Keeping 13

by Chloe Walsh

  "Well, she better not provoke him." Throwing the bathroom door open, Claire stalked back to the bar just as Gibsie was getting up in Cormac's personal space. He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he pointed to the television screen and laughed into his teammate's face, clearly taunting him with Johnny's success.

  "And that is how it's done," I heard Gibsie laugh. "Come on, Ryan. Be a good sport and clap for your captain."

  "Boys," Lizzie grumbled as we hurried after Claire. "Everything's a pissing competition with them."

  "Yep," I croaked out, feeling anxious.

  "Get out of my face, Gibs," Cormac warned.

  Gibsie grinned like a maniac. "Make me."

  "Gerard, don't be picking fights," Claire said when she reached his side. "You're on a warning, remember?" Fisting the back of his jersey in her hand, she tugged him back from Cormac. "You heard what our mothers said. If you get in anymore trouble this summer, you're not allowed to go to the festival next weekend." Releasing his jersey, she placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "And you're taking me."

  "Of course, I'm taking you, Claire-bear," he purred, giving her a devilish grin. "I'll take you right now, if you want?"

  "I'm serious, buddy." Grabbing his big hand in hers, Claire spun on her heels and stalked towards the door, dragging Gibsie after her. "I'm not going to be a single mother just because you can't stop chasing trouble and getting yourself thrown in the barracks. We have babies to raise, Gerard Gibson, and a concert to go to, so you're going to do what you're told. Now follow me!"

  "Oh fuck, I love it when you boss me around, babe," he groaned, hurrying after her like a puppy. "Talk dirty some more to me."

  "Get out the door, Gerard," she ordered, holding the door wide open. "Now."

  "Yes, boss."

  "Those two have the weirdest friendship I've ever witnessed," Feely, who had come to stand beside us, stated when Claire and Gerard left the bar. "Like ever," he added with a small shake of his head. "It's beyond strange."

  I wanted to respond to him, but my attention was riveted to the girl glaring at me. Surprisingly, I held my ground and eye contact, staring back at Bella Wilkinson with my head held high.

  "Let's go for a game of pool in the lounge," Cormac said to the boy standing next to him. "I'm done with this shit." Turning to Bella, he asked, "Are you coming?"

  "No," she replied, not taking her eyes off me.

  "Bella, just leave it alone –"

  "What are you looking at, foster baby?" she sneered, glaring at me.

  "You better take that back, bitch," Lizzie snarled, moving towards her.

  "It's okay, Liz." Holding a hand up, I stopped my friend from pouncing, never once breaking eye contact with Bella. "Her words don't hurt me."

  "You need to pack it in and leave her alone," Cormac warned, glaring at his girlfriend. "I told you, Bel, I'm not going through this with you again. If you're with me, you need to let this shit with her and Johnny go."

  "I bet you're happy with yourself," she hissed, inclining her chin towards the television screen, ignoring her boyfriend.

  "I'm happy for him," I corrected, not backing down.

  "You must give one hell of a blow job to get yourself and your band of bastard brothers shacked up in the Kavanagh house," Bella continued. "Are you sucking his daddy off, too, foster baby?"

  "Oh my god, you're fucking obsessed with him!" Cormac hissed. Shaking his head, he grabbed his jacket off the bar and stood up. "I'm right here, and you just… you don't even see me! All you're thinking about is him. I don't know what else I can do –"

  "Of course, I see you," she snapped, tearing her gaze off me to look at her boyfriend. "I'm with you, aren't I?"

  "Only because he's with her," Cormac shot back, eyes laced with pain. "They were all right about you, weren't they? You don't love me."

  "Now you're just being a pussy," she tossed back. "Man up."

  "I love you," he told her, red-faced. "I honestly do, but I can't keep doing this."

  "Doing what?"

  "Being second best," he growled. "I'm done with this shit, Bella. I'm done with being used. And I'm done with you!"

  "You're not done with anything," she shot back laughing. "You'll come crawling back."

  "I'm not cruel, Bella, and what you're doing to her is cruel," he told her, shaking. "What you're doing to me is worse." Swallowing deeply, he added, "I'm not coming back this time… This time, we're done."

  "Then go," she dared him.

  "Oh, don't worry." Shoving past Feely, Cormac stalked out of the bar. "I'm already gone."

