by Chloe Walsh
"Oh my god, you're really serious, aren’t you?" My eyes widened in excitement. "I can't believe this," I practically screamed as I did a little happy dance. "You actually got us Oxegen tickets!"
"Hundred percent, Shan," he replied. "It's all I'm thinking about. No parents. No annoying fucking brothers. No training. No drama. Just you and me, a tent, and some decent music for an entire weekend."
"Who's headlining this year?"
"Green Day and The Foo Fighters," he replied.
"God!"
"I know."
"But, Johnny, I'll never get in. It's over 18's."
"Again, you seem to be underestimating my powers of persuasion," he chuckled. "I'll get you in, Shan. Don't even worry your pretty head about it."
I rolled my eyes and then screamed in excitement. "We're really going?"
"Really, really."
"Just us?
"Just us," he confirmed before quickly backpedaling. "Well, no, not just us. Gibs is tagging along – and he'll probably bring Claire."
I grinned. "That's kind of a given, though."
"Guess who else is playing?" he said then.
"Who?
"Jimmy Eat World."
My mouth fell open. "No." My song. My life anthem. I had the chance to hear it live? "Oh my god…"
* * *
"That jersey is worth money," Ollie noted, dragging me from my thoughts. "Lots of it."
"Don't even think about it," I warned, hurrying to slip it on over my head before my scheming brother decided to try and swindle me out of my boyfriend's winning jersey.
On closer inspection of the jersey I was currently floating in, Ollie pulled a face. "Nah, it's only the U20's one," he told me, looking marginally disappointed. "Get today's one, Shan. That's the senior jersey – that's the money jersey."
"You're obsessed with money," I scolded. "It's getting out of hand."
"Nuh-uh," he shot back. "John says I'm a shark."
"And that's a good thing how?"
"He says it's going to be a good thing when I'm in court." Beaming, he added, "I'm going to be a barracker just like him."
"A barrister," Tadhg and I both corrected. "Not a barracker."
"That's what I said," Ollie huffed. "I'm going to be a barracker."
"Glad to see all those speech therapy sessions John's forking out for are paying off, Ollie," Tadhg shot back sarcastically. "You and Sean are something else."
"We are," Ollie agreed. "We're the best boys."
"You're a pain in my ass," Tadhg muttered, "that's what you are."
"You're just jealous," Ollie huffed. "Because you don't get to go."
"Oh yeah, I'm so jealous that I know how to pronounce my words and speak clearly," Tadhg drawled.
"Don't worry," Ollie soothed. "You still get to go to play therapy with us."
"I don't play at those sessions," Tadhg grumbled. "I paint."
"You should play," Ollie countered. "It's so much fun."
"I'm going on thirteen," Tadhg huffed. "I don't play anymore."
"That's a shame," Ollie told him. "You don't know what you're missing."
"Oh, shut up, you little twerp," Tadhg grumbled.
"They told you at counseling that you're not supposed to use your angry words," Ollie reminded him. "When you get cross, you're supposed to count to ten and breathe." He turned to me and smiled. "Deep breaths, isn't that right, Shan?"
"Yes," I agreed, holding back a laugh at Tadhg's outraged expression. "Deep breaths, Tadhg."
"Oh, go away and talk about your feelings to someone who cares," he shot back. "That breathing technique doesn't work when I'm mad."
"It is working," I promised, giving him an encouraging smile. He had turned inside out since moving in here. "Give yourself time."
"What time are your friends picking you up to go watch Johnny play?" Ollie asked then.
I glanced at my phone and smiled. "Now."
"Now," Tadhg mimicked, batting his eyes. "God, you're such a girl."
"I know," I countered with a laugh. "And you're a brat." Tilting my head to one-side, I smirked. "I hope you treat the girls in your year nicer than you treat me when you start at Tommen next month."
Tadhg snorted. "I'm not changing for anyone – and I'm not wearing a fucking blazer."
"Tadhg," I warned. "Don't curse."
"Well, I'm not," he snickered. "I don't care how cute Dellie says I look in one. I'm from the terrace, Shan, and I'm a hurler. I can't be walking around like all those posh, rugby fu–"
"Don't curse!" Ollie chimed in. "It's bad manners."
