Page 194 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Same,” she says. “I’m so in love with you.”

The smile that takes over my face feels like it came from somewhere deep inside me. My whole body is smiling, if that’s possible.

We nestle into one another, side-by-side, staring at the tree, our breaths puffing into the night air while we watch children grabbing ornaments from the boxes that have been brought out every Christmas to this same spot. Years ago, we were kids digging through to find our favorite ornament. Maybe one day, our kids will be doing the same.

“I want to hang ornaments,” Winona says with her trademark enthusiasm. “Do you?”

“I’d rather watch you hang ornaments.”

“Hang one with me,” she says. “Then you can go back to being all broody and introverted.”

I chuckle, and of course I oblige her. Whatever she wants. That’s what I’ll do.

The following week, I’m deeper into rehab. We’re doing functional training now. I get to actually attend practice: running progression, cutting progression, route-running drills, position work, film study. I’m exhausted, but it’s the best feeling I’ve had in months. I’m back. Practically ready to play again.

If all goes well this week, I could play in next week’s game.

Every day I’m at the facility, coaches evaluate my progress. Trainers keep watchful eyes for any signs of setback.

Friday I get the news that I’ll be playing next Sunday against the Washington Commanders at home if I don’t have any problems at practice the coming week.

When Winona picks me up, she says, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in your kitchen.”

“Is it a goat?” I tease.

“Definitely not.”

On the drive home, Winona asks me about my progress.

I called her as soon as my coaches gave me the news today.

When I had called my parents, Dad said, “That’s good, Declan. Keep up the good work.”

Winona, on the other hand, squealed and shouted and then she surprised me by actually crying. “I’m just so happy for you. It’s finally here!”

“Close your eyes,” she says when she pulls in the driveway.

“How about I close my eyes after I get in the house?”

“Yeah. Good. That’s good. The last thing you need is to trip on your way into the house.”

When we’re inside the foyer, she reaches up and covers my eyes, guiding me into the kitchen.

Then she drops her hand and shouts, “Surprise!”

I stare down at the counter at a brown lump. That’s icing. Brown icing. It kind of looks like a mud cake, the kind Maeve and Patrick and I would make in the back yard when we were little. Then we’d get scolded for getting dirty.

“Thanks,” I say, looking over at Winona. “I love it.”

She purses her lips and stares up at me. “Do you even know what it is?”

“A cake?”

“It’s a football! A football cake!”