Page 236 of Tangled with the Tight End

“We couldn’t be prouder,” his mom adds.

We stand in a not-quite-awkward silence. And then the television screens change to show the press conference.

Declan is seated at the table with Marcus Delaney. I step closer to one of the screens so I can hear more clearly.

Declan’s wearing a team quarter-zip. His hair is shower-damp. He doesn't look like he just stepped off the field. His eyes are bright, and there’s a lightness to his expression. I imagine it’s a mirror of the way I feel right now.

“How does it feel to be back on the field?” one reporter asks.

Declan answers, telling them how good it was to be able to show up for his team.

A few more questions focus on the game and Declan’s return and how he feels physically.

Then, another reporter asks, “Let’s talk about that declaration, Declan.”

“What can I say?” he says, smiling broadly. “Winona is the best person I know. It killed me to see her torn to shreds by fans and the media. I thought I could protect her by letting her go.”

“That was a pretty romantic gesture,” the reporter says.

Declan nods once. “If our relationship is going to be in the spotlight, I might as well put the focus where it belongs—on how much I love her.”

“You definitely controlled the narrative tonight.”

“Thank you. Are there any other questions about the game?” He redirects the reporter away from talk about me and our relationship.

Marcus answers a few questions and then Coach Clay takes a seat at the table to talk about the Thunder’s strategy for the rest of the playoff season.

A few of the WAGs approach me, introducing themselves and making small talk. Shortly after his press conference ends, the door opens and Declan walks through with a few other players.

Marcus is alongside him, one hand hidden behind his back.

“There you are, Winona!” Marcus shouts. His voice is so loud and commanding, every eye in the room turns toward us.

“I was looking for you.” Marcus holds up a foam cheese head. “Didn’t you say you wanted one of these?"

"Seriously?” Declan says. He’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling.

Then he looks at me and asks, “You’re not actually wearing that, are you?”

"The question isn't whether I’m wearing it,” I say. “The question is whether you’re wearing the matching cheese.” I pull the cheese head I bought at the souvenir stand out of the bag I’m holding.

Declan groans.

I laugh. It’s not a half-hearted laugh, hollowed out with pain and grief. This is my laughter, returning to me because he’s back.

“This,” Declan says, grabbing the cheese head and putting it on his head. “This is why I love you.”

He pulls me close and kisses me.

I hold on to him, sinking into his kiss until the world melts away.

Declan pulls back, smiling down at me. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” I tell him. “So much.”

Around us, teammates hug their wives and girlfriends. Children weave through the room. On the wall, the televisions replay the winning touchdown and the Thunder's victory.

I’ll remember every detail of this day for the rest of my life.