"You know what? The blazer will suit you when you start in a couple of years, you little kiss ass," Tadhg taunted. "It's bad manners." He rolled his eyes. "I don't know where we got you, Oliver Twist."
"Fine by me," Ollie replied, unaffected. "I'm going to be wearing a lot of blazers when I'm a barracker anyway."
"A barrister."
"Just like John," Ollie confirmed proudly.
"Well, I'm going to be a mechanic," Tadhg shot back. "Just like Joey."
"But Joey's not a mechanic," Ollie replied, frowning. "Joey's sick."
"Yeah," Tadhg huffed. "But once he's all better and comes home, he'll be a mechanic again."
"Is he coming home soon?" Ollie asked.
"No," Tadhg growled. "Because he's not better yet."
"Oh." Ollie's brows furrowed. "What's wrong with him again?"
My heart squeezed tight in my chest. I hadn't seen or spoken to Joey since the funeral back in May. He'd been in treatment for close to two months and was still refusing to let me visit him. "He's just resting," I forced myself to say. "He's really tired."
"Really?" Ollie scrunched his nose up. "I thought it was because he was messing with the helium."
"The helium?"
"Yeah." Ollie nodded innocently. "Freddie on my football team said that his mammy told Donal's mammy that Joey's in the hospital because he was messing around with the helium and the needles." He scrunched his nose up. "Why was Joey messing with needles and balloons? Wouldn't they pop?"
Tadhg glared. "It's not helium, you fool, it's heroi–"
"No, no, it is helium," I quickly interjected, giving Tadhg a pleading look. "Remember?"
"Oh, yeah," Tadhg agreed, cringing. "That's right."
"And he's really tired," I added, sagging in relief. "So, he's having a big rest."
"Yes." Tadhg forced a smile. "From minding us."
"Yeah, but he doesn't have to do that anymore," Ollie replied innocently. "Dellie does it now." He smiled brightly. "And John."
"You know what I miss?" Tadhg said, thankfully changing the subject. "Aoife's freebies from work."
"Oh, yeah," Ollie agreed. "She used to bring home all the best stuff to us." Scratching the back of his head, he looked around and asked, "Where'd she go?"
"Well, she's Joey's," Tadhg explained gruffly. "So, when he's not around, she won't be, either."
"Oh, okay," Ollie replied, happy to accept that explanation. "He should keep her, though. She's so pretty."
"Yeah." Tadhg nodded in agreement. "She's something else."
"Tadhg Lynch," I teased. "Are you crushing on Aoife?"
His cheeks turned bright pink. "No."
"Aww," I swooned. "You're so cute."
"Oh, fuck off," he shot back huffily.
"And you're even cuter now that your voice is breaking," I snickered. "My little Tadhg is growing up." Waggling my brows, I asked, "Should we have the talk?"
"About Johnny sneaking in and out of your room every night of the week when he was here? Naked," he shot back, not missing a beat. "That talk? Sure. Do you want to have it here, or down in the kitchen with his mother?"
I swiftly snapped my mouth shut.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he answered himself, giving me a knowing smirk.
"Darren's driving down for the weekend to help Dellie while John's gone to the match," Ollie said then. "I hope he brings Alex."
"
I hope Alex doesn't bring Darren," Tadhg countered with a devilish grin.
"Be nice," I chuckled. "He's probably going to have his car full of presents for you guys."
"And rightly so," Tadhg agreed. "He owes us five years' worth of them."
"True," Ollie agreed solemnly.
"You two are terrible," I laughed.
"Do you think he's nervous for today?" Tadhg asked then. "Johnny?"
"No," Ollie answered for me. "He's Johnny. He's not scared of anything – and he's got his dad with him." He smiled. "John."
"God, get over this fascination with John, will ya?" Tadhg muttered. "You're like a stalker."
"Like you and Dellie?" Ollie countered. "You love her."
"Yeah, I do," Tadhg shot back, unblinking. "A lot."
"Yeah, me too," Ollie sighed happily. "She's the best."
"That food," Tadhg added wistfully. "So much food."
"Shannon's getting fat," Ollie tossed out. "She loves Dellie's food, too."
