“Declan has been my best friend since high school. I didn’t know much about his past before that, but I know that he’s a good person even though he shows the world his bad-boy side. I arranged the meeting with Blair because I wanted him to have the opportunity to share the truth, possibly clear his name after the moon-gate scandal. Apparently, Blair had other ideas, resulting in what looked like Declan breaking the rule youset about dating while at reform school. I should’ve vetted her better. For that, I apologize. The truth is, Declan and I do have feelings for each other and that may have broken your rules.”
The line is quiet for a moment. “Well, Miss Byrne, I appreciate your honesty.”
Guilt bites into me because I wasn’t always honest with Declan—that I’d switched our phones is a point of fact. I also haven’t been entirely honest with myself. I really, truly have feelings for my best friend, but once out from under the thumb of probation from his coach, I don’t know if we can take it to the next level. Can I live with his life in the limelight?
“Also, you’ll note that all of my reviews were entirely positive. There was no bias, just observation.”
“That kid can be a charmer,” Coach Hammer says.
“I’m well aware.” I add that he maintained a positive character while facing difficulties from his past and his aunt’s sickness and death. “It’s been a challenging month.”
“Printz has a habit of getting in his own way, but thank you again for clearing things up. You should probably give him his phone back now.”
Relieved that the conversation seemed to placate the coach, I let out a long breath when we get off the phone.
I return to the kitchen to switch the phones back, but Declan isn’t here. I glance out to the harbor and I hope he didn’t sail away.
34
MAGGIE
The shower runs upstairs. Declan is probably getting ready for the funeral service. I change and pack my things to stay at a hotel tonight. While waiting for him, I book a flight back to Florida.
When I hear Declan’s dress shoes tapping along the hardwood floor, I meet him by the door. Outside, it’s not raining, but the air fills with fine mist. We’re both quiet on the ride to the funeral. The turnout is relatively small as everyone pays their respects.
Afterward, rain patters down. Declan remains by the coffin, motionless and with his head bowed. I thread my fingers in his and say a final prayer before gently moving him toward the street and awaiting car.
A woman stands on the sidewalk, partially concealed by an umbrella. She swipes at Declan and hisses, “Mr. Famous Football Player, you think that you’re too good to return my calls? To pay your respects to my family? You take a lift up in the world and then forget about the little people down below? Well, I didn’t forget about you.”
Declan goes still and the blood empties from his face.
“Too busy with your fame and line of women clamoring for you to remember my Siobhan and my son? Your girlfriend and best friend? Remember them, Declan?”
“Mrs. O’Mealley?” he sputters.
She shakes her head while glaring at me. “He’ll never love you the way he loved her.” Then she bears down on him. “Or did you? What is it, Declan? Honor the past or drown your sorrows with this nobody?” She laughs. “Oh, wait. Deep down, you’re a nobody too. Don’t forget where you came from, lad.” She glowers as the rain pours down.
Declan doesn’t move.
“Nothing to say?” Mrs. O’Mealley wears a thin smile. “Well, I sure did. Big media came sniffing around and paid me a handsome sum to tell my story. Your story. Strange it hadn’t come out before now. Well, the world will know who you really are. A murderer. I’ll never forget, Declan. Now, you won’t either.” She storms away.
Feeling like I had whiplash, questions race toward me. What did the woman mean about Declan being a murderer? I knew he had a rough past on the streets of the city, but I can’t imagine him doing something so despicable.
Declan hangs his head and wordlessly gets in the car. He rests his elbows on his knees and holds his forehead in his hands the entire way. When we pull up in front of the townhome on the harbor, he passes me my phone. “We accidentally switched again.”
Before I can correct him and explain, I took his phone and why, or ask him what just happened, he gets out of the car and then like a gentleman, he holds open my door.
I step into the rain. I have to know whether I fell in love with the man I think he is or someone else.
A foghorn blows mournfully in the distance.
“What happened?” I ask. “What was that woman talking about?”
“That was Keefe’s mother.”
“Mrs. O’Mealley? I thought you’d already seen her.”
“I was going to, but I couldn’t do it. Chickened out. I’m sorry I let you think otherwise, but visiting her and being back here was what I meant about stepping back into the past when I’d originally tried to convince you not to come.”
