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I didn’t turn back when he rolled his window down and called my name three times. And I didn’t turn around when he pulled up at the footpath, choosing to slip through the alleyway instead, with my head down and the sting of bitter regret weighing heavily on my shoulders.
I had learned a valuable lesson tonight though, and that was to never ask a girl what she was thinking if you weren’t prepared to take a huge fucking knock to the ego.
Her words were haunting me. Probably because she made a valid point. I fucking hated that she was right about my body. I was stubborn like that, which was why I got so defensive when she called me out on my bullshit.
Shoving my keys in my pocket, I scratched Bonnie and Cupcake, my mother’s dogs, on their heads before making a beeline for the older Lab. Sookie was almost fifteen, and the hair around her eyes, nose, and chin had turned white. She was stiff and hobbled more these days, but she was still a puppy to me and would forever be the best birthday present a three-year-old boy ever received. She waddled into my arms and then dropped down on my foot, wagging her tail so hard her back was shaking.
I didn’t understand how people could hurt any animals, but especially dogs. They were too good for us. Humans didn’t deserve the love and loyalty dogs gave them. I was a dog lover. I trusted them. There was something about the way a dog looked at you; they didn’t care if you were a famous rugby player or a homeless person on the streets. They only cared about how you treated them, and once they chose you as their human, you had a faithful friend for the rest of their lives.
“I see your manners haven’t improved,” Mam quipped, giving me a disapproving frown. “Can’t help myself, Ma,” I shot back with a wink. “I’m a growing boy.”
Ahhhh winks
“Who’s this?” she asked, lips twitching as she tapped her finger on the newspaper lying open on the counter. I frowned. “Who’s who?” With a huge smile on her face, she picked up the newspaper and held it up to show me. “This,” Ma asked, full-on grinning now, as she tapped her nail on a huge-ass full-color picture of me with Shannon at the School Boy Shield game last week.
Jesus, she looked gorgeous, all wide-eyed and smiling as I held her to my side. Her brown hair was loose and blowing in the breeze. The top of her head grazed my armpit, that’s how tiny she was. And then my heart skipped in my chest when I read the caption.
Johnny Kavanagh, 17, pictured with school friend Shannon Lynch as they celebrated Tommen College’s win over Kilbeg in the final of the School Boy Shield last Friday. Kavanagh captained his school to their fifth win in a row of the Shield, clocking up another piece of silverware in his impressive career and putting to bed any rumors of existing injuries. The pretty schoolgirl was fresh-faced and beaming for the cameras as she congratulated Kavanagh on another win. When asked for a comment on the status of their relationship, Kavanagh politely declined—although they say a picture speaks a
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And still, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Midnight fucking blue eyes and painfully accurate words. And now it was worse because not only was she in my thoughts 24/7, but I had a bleeding picture of her to torment myself with. And I would torment myself with that picture. I planned on it.
“Explain this, then,” my father demanded. Tearing open the newspaper, he roughly flicked through the pages until stopping on the sports section. “Explain him!” Blinking away tears, I looked down at the page Dad was pointing at and immediately felt my blood run cold. There I was, in full Technicolor, smiling for the stupid photographer, with Johnny’s arm wrapped around my waist, all smiles and blushed cheeks.
Acting like he didn’t have a care in the world was Joey’s coping mechanism. Mine was turning mute.
Our father may be big and bitter, but Joey was bigger and faster.
“Did Aoife stay long when she drove you home?” My eyes widened in confusion. The look my brother gave me said, Go with it. Realization dawned on me. My brother was giving me an out. “Uh, no,” I choked out, eyes locked on Joey. “She just dropped me off and went straight home.”
I must have hovered at his door for a long time because when Joey looked up at me, his expression was resigned. Sighing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and then patted the mattress beside him. “Come on.” Bolting over to him, I collapsed on the bed and wrapped my arms around my brother’s neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding my world together.
“I’m sick of feeling scared all the time.” “I know.” He patted my back and then stood. “One of these days, everything will be better. I promise.” Walking over to his wardrobe, he pulled open the doors and dragged out the familiar sleeping bag and spare pillows. I didn’t have to ask what he was doing, not when I already knew and it made my heart squeeze tight. When Joey was finished setting up the makeshift bed on the floor, he dropped onto it.