"I'm a size 8, you thug," I choked out, offended. "I weigh 7 and a half stone. I'm not fat."
"You don't call girls fat, Ol," Tadhg groaned. "Remember what Joey told us? They're always skinny – even when they're whales."
"Oh, yeah," Ollie replied sheepishly. "But she's up that whole stone, remember? Dellie was crying 'cause she was so happy about it? Remember? The doctors said she was bones and skin and had to get the stones up or she'd get sicker."
"Skin and bones," Tadhg corrected with a pained sigh. "And don't worry about it, Shan. You're still a rake."
"I was never a rake," I huffed, feeling self-conscious. "Stop talking about it."
"We're all getting fat," Ollie offered with a smile. "It's not just you, Shan." He smiled and patted his thin stomach that was slowly filling out. "See?"
"Speak for yourself," Tadhg shot back, looking slightly stockier than his usual wafer-thin frame. "I'm getting muscle."
A car horn beeped three times then, signaling my spin to Biddies, and I leapt off the bed. "Oh, guys, I'm sorry, but I have to go," I told my brothers as I bolted out of my room and ran for the stairs, my smile spreading with every step I took.
"Enjoy, Shannon, love," Mrs. Kavanagh laughed when I tore through her kitchen like a bat out of hell, narrowly avoiding Sean, who was dressed as a chef and playing with his toy kitchen.
"Thanks, Edel. Bye, Sean," I called back before running outside and throwing open the back door of Gibsie's silver Ford Focus.
"Where's the fire?" Gibsie snickered and then grunted loudly when Claire slapped him in the stomach from the passenger seat.
"Filter, Gerard," she hissed. "Come on!"
"Oh, shit," he muttered. "I didn't even think –"
"It's okay, it's okay," I replied, hurrying to close my door and fasten my seatbelt. "Can we go now? It's his first starting cap for the senior team and I don't want to miss him."
When I walked into Biddies bar, I was greeted by a sea of familiar faces and Irish jerseys. The huge television screen mounted to the wall already had the match on. Green and white jerseys filled the screen. It was all I could see. Fiji versus Ireland. God, this was serious. This was big. I knew Mr. Kavanagh was standing in the crowds somewhere in that stadium halfway around the world, cheering on his son, waiting to bring him home to us, and the thought made me smile.
As I looked around at the people in the room, an extension of Johnny's family, I could see how much he was loved. These people were cheering him on. Trailing after Gibsie and Claire, I followed them to their usual table where I was greeted by Feely, Hughie, Katie, Lizzie, and the rest of his teammates from Tommen – minus Cormac and Ronan.
Anxiety was gnawing at my gut as I waved a shy hello to his friends and settled down on a chair at the table, knees bopping restlessly. Digging into the pocket of my denim shorts, I retrieved the fifty euro note Mrs. Kavanagh had given me and placed my order for a bottle of coke with Gibsie, who was going to the bar.
Swamped in Johnny's unwashed jersey, I dutifully ignored the stares and hushed whispers being directed at me – partially because I was 'the daughter of that man who killed himself and his wife', but mostly because I was 'young Kavanagh's doll' – and focused on the television screen.
When the two teams jogged out from the tunnel and onto the pitch, the crowd in the bar went crazy.
It was surreal.
He was there.
On the television screen.
Number 13.
My heart beat so hard I had to press my hand to my chest to steady myself. Claire reached over and squeezed my hand in support. "Just breathe," she encouraged, smiling knowingly at me, and I was grateful for the physical contact. I needed something to hold on to in this moment.
"Get in there, Cap, you fucking legend!" Gibsie cheered as he slapped three bottles of coke down on the table for Lizzie, Claire, and myself, before knocking back half of his pint, eyes glued to the television. Clearly bursting with pride, he shook his head, smiling to himself.
And then Ireland's Call began to play, belting out from the surround sound, and a shiver ran down my spine.
Oh Jesus…
This was it.
This was it!
