Page 223 of Tangled with the Tight End

“I messed up,” I tell Patrick as the realization of what I’ve done hits me with full force.

Patrick stands to take his plate to the sink.

“Good talk,” he says, mimicking Dad.

“Yeah. Good talk.”

I walk him to the front door. He looks down at Geese Witherspoon. She’s got her new friend Mr. Touch-Down Feathers next to her. They’re wearing matching Thunder jerseys.

“Want to explain these?” Patrick asks.

“What’s to explain?” I say, smiling softly.

They’re the last vestiges of Winona here. I’d guard those geese with my life.

Patrick shakes his head like I’ve officially lost it.

He has no idea that I’m finally coming to my senses.

I’m out running errands later in the week. On my way back from the grocery store, I see a woman walking three dogs. Even before I notice the dogs, I know it’s Winona. She doesn’t see me.

I slow the car and watch her, being sure to keep a distance so she doesn’t catch me.

A physical ache spreads through me.

I study her, the way she walks, the snug fit of her coat. The redness on her cheeks from the cool winter air. I’m barely breathing as I watch her bend to untangle a leash from the leg of one of the dogs. Another one runs around her in a circle and she smiles softly, stepping out of the snare and petting the dog on the head. She’s not laughing. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

I pull over and without any thought, I call my parents.

“Declan?” Dad answers.

“Is Mom there?”

“Yes. She’s right here.”

“Put me on speaker.”

“Okay. You’re on speaker. Great game …”

I cut him off like a man possessed. “She’s not my nurse.”

“Declan?” Dad says. “She’s … ?”

“She’s not my nurse. Winona. I mean, she was my nurse. But she was so much more.”

A tear falls down my cheek.

She’s walking away, not even aware I’m here, watching her.

The dogs trot ahead of her and she walks behind them, completely oblivious to me and the hole in my heart.

I let her go.

“She was everything,” I say into the phone. “She was a friend. My best friend. And she’s funny, and smart and kind. So kind. You have no idea. And she didn’t care about football or money or what size house I had, or my cars. She just liked me—for me.”

I take a breath. My parents are silent—probably too stunned to speak.

“And I love her. I love her with everything I am. You might not think Geese belongs on the porch. But it belongs there. Nothing has belonged on that porch more than that goose.”