My heart
“Kavanagh,” Joey confirmed, eyes sharp and searching. “How do you know the guy?” “He goes to Tommen,” I explained, grateful for the semidarkness so my brother couldn’t see how red my face had turned. “He’s, uh, in fifth year, I think?” I know. “And I’ve seen him a few times at school. He’s the one who knocked me out on my first day.” Joey’s head snapped toward me. “It was Kavanagh who knocked you out?” “It was an accident.”
“A guy in his position?” I remarked. “I’m pretty sure he’s not the only person in the world to kick a ball arseways.” “No…” Joey shrugged. “Still though, I didn’t think they made those kind of schoolboy errors in the Academy.” “Academy?” I exhaled a huff. “It’s called Tommen College, Joe. Not the Academy.” “I’m not talking about your school, Shan,” Joey said. “I’m talking about the Academy—you know, the Institute of Further Progression. The Academy’s only a nickname.”
“You really have no clue who he is, do you?” When I didn’t respond, Joey laughed again. “That’s priceless,” he mused, clearly entertained. “You were driving around in his car tonight, and you didn’t even know.” “Know what?”
Johnny’s earlier words floated into my head. “I play… No, I mean I play…”
“I had no idea it would end up in the papers.” “It ended up in the papers because he’s Johnny Kavanagh,” my brother stated, enunciating his name like it should mean something to me. “Come on, Shan.” When I came up empty, Joey heaved an impatient sigh. “He’s a big fucking deal on the rugby circuit. Jesus, you only have to turn on a computer or crack open the papers to read all about him,”
“He was recruited into the rugby academy when he was like fourteen or some insanely young age like that.” “That’s the institute place?” I shifted, leaning over to the edge of the bed to take his measure. “Is that a big deal or something?” “It’s a big fucking deal, Shan,” Joey confirmed. “You have to be handpicked by top Irish rugby scouts to get trials. Money and pull have no factor. Selection is based purely on talent and potential. They teach them everything they need to know about a professional career in rugby and have the best coaches, physios, nutritionists, and trainers in the country
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“So, he’s good?” “He’s better than good, Shan,” my brother corrected. “I’ve seen a few of Kavanagh’s games with the U18 squad that were aired on the telly over the summer campaign, and I’m telling you now, he’s like a loaded gun on the pitch.
Shit, the guy’s only seventeen and this is his second season with the Irish under-eighteen youth team—and he’ll move right on up to the under-twenties once he turns eighteen. After that, it’ll be the senior team.” So, Johnny wasn’t joking around when he said he played. “I didn’t know any of this,” I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.
“You’re blushing,” Joey stated, sounding amused. It was a completely accurate assessment, one I furtively denied. “I am not.” He snorted. “Yeah, you fucking are.” “It’s too dark to see that, so how do you even know that I’m blushing?” Joey laughed softly. “So, you admit it?”
“What happens to a boy when he tears his adductor muscle?” The question was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think it through. “What—like in the groin?” “Yeah.” I nodded. “What happens?”
“Would it be really bad?” I kept pushing. “For a boy, that is? Would it hurt?” “Put it this way,” Joey bit out, still shuddering. “I’d rather break both legs than suffer that kind of trauma to my package.” “Would it hurt to walk and stuff?” I asked. “What about playing sports?” “Shannon, it would hurt to take a piss,” Joey deadpanned. “Never mind running around on a pitch.” Oh, Jesus. No wonder Johnny was sore.
“And a bed. And an endless supply of ice packs for his balls.” “His balls?” I swallowed deeply, eyes widening. “Why would he need an ice pack for those?” “Because when the surgeons cut you open for that kind of procedure, they make an incision right below your s—ugh! I can’t.”
“Joey knows better than to rile him up like that—” I cut her off with a shake of my head. “Stop defending him,” I hissed, keeping my voice low as to not wake the man who had been successfully ruining my life every day since March 13, 1989—the day I entered this world and toxic fucking family.
“Just stop, Mam! Nothing you ever say helps. It just keeps happening over and over again. So just stop apologizing and trying to explain his behavior away. We’re tired of hearing it.”
