As the days pass, wallowing in misery, I’ve gone through exactly five bags of Taytos cheese and onion crisps. I would likeice cream and cake too, but don’t have the energy to go to the market after using whatever was left on a Hail Mary.
When I discovered we’d switched phones again, I got her parents’ contact info to make sure they listen for once. I had my manager contact them under the guise that I wanted an exclusive interview. They jumped at the bait and called back immediately, hungry for a scoop. I gave them one and an earful about being better to their daughter. I also told them the entire story about Keefe and Siobhan. They’d already known, thanks to Mrs. O’Mealley, but I added details and clarified things. Having learned from the best coach in the NFL, I gave them an ultimatum.
They either air my side of the story and keep their daughter out of it or I’ll take them to court for slander. After digging through their website, it wouldn’t only be my lawyers going after them, but I’d convince the other guys on the team to do the same.
Additionally, if B&S Media does the right thing, I’ll pledge a large sum to a charity of their choice. I hope that will pave the way for them to report on positive celebrity news rather than scandals. Unlikely, but I’ll use whatever influence I can.
I hadn’t broken the rules of the playbook per se. I’d fallen for Maggie. I only had eyes for her and counted myself lucky that I have a chance at love at all. She’s a forever kind of woman. The kind for a ring and ‘til death do we part.
When I had her phone, she’d received a call from Sylvester. The name was familiar, and I realized that’s Sly the Single Guy who’d betrayed her and took off with the mobile cupcake van she’d invested her savings in, dashing her dreams. I considered giving the dude a piece of my mind, but it isn’t my business and don’t want to overstep any other bounds. Maybe they’d been in touch and are rekindling things. Above all, Maggie deserves tobe happy and I doubt I could ever do that for her—not with the damage from the past that I still carry.
After learning about what happened with Keefe and Siobhan, I’m certain that Maggie won’t be able to forgive me...or trust me anyway.
Keefe never forgave me for what had happened with his sister. However, the worst part is I can’t forgive myself. Keefe was right. I should’ve done something, anything differently during that dreadful summer day, but especially not causing Siobhan to fall against the hot stove and ruin her life.
For the last several days, a faint pain has grown in my chest, but right now it’s like a stab wound. I grip my heart and close my eyes. When I open them, my gaze lands on a photo of Aunt Maureen that I had on display at the wake. She stands in front of a cathedral in Rome during one of her many travels. My breath catches. It’s like she’s reminding me of what she’d been saying for years about forgiveness.
I take it as a sign.
I call the car service and have the driver bring me directly to the local church. It’s quiet since I’m here outside of service times. I kneel in a pew. First, I pray for another chance with Maggie, but when my mind quiets and I listen to God, I know that to move ahead with my life, I have to forgive myself. I’m not sure if the directive, “If you forgive others their transgressions, your heavenly Father will forgive you” (Matthew 6:14), includes forgiving myself, but I’ll sure try. I have to reconcile.
My aunt had been telling me to be brave and forgive myself, but if I do, will that mean I’ll stop regretting what happened? Forget Siobhan? If I forgive myself, does that mean I think what happened is okay?
The answer comes to me in a heartbeat. No. Forgiveness doesn’t mean that I’ll ever forget. It means I’ll remember Siobhan always, but without the cloud of hurt. I’ll let God be thejudge. I have room for love from the past, present, and future. And the future I long for is with Maggie and a family of our own. Is that crazy?
I somehow escaped the streets and created a life for myself. I’m not proud of all of the things I did along the way, but I want to make Maggie proud of me. I say another prayer, asking for forgiveness for #BruiserButt too. Just in case.
As I sit back in the pew, all the loneliness that I’ve ever felt dissipates and is replaced with the loving presence of my Savior. The pain in my chest subsides and I take a deep breath of the wax-scented air.
Before leaving, I light a candle for Siobhan, Keefe, and Aunt Maureen. I’m not sure what’s next, but the past is finally at rest.
Back home, I try to call Maggie and when she doesn’t answer, I text her. First, I apologize for not telling her everything. Then I explain why, confessing my fears, hurts, and deepest wounds—that I’m not good enough for her.
Days pass. No reply.
The ache in my chest returns.
I hardly leave the townhome in Howth, not even to go to the gym.
One afternoon, Coach Hammer’s name appears on the screen of my phone with an incoming call. “We have you on the schedule for next week. Have you been keeping up with your workouts? Wolf has been doing ballet. What do you have to say for yourself?” Hammer snickers.
I glance at the empty packets of crisps. “No, I haven’t.” My voice is rusty from lack of use.
“What do you mean?” Hammer tears into me, hollering and scolding me from one end to the other.
“Why would I bother?” I ask.
“Because you’re the wide receiver for the Bruisers. The greatest team in history.”
“I’m pretty sure you meant to dial Fatechi.”
“Am I talking to Declan Printz right now? Because if so, let me set things straight. Maggie Byrne called me and explained the situation. She confessed that she had a thing for you—don’t get big-headed about that—and tried to put distance between you two so you didn’t get kicked off the team and lose your spot to Fatechi.”
“Maggie called you?” I ask at the same time, I realize she must have switched our phones on purpose. The day before, I’d received a call from an airline, asking if I’d review my recent flight to Florida. She must’ve used my phone when getting a ticket, too.
“I had zero sense you put her up to that. I think there’s a haters club consisting of women who’d prefer to burn you, son. That Blair woman, for instance.”
And Tess, Kate, Candi, Brandi...all of the women I’d wooed and then ditched.
