Keeping 13

by Chloe Walsh

  "Do you think they'll sort it out?" I asked then.

  "Who – Claire and Lizzie, or Gibs and Lizzie?"

  "All of them?"

  Johnny shrugged. "Yeah, they'll be grand. He'll come back in an hour or two, all smiles and jokes. He'll brush it under the rug, and that will be that."

  "You think?"

  "I know him, Shannon," he replied. "That's how he copes. Humor is his thing."

  "I don't want everyone to be mad at her," I whispered. "She's going through a lot."

  "Shan –"

  "I'm serious," I told him, begging him with my eyes to hear me. "Please, just don't hold a grudge over this."

  "I'm raging over what she did to him," he admitted honestly.

  "I know," I coaxed, straddling his hips. "But when she comes back with Feely, can you make an effort? For me?"

  He stared hard at me for a long moment before blowing out a breath. "Fine."

  "Thanks." I smiled. "I know you find Lizzie hard work – and she is – but there's so much more to her than meets the eye." I reached for his hand and squeezed. "She's all prickles, but there's a good person under that. She's a lot like Joey in ways. She makes it very hard for people to love her, but it's a defense mechanism. Trust me, I know."

  "I'll take your word for it," Johnny grumbled, not looking impressed.

  "So, you'll be nice to her?"

  "I'll be nice," he confirmed grimly. "For you."

  "I got you a present," I said then, trying to steer the conversation into gentler waters. "It's really nothing special, but I can give it to you now, if you want?"

  "You got me a present?" Johnny's brows shot up and he craned his neck back to look at me. "Shan, you didn't have to do that."

  "It's your eighteenth birthday," I replied. "Of course, I got you a present." Rolling off his lap, I held a hand up. "But fair warning, it's nothing as amazing as that flashy car your parents bought you."

  "She's sweet, huh?" he chuckled. "She purrs like a dream."

  "Uh-huh." Entirely uninterested in talking cars with him, I reached into my bag and rummaged around until my fingers found the book inside. "I made it myself," I told him, as I pulled out the scrapbook and thrust it into his hands. "And if it's bad, or you don't like it, you can just throw it away – I swear I won't mind." Clasping my hands together on my lap, I shrugged, feeling nervous. "Happy birthday, Johnny."

  "You made me a book?" His voice was deep and gruff as he opened the cover and stared. "Of me?"

  "Well, it's more of a scrapbook," I explained. "Detailing your career from the minis all the way up to here –" I reached over and flipped to the back page to where I had photocopied his letter of acceptance from the Irish rugby academy and taped it inside. "It's like an itinerary of your life in rugby." I blew out a shaky breath. "Is it okay?"

  "Shan…" He shook his head and flicked through page after page of newspaper clippings and photographs of him from the age of six to eighteen. "Where did you find all this?"

  "Your Mam helped me," I told him. "When I told her what I wanted to make for you, she took me up to the attic where she has at least thirty boxes of newspapers and trophies and god knows what else."

  "She does?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the book.

  "Yeah." I nodded. "It's like a shrine to you in that attic. I've never seen so much memorabilia belonging to one person in my life." Shrugging, I added, "You're kind of famous, Johnny Kavanagh."

  A small smile ghosted his lips and he tapped his finger against the book. "I love this."

  I sagged in relief. "You do?"

  Nodding, he closed the book and looked at me. "And I love you."

  "I love you, too," I replied, smiling back at him.

  "I mean it, Shan." His tone was serious; his eyes blazing with heat. "I really do mean it."

  "I believe you," I whispered, heart fluttering with excitement.

  "If I could take you with me, I would," he choked out, setting the book back down and pulling me onto his lap once more. "I don't want to leave you."

  My heart sank. "You have to go, Johnny."

  He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. "I'm so sad."

  "Don't be sad," I begged. "Be happy."

  "I am," he croaked out. "But I'm just…I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I feel like I just got you, and now I have to leave – " His words broke off and he groaned into my neck. "I'm not ready to give it all up."

  "Give what up?" I whispered, trailing my fingers through his hair. "Hmm?"

  "My youth," he admitted quietly.

  "Johnny, you're still young," I coaxed.

