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“Well, no, thank you, Johnny,” she huffed. “My daughter is not a charity case.”
The mom is a fuckin enabler
“I don’t. Do whatever and whoever the hell you want,” I countered heatedly. “Just not her.”
“When I fucking warn you to leave a vulnerable girl alone, I expect you to heed my goddamn warning. I expect your submission. What I don’t expect is your lippy back talk and defiance.”
“I’m your daddy on the field, bitch.” I smiled darkly and squeezed, cutting off his air supply. “You don’t see it because you’re a jumped-up, narcissistic little spanner.” I squeezed tighter. “But they do.” I waved a hand behind us, gesturing to the team, who were all standing down, not one of them intervening. “Every single one of them. They all get it. They all know I own you,” I added calmly. “Keep pushing me, kid, and it won’t matter who you’re related to; you’ll be off this team. But go anywhere near that girl, and God himself won’t be able to save you.”
“Good boy.” I slapped his cheeks with my hands and smirked. “Now fuck off.”
I wasn’t naive enough to believe that my father’s decision to not break up the house this weekend was because he had decided to turn over a new leaf. No, I had been a member of this family long enough to recognize this quiet period as the calm before the storm. He would erupt soon. He always did. I could only hope that I wasn’t standing in the eye of the storm when it happened.
I found my mother standing at the stove. She had her back to me and she was dressed in one of those pantsuits she wore for work. Her blond hair was pulled back from her face with a fancy-looking clip, and she looked like home.
The dark-haired git was clearly going out with her, and yet he was staring at Shannon like she was dinner. My dinner, prick, I wanted to roar.
“Now,” I sneered, glaring down at their faces. “Who wants to call my girlfriend a whore to my face?”
“Yeah, that,” Johnny bit out, glaring at my cheek. “Who did that to you?”
“So?” Johnny replied, still with his back to me. “Having a vagina doesn’t automatically tie you to a cooker—or a fucking hoover.” He shook his head. “Christ, if I even thought about pulling that sexist shite on my ma, she’d cut my balls off.”
“Jesus Christ,” Johnny groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Of course, I like you.” He tugged on his hair and sighed. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear that I’m mad about you.”
“Did you see—” “Yes,” I snapped and then groaned loudly. “Fuck.” “And?” “Perfect.” “Fuck.” “Yep.”
The problem was, if the opportunity presented itself, I knew I would do it again. Having him in my space like that, even just for a little while, was wonderful. It was personal. And I felt safe. Like nothing could touch me when he was close.
Johnny groaned again. “I gave you the wrong CD.” “You did?” He nodded slowly. “That was Gibsie’s.” “What one did you mean to give me?” Johnny had a pinched expression when he said, “A Maroon 5 song.” “Oh?” I looked up at him. “Which one?” He shifted in discomfort. “‘She Will Be Loved.’”
“Show me what?” I asked nervously. “My dick,” Johnny announced, twisting to face me. “You wanna see?” He smiled lazily up at me. “It’s all better now.” Gibsie threw his head back and howled laughing. Mr. Kavanagh joined him. “And Jesus wept,” Mrs. Kavanagh sobbed.
