Just Friends(22)

“How did you know my friends weren’t able to make it?” I snap my head toward him, stunned.

Roshi and Faye weren’t able to put their lives on hold on such short notice to come to the funeral. The flight plus the road trip makes Seabrook quite the trek to get to, and with their exciting new lives ramping up at full speed, there just wasn’t any way for them to come. Still, though, he’s never met them. Did I mention them at the coffee shop?

“I…” he stammers, and it catches me off guard. This man has never been one to stammer. Even at the age of twelve, he spoke with a conviction that was borderline funny.

“I didn’t see them in the front row next to you,” he explains. “So, I figured.”

That doesn’t begin to skim the surface of how he would know this. I tilt my head to the side like a dumbfounded golden retriever. Minus the golden part.

“You stalked my Instagram, didn’t you, Declan Renshaw?” I guess.

I’m aware of my eagerness to revert to humor to avoid the reality of today, but I smile a mischievous smile anyway.

“Yes. I stalked you, Blair. Is that actually shocking to you?” He smiles at the pavement. His voice sounds confident, but I can tell he didn’t mean to reveal this information to me. He’s witnessed me stumble through countless friendships throughout my adolescence. So, his awareness of Roshi and Faye feels good. Like a stamp of my growth since him.

“And did you like what you saw?” I prod. A lightness I haven’t felt all week enters my body.

Declan shakes his head and lifts a hand to run it through his hair. He’s smiling bashfully, looking caught in an act he didn’t mean to expose.

“Of course I liked what I saw.” His tone is so matter of fact that I feel my heart thrash jaggedly against my rib cage. He looks at me, letting the silence of what he’s admitted to stretch on. Is it a challenge I see in his expression? To confront what he’s just admitted to?

“Are you still with that girl?” I blurt the question, unable to handle his piercing stare any longer.

His eyebrows furrow. “What girl?”

“You’re not the only one capable of using Instagram,” I state dumbly, looking away. I can’t believe I’m saying this right now.

“Shelby?” he says, voice dipping and coming back up.

I shrug my shoulders. “Is that her name?”

He begins to laugh.

Oh gosh. He’s laughing at me.

“Look, I didn’t mean it in any way. I’m happy for you if—”

“No! No,” Declan says between fits of laughter. His shoulders bounce up and down, head shaking. “No, please don’t be happy for me. We’re not dating.”

He wipes a literal tear from his eye from laughing so much and I want the ground to swallow me whole. “Shelby is my cousin.”

“Oh,” I mumble. I’ve never felt dumber.

It was his freaking cousin.

All these years, I was jealous of his COUSIN.

“I only posted that because the bride, my other cousin, forced us to under their wedding’s hashtag for some competition they were having,” he clarifies, waving his hand. “Otherwise, I don’t really use… social media.”

He seems ten years older with the way he describes posting photos online. How did he get so much older? That’s kind of the only thing time does, I remember stupidly. That is why I’m sitting here, at Lottie’s funeral. The thought makes my stomach turn inside out, skin getting hot and then cold all over.

“Well, sorry for thinking you were dating your cousin. And… thanks for being here. I better get back inside.” I wipe my hands on my dress as I stand and stalk back toward the entrance.

Today is not the day to be mulling over what his words mean, or why he even showed up in the first place. I resume my journey back inside. I don’t hear his footsteps behind me.





Five Years Ago: Senior Year


Break a leg!” I call out as Declan runs onto the field. It’s the start of our senior year, and though our home turf is humble in size, the anticipation buzzing through each student for the first game of the season could power the largest nearby city. Declan brought us to state championships the past two years. If he does it again, he’ll be the first quarterback from our tiny beach town to win three in a row. He is single-handedly putting Seabrook on the map to those who don’t vacation here in the summer. I’ve made my way to my usual spot on the cold metal bench at the top of the bleachers, giving me the perfect view of Declan talking animatedly to his huddled team.

He’s the only player with his helmet off, wisps of damp chestnut brown-blond hair curling at the base of his neck and behind his ears. I’m mesmerized by the cool determination on his face as he riles up the team. The hard set of his jawline, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shouts, swiveling his head to meet each player’s eye.

The first state championship he won was his sophomore year, which was enough to draw expectant eyes on him. The pressure has only increased since to keep up with that so-called potential.

This was only high school, but high school led to college, which led to the NFL. Declan had his mind set on the life he could achieve after college before kids in high school knew what classes they were taking that year.

The start of his ambition could’ve been credited to his dad forcing him to train at a young age, but eventually, the lines between his father’s demands and his own desire to win were blurred. Perhaps only being loved when he achieved was a form of training in itself. Now, he did exactly what his father wanted for his life without having to be told.