Page 42 of Tangled with the Tight End

“You need the shower chair!” My voice comes out louder than I anticipated. “I’ll just go get it.”

“I’ll be here,” he says, calmly.

I turn and walk out of the bathroom, heading to the elevator and collecting the shower chair from the laundry room where the medical supply company put it when they dropped it off.

Once I’m back upstairs, I position the shower chair inside the shower and I take the shower head off the hook. A glance around the shower has my mouth popping open.

“How many shower heads does one person need?”

“Four,” Declan says with a smirk.

“Why?” I can’t help but ask.

“Two provide the spa experience. And then the detachable wands come in handy for days like today.”

“Ah, yes. The spa experience,” I say, looking at him with a look that says, Are you for real?

“My body takes a beating in football. I need all the help I can get working out the kinks and bruises between games.”

His body—which is currently shirtless—doesn’t seem like it needs help of any kind.

I look around the shower again. And then I make a suggestion. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Shoot,” he says.

“What if I put the shampoo on that little shelf there—the one at knee level. Then you could use the wand to shower yourself.”

“So, you’re not going to shower me?” Declan asks.

“Not … well … I could … it’s just …”

“I’m kidding, Winona.”

“Oh. Good. Okay then.” I walk into the shower, moving things around for him to have easy access. “I’ll just be right out there … in the bedroom. Call out if you need me.”

I place two towels just outside the shower and then I walk out, shutting the door behind me and blowing out a long breath.

A minute later, the sound of the water running filters through the bathroom door. And then … singing. Declan is singing.

He sings in the shower.

And he sounds good.

I practically hold my breath, as if inhaling would break the spell.

What is the song? Is he making it up?

When he belts out the lyric about not getting to see the northern lights, I recognize the song. Declan sings on, and I sit, like a stealth voyeur, mesmerized by the rumble of his voice while he sings about “dying a happy man.” I’m so tempted to sing along that I lightly bite the tip of my tongue. I love Thomas Rhett, and Die a Happy Man is one of my favorites by him.

I don’t really know how to reconcile Declan’s singing and the fact that I’m sitting in his bedroom with any part of my real life, so I close my eyes and soak up the moment. And when he changes to something old-school R& B, I open my eyes, noticing the side table next to his bed.

I feel like an intruder. But I’m also curious, so I step over and check out the stack of books. The water in the shower is still falling and Declan’s voice still carries through the door.

The top book on his stack has a plain blue cover with gold lettering. The Last Lecture.

I can’t help myself. I pick that one up and look at the one underneath it. Uncommon by an author I’ve never heard of, Tony Dungy. The subtitle catches my eye: Finding Your Path to Significance. Is Declan finding his path to significance? It seems like he must have found it being a pro football player. Under that is a spiral-bound book that says Tennessee Thunder Playbook on the cover.

I place the books back the way I found them and walk over to the chair in the corner. I sit there a while, staring out the windows at the treetops in the back yard. Eventually, the water turns off. There’s a lot of shuffling around and then Declan calls for me.