  "I'm not talking about my age," he mumbled. "I'm talking about you – and those fuckers out there," he added, pointing a finger at the tent opening. "And your annoying little brothers." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "I'm not ready to give it all up, Shan."

  "You can do this." I forced the words out of my mouth when all I wanted to do was scream don't go instead. But I wouldn't be selfish with him. He needed to do this, and I needed to support him. "And it's only for the summer."

  He stiffened for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I know."

  "Do you want the rest of your present?" I coaxed, desperate to cheer him up before we both ended up miserable. "Hmm?"

  "There's more?"

  Smirking, I pushed him onto his back and whipped his towel away. "If you want more?"

  "Oh fuck," he growled, nodding in appreciation, as his hands moved to my hips. "I definitely want more."

  Later that night, everyone seemed to have calmed down and were genuinely enjoying themselves. The tents had been pitched, the cake had been eaten, the arguments had been put to bed, the apologies had been accepted, and the sullen faces had been replaced with loose, drunken smiles – courtesy of the half dozen slabs of beer and other alcoholic concoctions on offer.

  Sitting around a campfire at the edge of the river, with Johnny's arms wrapped around me, I listened intently to the banter and jokes that were going ninety. Gibsie and Lizzie had formed a silent truce of sorts and were sitting on either side of Feely, acting like nothing had happened between them earlier. I wasn't sure what to make of it if I was being honest, but I had to admit that pretending to get along with one another was a lot better than outright war. Claire was sitting on Gibsie's other side, and Hughie and Katie had just returned from a twenty-minute toilet break behind a nearby tree, looking all flushed and barely put together.

  As I stared into the amber flames, I felt a sudden pang of guilt for feeling so happy. My mother's face flashed into my mind, followed swiftly by the image of Joey's haunted eyes the last time I saw him. The emotions that swept through me were so overwhelming that it caused me to flinch and drop the bottle of beer I had been sipping.

  "And we have a lightweight," Gibsie cheered from across the fire, clearly back to his happy-go-lucky antics. "Little Shannon," he tutted, grinning. "Spilling your drink on the fifth bottle?" He shook his head, feigning disappointment. "What are we going to do with you, huh?"

  Recovering before my grief could get the better of me, I blinked back the sting of tears in my eyes and slapped on a bright smile. "Cut me some slack," I joked, forcing humor into my voice, as I set my bottle upright on the ground. "It's my first time drinking."

  Chuckling, Gibsie turned his attention back to Feely who was playing on his guitar and belting out a verse of Tim O'Riordan's The Langer Song. All of our friends were singing along with him, laughing their arses off in the process, but I couldn't focus on the funny lyrics or the sound of Feely's beautiful voice because my mind was stuck on my family.

  "What's wrong?" Johnny whispered in my ear and the smell of alcohol on his breath hit me like a wrecking ball. He was slurring a little from the empty slab of Heineken beside him, and even though he was his usually gentle self, my father's face just wouldn't leave my mind.

  "What's wrong with ya, girl?"

  "What's fucking wrong with you now?"

  "Go to sleep now, Sh
annon. Just close your eyes and it'll all be better in the morning…"

  "Shan?" Johnny asked again, dragging me back from the edge of my depressing thoughts.

  "Hmm?"

  "What's wrong, babe?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your body went all funny," he slurred, thankfully keeping his voice low enough so that only I could hear him. "You got stiff and then you went all jumpy-jumpy, and then you laughed, but it wasn't your laugh…it was like a 'ha-ha-ha, I'm laughing, but I'm not really laughing' kind of laugh."

  Whoa…

  "Are you okay?" he pressed, nuzzling my cheek with his nose. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed or something? In my dick tent?"

  "Your what?"

  "My pitched tent," he slurred.

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Uh-oh," he mumbled. "That's a bad word… Am I in trouble?"

  "No, it's just the smell of alcohol," I admitted, turning my face so that I could look at him. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks were flushed. He looked happy. He looked like everything my father wasn't, but that smell was still there. Still on him. "It was on your breath and you just –"

  "Reminded you of him?"

  I blew out a shaky breath and nodded guiltily. "Sorry."

  "I'm not drunk, Shan," Johnny slurred and then scrunched his nose up. "Okay, I might be slightly drunk," he amended, clearly very drunk. "But it's only 'cause it's my eighteenth."

