Page 44 of Tangled with the Tight End

Declan’s already got the TV back on with three guys sitting behind a long desk talking about sports. I sit in the chair next to Declan, eating my food and watching the show. It’s like watching a movie in a foreign language with no subtitles. He’s so riveted to it, I don’t interrupt him to ask questions—not until he’s finished eating.

Then I ask, “Does it help? Watching that?”

He’s quiet for a moment and I almost take back the question. But then he says, “It does help in one way. I feel like I didn’t drop completely off the face of the earth. I’m still in touch.”

“But?”

His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to make sense of me. Then he says, “But … it also reminds me I’m out for the season.”

I nod, picking up his plate.

“You didn’t fall off the face of the earth,” I assure him with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.”

I rinse the dishes and check in with Declan again.

“You’ve got everything?” I ask him.

“I’m fine, Winona. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not. I just want to make sure you’re set before I go.”

“I am. And … thanks—for today.”

“You’re welcome. Just doing my job.”

Just doing my job? Ugh.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, turning to leave.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

My shift actually officially ended almost an hour ago, but I stayed on until Declan seemed to be settled. I don’t like the idea of him being alone in that big house, but he seems to be okay with it. He got in and out of a shower without me. I’m sure he’ll handle whatever he needs until tomorrow when I come back.

About an hour or so after I get home, Cass walks in the door from her day at work.

“You’re home!” she says, smiling widely.

“I am. I did my jobs and now I’m wiped out.”

“I’m making spaghetti,” she says. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I ate.”

“At Declan’s?” Her voice is dreamy.

She’d probably pass out on the spot if I told her about the shower scenario. I squeeze my eyes shut as if that will erase the images of Declan in a towel. I’m a nurse and he’s my patient. I’ve established this with myself a ridiculous number of times. For some reason, my unhelpful brain has resorted to cavewoman status. All she says is Man. Muscles. Wow.

“Yeah,” I answer Cass. “I ate with Declan while he watched something called SportsCenter.”

“What a life you live,” she says. “Eating dinner with professional athletes.”

“Funny you should say that. Most days, I feel like I’m behind schedule.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, moving through the living room into the kitchen.