Page 163 of Tangled with the Tight End

“More like a wrecking ball,” she says. “Isn’t that how the song goes?”

“You didn’t wreck anything. You showed up—and just by you being you—you made a real difference.”

I can’t read the expression on her face from this angle.

“Declan,” her voice is airy with a slight hitch when she says my name.

“What?”

It’s not until she lifts her finger and dabs at her eye that I know she’s tearing up.

“Hey. Winona. It’s a good thing. I’m complimenting you.”

She laughs lightly, sniffling once. “I know. And I am awesome. I know that.” She lets out another soft laugh. “It’s just … I want nothing more than to make a difference. And knowing I made a difference for you of all people. It’s just … everything.”

I reach over, resting my hand on her knee.

“No one—not one other person in the world—could have made the difference you made. And I’m not saying that because I’m your boyfriend. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

She flattens her lips together, drawing them tight. Then she says, “Thank you.”

“I think you’ve got that backward. I was thanking you.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

We ride in silence, my chest a different kind of tight and full. Not from today’s workout, either. This feeling is something I don’t have a name for yet. But I know one thing. I’ll do anything to keep her safe and to show her what she means to me. Anything.

Saturday, Winona and I spend the whole day together. She comes over mid-morning and we watch some college ball, we throw the football in the back yard and we hang out, talking and relaxing together.

When she goes to leave, I kiss her with a kiss that I hope conveys all the consuming feelings I have for her.

Sunday, we win against the Falcons in a home game. Winona and I watch together, screaming at the television through the most intense plays. By the end of the game, she's wrapped in my arms on the couch. I reluctantly walk her to the door during the recap so she can go home to spend some time with Cass.

The following week, I spend nearly every day at the facility. I'm exhausted and antsy by the time Friday comes.

We have an away game against the Forty-Niners that Sunday, which Winona and I watch together from my couch. I'm going to miss watching games with her once I'm back on the field.

We win against the Forty-Niners and Winona and I celebrate both the win and our one-month dating anniversary with pizza and root beer.

The following Wednesday, Winona shows up at my house at six in the morning.

“Did I mention I’m not a morning person?” she says in a groggy voice. “Especially when morning is as dark as night. Darkness equals sleep. Being up this early is unnatural.”

She’s wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and a ball cap with a winter coat over all that. Her pony tail’s a bit untamed. She looks like she possibly only just rolled out of bed to make it over here on time—still gorgeous, just softer around the edges.

“Can I get you coffee?” I ask.

“I came armed. My to-go mug is in the car. Are you ready?”

“I had a hard time sleeping, I’m so ready.”

“It’s your big day,” she says, holding her arms overhead and waving them back and forth.

In a few hours, I’ll have my cast off. Finally.

We step out into the chill November air. I swing over to the car with one singular thought. In a week, I won’t use these crutches again—hopefully never again in my life.

The sun is barely coming up as we drive the two-lane roads out toward the facility. The sky is washed in pale peach and powder blue, the sun still low enough to cast long ribbons of light across the rolling hills off in the distance. The trees still look like wire silhouettes, most of their leaves gone now—a reminder that I’ve spent most of fall cooped up in my house instead of playing football.