  "I know," I hurried to soothe him, feeling terrible. "And I want you to enjoy yourself, Johnny –"

  "I know I'm talking a bit funny – I can hear my own voice and that's never a good thing… hang on, what was I saying?" He shook his head and focused on my face once more. "Oh yeah – that won't happen to us." He reached up and cupped my cheek. "I will never hurt you, baby," he whispered, brushing his nose against mine. "Never ever, ever – not in a trillion, zillion years."

  "I know," I breathed, heart-racing.

  "You're my little darling," he slurred. "My whole heart's inside of ya."

  My heart hammered in my chest. "Johnny…"

  "You'll never be her," he continued to ramble. "And I'll never be him."

  "You promise?"

  He nodded. "I promise a million, billion promises."

  Shivering, I slowly relaxed against him. "I love you, Johnny Kavanagh."

  "And you know that I love you back, my little, blue river," he slurred. "Now, I know I'm fairly langers, but I could be a thousand percent langers and you'd still be safe with me." Smiling loosely, he added, "And you'd still be the best thing these eyes have ever seen." He pointed at his own eyeballs. "Yep, these ones love looking at you. Fuck, now I'm hard again."

  "I thought you said you were only slightly drunk?" I questioned, stifling a giggle and oh yep, he was definitely hard again. I could feel him growing beneath me.

  "Shh." He pressed his finger against my lips. "You're drunk."

  "No," I laughed, feeling myself loosen up with his playfulness. "You're drunk."

  "I'm horny," he declared gruffly. "And that's not sensible." He shook his head. "Nope, that's not a good plan, Shan, because I'm a Johnny with no johnnies."

  "Johnny!"

  "I know I'm hard," he continued to ramble on. "I can feel my dick trying to break out of my shorts to get to you, but I don't know exactly where my dick is right now, do you?"

  "Yeah, I can feel it rubbing against me," I chuckled. "I promise, it's still in your pants."

  "Oh, thank god," he sighed a huge gasp of relief. "I keep thinking it's gonna be gone." Squirming, he added, "They put a lot of needles near it, Shan."

  "I know, baby," I soothed, trying not to laugh at him. "It's terrible."

  "It was fucking terrible," he told me, nodding eagerly. "All the blood, and the blue balls, and the…" He shrugged and stared down at my lap for several beats before groaning loudly. "Ah shite – look, Shan! It's definitely gone."

  "Oh, Johnny." I shook my head and kissed him. "You're a big dope."

  "Hmm." He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. "Sorry," he apologized, releasing my lip with a loud pop. "I just wanted a small taste of you."

  Oh god…

  "Lads, lads, lads, shut up, will ya? I have a song for ye!" Gibsie announced as he jerked to his feet, only to fall over the log he had been sitting on and land on his back in a heap. "Feely – strum me a chord, will ya?" he called out as he lay on the flat of his back with a cigarette balancing between his lips. "Good man yourself."

  Everyone screamed with laughter as Gibsie cleared his throat and started to sing his own drunken rendition of Richie Kavanagh's My Girlfriends Pussy Cat at the top of his lungs. Smirking, he locked eyes on Claire, and I knew right there and then that he was directing every word to her. He was singing these words at her and he wanted her to know he meant the opposite of the lyrics.

  "I'm a great sailor," Johnny declared, distracting me from Gibsie's hilarious meow noises. "Did you know that?"

  "No." Smiling, I turned fully in his arms now. "You like to sail?"

  "I'd love to sail," he purred, reaching down to squeeze my ass. "Down your river again."

  "Oh." Awareness dawned on me and I blushed bright red. "Well, in that case, you're an excellent sailor."

  "I know, right?" he said with a proud grin. "Years of practice."

  I scrunched my nose up. "Uh, yeah…"

  "Oops." He slapped a hand over his mouth. "I fucked up."

  "Yeah," I agreed. "You kind of did."

  "Should I get the dick boat out?" he asked, eyes wide.

  "No, Johnny," I laughed, too amused to be put out by his overshare. "Not here."

  "Well, I only sail one river now," he amended with a frown. "That's yours –" He paused to point at me. "In case you were wondering."

