Teeth chattering, I say, “She said you were a murderer.”
Declan nods as the rain catches in his hair and turns his black suit darker.
I gasp and take a step back.
“That was why I couldn’t bear to listen to her message.”
“You owe me an explanation. Please give me an explanation.” I tremble as my voice turns pleading.
Declan’s eyes lift to meet mine. His are dim. “When I was fifteen, I fell in love with Keefe’s twin sister, Siobhan. We were mad for each other. Keefe had already turned to drugs by then. Looking back, I think we were there to support each other. We both knew him when he was still relatively normal.”
I quietly listen as a friend because that’s what we are. That’s what he needs right now. And I need the truth, one I hope I can handle.
He shifts his gaze toward the harbor. “Have you ever heard the quote, ‘A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for?’ I understand that I can’t rightfully keep the truth from you. If what Mrs. O’Mealley said is true, you’ll find out anyway. If I was a boat, I’d have to go bravely into choppy and uncharted waters.” He watches the rain pouring down. “I’ve only ever told Aunt Maureen this story. It broke me. It pains me still, but I know I have to take the risk and tell you what happened all those years ago, even if that means you’ll sail out of my life.”
Bracing myself, my mind empties and I just listen.
Declan draws a deep breath. “One day, Keefe was bad. As high as a kite. He was out of his mind, acting belligerent, dangerous. Siobhan was making lunch and he kept messing with her. She called me to help calm him down. Their mother was at work. Siobhan snuck me into the house. First, I found his drugs and disposed of them. But Keefe caught me and lunged at me with a kitchen knife. Siobhan must’ve been watching from the hall because before I could stop her, she launched herself between us. It happened so fast. The knife flew out of Keefe’s hand. Trying to block it, I shoved Siobhan out of the way. She fell against the hot stove and was burned badly. It was all my fault.” Rain or tears track down Declan’s face.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I called the Garda, an ambulance came. She had severe burns, particularly on her hands and face. She was a fiddle player. Couldn’t play anymore. I was distraught. Keefe was crazed. She was wounded. I figured she’d tell the police what happened, but she covered for her brother because I later learned she’d started using drugs too. Turns out Keefe was involved with some shady people and had been a bad influence on his sister. Ended up going to jail. He blamed me—had I not thrown out the drugs and had I not been there, it wouldn’t have happened. He soured his mother on me, too. Once, she’d been like a mother to me. The worst of it, though, Siobhan left town and we never heard from her again.”
I gasp. “I’m so sorry.” I cannot imagine the agony and burden he’s endured.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just—I was burned by love. I couldn’t go to the funeral.”
“Declan, that’s awful. Painful. But it’s in the past. You were young. Keefe had problems and?—”
He shakes his head. “I can’t—this, us. I can’t risk it.” He turns down the path toward the townhome.
I can hardly process what Declan told me, but can see the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders as he disappears into the house, letting the wind slam the door behind him.
I don’t want to let him go, but I know that if I go after him, he’ll turn me away. He’s too hurt. Reaching for the door handle to the car, I whisper, “Goodbye, Declan.”
After I check into a hotel in the city proper, I see that my parents called but didn’t leave a message.
I collapse on the bed and quickly file my final report as Declan’s coach. Likely, I lost my job, but I want him to get the credit he deserves. He did well practicing etiquette. In fact, after leaving Blancbourg, I hardly had to teach him a thing.
His childhood sounded so challenging, and now I better understand why he tended to rebel, back in the confines of high school and the pranks while on the Bruisers. However, he’d flourished with me. The thought makes me wonder about the vengeful woman, Keefe’s mother, who’d confronted him at the cemetery. What was she talking about, selling his story to the media?
Realization dawns. My parents. My terrible, horrible, evil parents. I’m about to punchcallon my phone when it beeps with a message. Likely, they called me earlier to gloat and are texting now to really rub it in. They probably resent that I reject their lifestyle and, by default, them.
However, the message is from Etta Jo. It’s simply an emoji with a surprised face. Then, a link to the B&S Media website. Squishing up my eyes, I don’t want to click it, but can’t bring myself to see what more damage my parents have done.
35
DECLAN
Maggie already had her reasons for not wanting to be with me, but I knew that once she heard the full story of Siobhan and Keefe, she’d leave. No one ever stays in my life. Not if I pull back all the glitz and charm and am really myself.
I’m little more than the lowly lad Mrs. O’Mealley described.
Forget getting tackled, this is like getting kicked in the chest, the heart.
I should’ve known better than to fall for someone as true as Maggie.
She deserves better than me anyway. I was born a loser and will always be one, so I’ve tried to make up for that on the football field. People like me are destined to be alone. Maggie isn’t a nobody. She is amazing, beautiful, and so kind. She’d held me steady during the return to Dublin, our stay, and my aunt’s passing. She knew just when to squeeze my hand, when to pray, and when to listen.
