Page 48 of Tangled with the Tight End

“I was waiting for you,” Declan says, a not-quite scowl on his face.

Well. At least I know what I'm working with. He's grumpy, not feral. Let’s hope he’s an easier audience than that goat.

“I brought you something,” I say, holding up my bag. “But let me get your compression going first.”

“What did you bring?” he asks, not smiling at all.

“A care kit.”

I don’t know what to call it, so I name it on the spot. It’s a kit of sorts. And I care. So: a care kit.

“A what?”

“A care kit. I put together some things I thought you could use.”

“I’m pretty sure I have everything I need right here.”

“Then you’d be wrong.”

He’s silent. I get the distinct feeling no one tells Declan O’Connell he’s wrong.

“I mean, you’d be right about a lot of things you don’t need. Like who needs that?”

I point to an abstract painting of a football player that’s probably as tall as I am on the far wall.

“My parents had that commissioned the first year I played with the Thunder.”

I study the painting for a beat. Now I see it. It’s him, walking off the field with his helmet in hand, dark hair tousled. Everything’s done in swatches of paint so it’s light and shadows. But the details seem to fill in the longer you stare at it.

I turn back to Declan. “Well … Do you need a fancy closet with a kitchen island in it?”

“To store my clothes?”

“Or heated floors in the bathroom?”

Yes. I found that out yesterday. They are actually heated.

“Comes in handy during the winter.”

I bet they do.

“What about a second kitchen?”

“For parties.”

“A home theater with twelve recliners?”

“For when the guys come over to watch the game.”

Maybe he doesn’t really understand that having everything you could want doesn’t mean you don’t need anything. Even Declan O’Connell has needs.

I blow out a breath. “Well, you need this too.”

“Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”

I drop the bag on the floor. The compression cuff can wait ten more minutes.

“Close your eyes,” I insist.