  "Okay," I chuckled. "I got that. Thanks, though."

  "No, thank you," he purred before heaving out a loud sigh. "I need a piss."

  "Uh, okay?"

  "I can't," he replied, looking forlorn.

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm hard."

  "Oh my god –" Chuckling, I wrapped my arms around his neck and cuddled him. "You make me so happy."

  "I'm gonna make you proud when I'm gone," he declared, wrapping his arms around me, and tipping half of his bottle of beer down my hoodie in the process. "And I'm gonna keep my dick in my pants."

  "Uh, thanks?"

  "Sure, sure," he agreed, still slurring. "Oh shite, babe, did I make you wet?"

  "Uh, just a little bit," I confirmed, wincing when the liquid trickled down my back. Slipping my hoodie off, I rolled it into a ball and threw it in the direction of our tent. "That didn't go as far as I planned," I noted, eyeing my hoodie less than five feet from where we were sitting. "Maybe you should have thrown it for me."

  "Don't worry about it," Johnny replied encouragingly before downing the last of his bottle and then staring into the rim of the bottle, looking all lonesome and cute when nothing else came out. "Looked like a perfect line out to me."

  "It would look that way to you," I chuckled, thoroughly enjoying this version of him now.

  "Where was I?" Johnny asked, looking confused.

  "You were talking about keeping your dick in your pants when you're away with the team."

  "Ah, that's the one!" He winked and nodded in approval. "And then I'm gonna make all my big plans with you when I come home."

  "Oh, you have big plans?"

  "Big, big ones," he confirmed. "I like kids, do you?"

  "Uh, yeah, sure." I blinked. "I like kids, Johnny."

  "Then we'll have some," he announced. "I'll do the rugby thing, and you'll do the vet thing, and then we'll settle down and cook up some babies." He smiled. "Good talk."

  "You think I'm going to be a vet?" I asked, completely bypassing the crazy baby talk. "Me? A vet?"

  "Of course," he slurred. "You're so smart, baby, with your science and your way with all the animals. My dog loves you. Brian loves you. My dick loves you. Fuck, you'll be the sexiest
vet I've ever seen."

  "But I only told you that once," I whispered, thinking back to one of the random conversations we had at night when Johnny slipped into my room. "I can't believe you remembered that – and especially in your current state."

  "You only ever have to tell me a thing, one time, and it sticks." He tapped his temple. "I keep track of all your words right there."

  "You're a brain box," I teased. "Do you know that?"

  "I am," he agreed. "It's like whoa in my head all the time."

  "That's because you're so smart," I reassured him. "You're always thinking."

  "Hmm."

  "What's the hmm about?"

  "I'm not smart with you," he slurred. "It goes away when I'm with you."

  "Is that bad?"

  "It's so fucking good," he groaned. "I just…fuck, I need to stop talking."

  "No, keep talking," I coaxed, curious. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

  "In my head right now?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, right now."

  "Your tits, your ass, your legs, and your perfect pussy," he came right out and said. "I just wanna fuck you, and eat you, and lick you, and touch you, and … Jesus, I don't even know what else there is to do to you, but I know I wanna do that, too."

  "Johnny," I breathed, trembling.

  "Maybe you should get drunk," he suggested then. "Maybe that way I won't get in too much trouble?"

  "Yeah." Trembling, I reached for my bottle. "Maybe I should."

  Hungover didn’t begin to describe the battering my head was taking when I came to the following morning, withered up on the floor of our tent. My stomach was conducting a civil war against my upchuck reflexes and I didn't dare move a muscle, terrified of who might win. Laying perfectly still, I opened my poor eyes, groaning when the sunshine attacked my ability to see straight.

  "I'm dying," I whimpered, praying for some salvation, or at the very least a little divine intervention. "Dear god, save me."

  A pained groan came from somewhere close by, and with great effort, I managed to turn my head to the side and find Johnny. He looked as bad as I felt and was squirming in what looked like physical pain. "Make it stop," his deep voice begged. Twisting onto his stomach, he face-planted the floor and then groaned loudly. "Close the curtains or something, Shan, fucking anything – " Burying his face in his pillow, he pleaded. "Just make the sun stop shining."