Page 77 of Tangled with the Tight End

Understatement of the century.

Chapter 12

Declan

Do what makes you happy;

don't be afraid to color outside the lines.

~ Peggy Toney Horton

“It’s louder in here than in the Thunder stadium,” I shout to my sister.

She brought my nieces, Boston and Ariella, over to sign my cast since they have a late start to school today.

They’re currently running up and down the hallway shouting, “Echo!” “Echo!’ “Echo!” pausing to hear their voices ping back to them and then shouting it again.

“You’re welcome to host a sleepover anytime,” Maeve jokes.

“Would that include sleep?” I ask.

“They eventually wear themselves out. Or we corral them into bed for what I affectionately call the hour of questions.”

I chuckle.

“Girls!” I shout into the hallway.

They both appear in the doorway.

“What, Uncle Declan?” Ariella asks.

“Did you bring markers?”

“For the casp?” Boston asks.

“Cast,” Maeve corrects her.

“It has a T,” Ariella says, taking an authoritative tone with her younger sister.

I laugh to myself and then glance at Maeve. “Did I always have to have the final say?”

“Oh, are we soul searching while bedridden?” she teases. “You’re a natural born leader. You’ve never met a person you couldn’t teach or advise.”

Her words bring up the memory of Winona learning to throw—the way she leaned back into me. I almost wrapped my arms around her to keep her there. I don’t know the last time I’ve laughed as much as I do with her. I can’t figure her out—or maybe it’s my feelings where she’s concerned that have me in knots.

Every morning, thoughts of Winona fill my head before she arrives. And now that we’re down to four days a week of her coming over, the days she isn’t scheduled feel strangely empty. It’s been three weeks of her filling my home with her quirky observations, straightforward approach, and unmatched kindness. Three weeks, watching her move through my home, her blonde hair falling in waves down her back, bright blue eyes not missing a detail, her heart and attention fixed on me.

And in that short time, she’s managed to become the bright spot in my days.

The girls squeal.

“Ariella, you’re it!” Boston says.

They run past the archway leading into the family room, chasing one another down the hallway.

Maeve is staring at me, a questioning expression on her face.

“Yeah, well,” I run my hand through my hair. “Let’s get this signing going.”