Page 31 of Tangled with the Tight End

Patrick laughs. “You want me to stick around?”

“No. You go to work. And tell Daisy thanks for letting you stay the night.”

“She loves you,” he says. His tone softens.

“I love her too.” My voice goes slightly raspy.

Early morning. Meds. Who knows what’s causing that rough catch in my throat.

I take another sip of coffee.

We aren’t a demonstrative family.

Efficient. Successful. Prominent.

Not affectionate.

I know my parents love me.

That love is so entwined with their pride in my accomplishments it’s like a vine on an old tree. The two have grown into one living, mangled presence.

Mom’s heels click on the marble floor of the foyer.

“Declan?” she asks, coming to a stop when she sees Patrick.

“Oh. Patrick, you’re still here.”

“I’m just heading out. He’s all yours.”

The expression I send my brother says, Thanks a lot.

His says, Best of luck.

“Your foot isn’t even elevated,” Mom says.

“Have to follow your doctor’s orders,” Dad says from the doorway.

Patrick passes Dad, saying goodbye to all of us.

Mom’s already moving into action, grabbing pillows and gently lifting my leg. I try to help her, but the pain increases, so I reluctantly let her fuss.

“What brings you to Waterford?” I ask.

Mom might have decided to drop in on me again, making the drive from Nashville just to check in on me. But Dad? He’s not one to take a day off to see me unless he’s got an agenda. He’s always working on a development project, far too busy for a leisurely day off.

“Your father wanted to see you,” Mom says. “And we’re also going to tour the Home Mart and the practice facility to check on things.”

Dad headed up the development of the big box store on the outskirts of town. Less than a year later, he managed to convince the town to approve the building of the Thunder practice facility.

“I’ve got a meeting with the dean at the community college.” Dad crosses his arms.

“Expanding?” I ask.

“It would be beneficial to them to add on another few buildings—expand what they offer.”

He shifts the topic, staring at my now-elevated leg. “What’s the timeline?”

Meanwhile, Mom has prepped my cryotherapy cuff and busies herself attaching it outside the splint.