Page 76 of A Play For The Heart
The million-dollar question is, why?
“I need to apologize,” he blurts out. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head at the declaration. Honestly, color me shocked. I did not expect Declan to apologize. For anything. I’m not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for, but I’m glad I agreed to this little chat. “I’ve been a dick to both you and Sawyer.
“I’m not going to make any excuses, because there are none, but I want you to know I’m sorry for how things were earlier this year. I was an ass, and after the thing in the bar with Sawyer, I took a good look at my life, and I wasn’t happy.”
He looks genuinely remorseful, but one thing doesn’t make sense.
“Why now? Why apologize now and not then?”
It’s not that I don’t accept his apology, I just want to know why he’s apologizing before I commit to forgiving him and moving on.
“I—Well, my therapist told me it’s important to make amends.” He looks down at the floor, wringing his hands together.
Therapist?
I try to peer into his mind, digging for something in his features that hints at a lie. But I can’t find anything. Shit, he’s serious.
I choose a stoic approach to say nothing, and he continues, nearly stumbling over his words to fill the silence. “After Sawyer broke up with me, I found one. I had finally come down from the high from the draft and being new to the NFL, and I felt like shit. I wasn’t proud of my choices, and some days it was hard to look in the mirror.”
The level of honesty he’s giving me is shocking. Not even I would be this honest to my friends if it wasn’t pulled out of me. Case and point with Jack and Deon. They’re my best friends, but even they had to pry my emotions out of me. I fumble for Declan’s confession or his apology. Declan, however, saves me from having to figure it out.
“No need to respond, just wanted you to know. For what it’s worth, you and Sawyer both seem happy. I’m glad you two got together.”
With that departing statement, he rises from the bench and begins to walk away, back toward the locker room. He gets about twenty feet from me before I do something that shocks even myself.
“We broke up.” Now it’s my turn to blurt out something and mildly embarrass myself.
He swings around, shock coloring his features.
“What do you mean you broke up?”
Apparently, Declan and I are both admitting our deep shit to each other. Not what I had on my to-do list this morning but might as well roll with it. I’m already at rock bottom, sharing with him can’t make things any worse.
“I broke up with her at the hospital. You know Sawyer, she will stick by you, even if she drowns in the process. So, I did the only thing I could and made sure she couldn’t drown with me.”
He walks back toward me, silent, and sits back down on the bench. He doesn’t look at me, just stares off towards the lobby.
“I get it.” Color me surprised. I expected him to call me an idiot like Jack or be disappointed in me like Deon. What I didn’t expect from Declan was for him to relate. “Part of you thinks you’re not good enough.”
Damn, he nailed that on the head with scary accuracy. I don’t know how I feel about this version of Declan. I’m glad he’s worked on himself and everything, but I don’t need him to see directly into my soul.
I can’t say it, but the statement rings true, nonetheless.
“Been there,” he continues. “But there’s a reason she chose you, man. Clearly, she finds you worthy. Don’t push her away because of the thoughts swimming around in your head.”
“Easier said than done,” I mumble.
“You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to tell you anyway.” That’s more like the Declan I know and mildly tolerate. “There’s a million people who have an opinion about you. Coaches, family, fans. None of them matter. No one else has to live in your head but you, so tell those people to fuck off in your mind.”
I’m shocked and silent by how his words reverberate in my mind. The Declan I knew six months ago is not the same one sitting next to me. He’s changed. Grown. And it has nothing to do with football. He’s wiser than he was when we played in college, and I’m sure the therapist has played a role in that.
“How do you know what you want?” I find myself asking. Didn’t mean to say it out loud, but now that the question is out there, I’m genuinely curious. “Outside of football, I mean.”
He nods his head, understanding my question. “I didn’t, not for a while at least.” He looks at me, eyes open and vulnerable. “It took my world turning to rubble for me to see clearly. The view is clearer after the storm. Now, I just want to be happy. Whether that is playing football or quitting and moving to the middle of nowhere. Life becomes significantly easier if you let go of what doesn’t make you happy.”
I feel right in the middle of the storm. Darkness on either side of me and no way to escape. Searching for a beacon of light to guide me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, the only words I can let out that show how grateful I am for what he said. For being honest and vulnerable. Trusting me with how he feels.
