from what I’ve seen, he likes it.”
Hands on hips, he turns and paces in front of the window, now looking anywhere but at me. I discreetly make my move, exchanging his phone for mine, but this time, on purpose.
My voice small and tentative, I say, “Declan, I think it’s best we just go back to being friends.” At that, I hurry from the kitchen.
Back in my room, I close the door and immediately find the number I’m looking for at the top of Declan’s favorite contacts.My Oh Magsis there too.
I presscalland hope I have plenty of time to say what I need to before Declan realizes I have his phone.
A gruff voice answers on the third ring.
“Hi, Coach Hammer?”
“This isn’t Declan. Who is this?” the coach demands.
“I’m Maggie. His other coach from Blancbourg. I stole his phone.”
The coach blusters, quick to admonish me, but I explain the situation. “No, he didn’t put me up to this. In the past month, he’s gone from being a rascal, as his aunt would’ve said, to a fine gentleman and a man I’d be proud to have on my team.”
Hammer asks about the photographs and I tell him who my parents are, what they did, and how it’s true that his wide receiver and I are close. “It’s one of those best friends turned to the potential for something more scenarios.”
“Yeah, my wife watches Hallmark movies and reads books like that. Not my favorite trope, but it makes her happy.”
