Page 228 of Tangled with the Tight End

I want answers, but those obviously are not on this morning’s menu.

“Just coffee. I’ll get food at the stadium.”

“The staaaaadiuuum!” Cass practically sings. “We’re going to a playoff game! THE playoff game!”

“If you ever decide office management isn’t your thing, you could try out to be a Thunderette.”

“I would break my neck as a Thunderette.”

“But you’d bring the spirit before you ended up in traction.”

She laughs. “Okay. Drink up. Let’s go.”

I give her a half-hearted salute and drink my coffee.

Once I’m showered, I stand in my room, staring into my closet. The jersey with Declan’s name on it stares back at me. I scan my other shirts and land back on the jersey.

I never would have even wanted to go to this playoff if it weren’t for Declan. He’s the reason I love football—the reason the Thunder are my team. I blow out a breath and with a definitive bob of my head I grab the jersey and slip it on, pulling on jeans and tying a knot at the waist of the shirt. I grab my Converse and head downstairs to voices in the living room.

“Winona!” Emberleigh shouts when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

“You look beautiful,” Syd says.

Okay, so. Yes. I did put on makeup—a little more than usual. I want to look my best. I’m sure Declan won’t see me, but just in case …

“Thanks,” I say, sitting on the bottom step and slipping on my tennis shoes.

“Ready?” Cass asks, clapping her hands once.

“How did you two get tickets anyway?” I ask Emberleigh.

She smiles and says, “Syd and I brought you chocolate croissants.”

Then she turns and picks up her purse and Syd hurries toward the door shouting, “I call shotgun!”

If it’s got gills and blows bubbles … it’s fishy, fishy, fishy.

“I give up,” I say, throwing my hands in the air and grabbing my coat off the hooks near the front door.

Cass drives the two of us, and our four friends follow behind. I don’t even bother to ask any more questions about how everyone managed to get into a playoff game. As the winter landscape passes by outside the car window, I tell myself to let go and enjoy the moment—it’s something I used to do without thought. These days I need to put a little extra effort into staying present.

“We’re going to the playoffs!” I shout, a little louder than I intended.

Cass smiles. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“He still loves you.”

“How would you know?”

She pauses for a beat and then she says, “He told you he did. He didn’t break up out of anger or the hundreds of other reasons men break up with women. He broke up with you to protect you.”

“So, now you’re Team Declan?”

“I’m Team Winona ‘til I die,” she says.

“Well, I’m still Team Declan. It might hurt less if I weren’t.”