The camera zoomed in on the players, one by one, and when it landed on Johnny, the sheer volume of noise in the bar went clean off the Richter scale. Old men were banging their fists against the bar in triumph, cheering on their hometown hero. The man Johnny referred to as 'Fat Paddy' was literally dancing on top of a table with the owner of the bar. Feely was holding his head in his hands and staring at the screen in pure awe. Hughie was bawling his eyes out as he clapped for his friend. The rest of his teammates were going berserk. It was insane…
* * *
"I'm going to be there one day," Johnny stated, tilting his head in the direction of the telly. "One of these days that's going to be me, Shannon."
"I know," I replied, believing every word. Biting down on my lip, I turned to face him and said, "Don’t forget about me when you're a rich and famous rugby player."
* * *
Shaking my head to clear my memories, I focused on the match as it unfolded on the television screen, never once taking my eyes off 13 green all through the first half and into the second.
Three minutes before the final whistle and Ireland was down by 3 points. On the edge of my seat, I chewed on my fingernails, jerking and flinching every time a tackle was made. Ireland was rewarded a turnover on the Fijian five-meter line, and the crowds in the stands went crazy, belting out the chorus of The Fields of Athenry.
My heart sparked to life in my chest, adrenalin pumping through my veins, when my gaze honed in on Johnny lurking close to the scrum.
Making a break through the Fijian defense and their five-meter line, Johnny side-stepped their number 8, then ploughed forward, taking a spear from his rival jersey number just a second too late. Crashing over the line with his arm fully extended, ball in hand, he found touch on their try line. It was the final game of the tour and we had won. We won and he was coming home…
The bar erupted into a manic state of madness.
Gibsie threw himself across the table, knocking glasses everywhere, to hug the lads.
Meanwhile, I sprang from my seat, clapping so hard I thought my hands might break. With my eyes glued to the screen, I watched as the cameras zoomed in on Johnny's grinning face, as the men I knew he idolized surrounded him in celebration.
A single tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the boy who had saved my life on countless occasions finally reap the rewards he so justly deserved.
Boy did good…
"I need to pee," Claire announced, jumping to her feet. "Shan, will you come with me?"
I really didn't want to pee, I wanted to stay exactly where I was, watching Johnny's larger than life smile, but I reluctantly complied, allowing my best friend to drag me through the bar and into the ladies' bathroom. "Claire, my arm," I strangled out, tugging my hand free before she yanked it clean out of its socket. "What's
the rush?"
"Okay, don't panic, but Bella's in the bar," Claire blurted out, sounding a little out of breath. Yanking the bathroom door open, she looked out and then closed it again before turning back to face me. "I wanted to tell you before you saw her and panicked. She and Cormac and a group of their friends walked in just before Johnny scored his last try. They're over by the bar." Blowing out a shaky breath, she rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved Irish jersey and narrowed her eyes. "It's okay, though, because I'm totally down for kicking her ass. I delivered babies with Gerard this summer. Nothing scares me anymore." She looked me up and down then and smirked. "You look so sexy in his jersey and those tiny shorts. It's going to drive Bella bonkers." She grinned devilishly. "By the way, you should totally wear this exact outfit when Johnny comes home on from the tour next week. He'll pass out when he sees how big your boobs have grown." Frowning, she added, "The pill is working wonders for your body, Shan."
"Oh my god, Claire, stop and focus, will you?" I strangled out, tucking my hair behind my ears as I tried not to panic. I hadn't seen Bella in months – not since that day at school. Anxiety churned inside of me and I clasped my friend's hand. "What do I do about Bella?"
"Nothing. I just told you that I'm going to kick her ass," Claire replied simply. "I've got this, Shan."
"I'm going to kick her ass," Lizzie's voice filled my ears as she stalked into the bathroom, looking furious. "That bitch has some nerve showing up here."
"Don't kick anyone's ass," I told my two best friends. "I'm serious, guys. I'm just going to leave."
"No, you're not," Claire shot back. "You belong here. That's your man on the telly."
"Yeah, but there's no point in arguing with her," I replied. "I don't want any more fights, guys. I'm tired of the drama. I just want a quiet life."
"Then you might want to remind Thor of that," Lizzie stated. "Because I think he missed the memo on fighting."
"Oh god," I groaned.
"My Thor?" Claire demanded.
"I guess he's taking that promise he made to Johnny about watching out for Shan seriously." Lizzie shrugged. "He's out there goading the life out of the pair of them."