“You need to show me some respect, Shannon,” she growled. “I’m working myself to the bone to put you through school, and I sure as hell don’t appreciate you talking to me like I’m the shit on your shoe!” “Well, I don’t appreciate being called a whore every time I walk through the front door,” I choked out, my emotions spilling over.
“He was worried about you,” she replied. “He didn’t know how you got home last night.” “He was worried about me so he called me a whore?” I shook my head, appalled. “Because that makes sense.” “Because you were in that picture—” “Have you seen the picture?” “No.”
“Then how did you get home?” she repeated for the third time. “Tell me!” “Johnny Kavanagh dropped me home,” I bit out, fighting back the urge to scream.
“Johnny is not the problem here,” I strangled out. My heart was hammering in my chest; the thought of getting Johnny into trouble again was making me feel light-headed. “He apologized for what happened. He replaced my uniform. He stuck up for me at school when a boy was giving me trouble. He has been nothing but good to me, Mam.”
“I missed my bus!” I screamed, panicking when she began to dial. “I was scared of being late. I was scared of coming home late to him. I took the spin because I was desperate! Because I knew what he’d do if I waited for the next bus.”
“You don’t have to feel scared to come home.” “Don’t I?” I brushed my hair off my face and pointed to the scar on my temple. The one that my father put there when he almost maimed me with a whiskey bottle when I was eleven. There were many more where that one came from, but she already knew that.
“You are so concerned with fighting the bullies at school, Mam,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, “when the biggest bully of them all lives under this roof.”
“I mean it, Mam,” I warned, voice warbling. “Call the school making trouble for Johnny, and I’ll tell them everything you don’t want them to know!” Mam clutched her chest and shook her head. “Shannon.” “Everything,” I bit out.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it, Mam?” I asked, voice breaking. Blinking back my tears, I choked out, “Don’t you ever get sick to death of pretending?” Her expression caved. “Shannon…”
I would straighten a few things up with Johnny Kavanagh, and then I would walk away with my heart intact and a clear conscience because I could not, in good faith, ignore what my mother had said.
Associating with a future Irish rugby star was like throwing a six-feet, three-inch spanner in the works. Calling on every ounce of bravery inside of my body, I walked right up to him, relying on the adrenaline pumping through my veins to push my feet toward him.
Nodding, I turned to leave, feeling thoroughly deflated, only to have a warm hand wrap around my wrist and pull me back to his side. “Not you,” Johnny whispered in my ear, settling me in front of him. “Them.” His blue-eyed gaze darted to the two older boys watching us with curious expressions, and in a tone that left no room for discussion, he said, “Go.”
Ahhhhhhhhh
Johnny rewarded me with a boyish smirk that quickly morphed into a frown as he looked at my face.
“What happened?” he demanded, glaring down at me. “Who the fuck made you cry?” “What?” I breathed, shaking my head. “I’m not crying.” “Your eyes are red and swollen,” he deadpanned. “You’ve been crying.” His eyes moved to my cheek. “The fuck happened to your face?”
Hehe
“Your face,” he bit out. “Your cheek is red.” “I’m fine,” I choked out, taking a safe step back from his overly observant eyes.
“Give me a name,” Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. “And I’ll take care of it.” “What—no! I’m grand,” I quickly replied. “I have allergies.” “Me too. To assholes and bullshit,” Johnny snarled. “Now, tell me who made you cry and I’ll fix it.”
Shaking my head to clear my ridiculous thoughts, I looked up at him and said, “I need to tell you something.” “Yeah, you do,” he shot back. “A name.” “What? No, just stop for a sec.”
Ahhhhhh
“I think your mother’s choice of words was steer clear,” Johnny quipped, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And don’t worry about it, Shannon.” Frowning, he added, “I’m a big boy. I’m well able to take care of myself.” “But you did anyway?”
All day, I steered clear of the hallways I knew he traveled through between classes—the one’s I’d mapped out in the previous weeks—and I avoided the lunch hall at big break. He sat with a huge crowd of rugby players right by the entrance so it wasn’t a matter of being able to ignore him in there.
My problem was simple. I couldn’t move right. My body was falling apart. And my head was stuck on a girl.