  The lack of feeling she had for her boyfriend was clear because when Cormac walked out of the bar, Bella didn't even flinch. She just continued to spew venom at me, throwing cruel comments and words like bullets intended to hurt me, but she couldn't do that anymore. Because I was over her. I was honest to god over Bella Wilkinson and every other mean girl that had targeted me from the age of three to now. What I'd endured this past year; burying my parents, losing my home, almost losing my brother to drugs, almost losing my life, it had changed me. I was different now, stronger, and she couldn't hurt me because I refused to hand that kind of power over to her or anyone else.

  All the fear? I pushed it off my shoulders like a blanket, letting it fall away from my body, as I channeled the strength I knew was inside of me. There would always be another Bella, but just like my counselor told me, there wouldn't be another me, and that was my strength, my special power. I would never be a rocket scientist or a world-class rugby player, but I was a survivor, and a damn good one at that. So with my head held high, I looked her straight in the eyes and gave her something she would never ask for and probably never deserve. "I forgive you for what you did to me that day." She could keep her anger and cling to her grudge, but that didn't mean I had to. "And I hope you find some peace." With that, I turned around and walked back to my friends.

  "Whoa," Lizzie mused, sinking down on the booth opposite my chair. "I don't know if you should be slapped for not giving that bitch what she deserved, or sainted for taking the high road."

  "Sainted," Feely offered, sliding into the booth alongside her. "Definitely sainted."

  "Guys," I mumbled, blushing. "It's no big deal."

  "You are the definition of kill them with kindness and bury them with a smile," Feely told me.

  "Screw the highroad," Lizzie tossed out. "I would have kicked her ass."

  "What did you do, Shan?" Hughie asked, tearing his lips away from Katie's to look at us. "Were you brawling?"

  "Definitely not," I choked out, still trembling. "I'm not a fighter."

  "Oh, I think you are," Feely replied. "Muhammad Ali right here, folks."

  "She floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee," Katie chuckled. "A teeny-tiny bee."

  "She KO'd Kav, didn't she?" Hughie laughed.

  "Oh, he's on again – look!" I squealed, watching as Johnny filled the screen to receive a medal. "They're giving him Man of the Match."

  "Shh, shh!"

  "Shut up, ye shower of whores, he's talking!"

  The volume was blasted to the maximum and the crowd in the bar went deathly quiet just as the reporter started speaking. "Jonathan, a massive congratulations is in order for a fantastic performance tonight. Your first start for the senior side and you scored two tries – and at only eighteen years old. Tonight must be a dream come true for you. Do you have any words?"

  "I'm very honored to have the opportunity to represent my country," Johnny replied, still slightly breathless. "I'm well aware of how lucky I am to be in this position and for that I'd like to thank my parents for their commitment and support. My trainers and coaches at The Academy, my school for giving me the foundations that got me to this stage, and providing the concessions I've needed from time to time, and the lads I train with every day of the week, especially my three closest friends and teammates from club level; Gibs, Feely, Hughie. I wouldn't be here without their support, so tonight's performance w
as for them."

  "Well, to top off a wonderful series win, you're also tonight's man of the match." The presenter placed a medal over Johnny's neck and shook his hand. "Congratulations, Jonathon."

  "I actually wanted to mention one more person if that's okay?" he told her, still shaking her hand.

  "Of course."

  "I'd like to thank my girlfriend for her unconditional love and support. It's been a rollercoaster of a ride getting back from injury, and I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be here today without her fierce encouragement." Clutching his medal in his hand, he looked into the camera and gave it a little shake before saying, "Shannon, I love you, and I'll be home soon."

  "Aww!" Katie squealed, jumping clean out of her seat. "Shan, you're famous!"

  "Fuck that, I'm famous!" Hughie cheered. "He said my name." Turning to Feely, he grinned. "Fucking Cap, huh? What a legend."

  "I know," Feely laughed. "Gibs is going to lose his shit when he watches it back."

  "Yeah, that boy is smooth," Lizzie begrudgingly sighed. "I'm made of ice, but I'm slightly melting here."

  "Yeah." Nodding rapidly, I just stared at the screen, feeling my heart pound at a hundred miles an hour.

  Shannon, I love you, and I'll be home soon…

  Shannon, I love you…

  I'll be home soon…

  I didn't realize I was clutching my chest until Lizzie grabbed my hand. "Breathe, Shannon," she chuckled. "He's coming home."

  "He's coming home, Liz." Biting down on my lip, I grinned at her. "He's really coming home!"

  79

  The Boys in Green

  Johnny

  Rugby united our country from the north to south, from east to west. For eighty minutes, there were no borders or politics to worry about. We were one nation standing behind twenty-three men going into battle. We were one, and that was a fucking achievement in itself.

  Ireland's Call chorused around the stadium, setting alight a barrage of goose bumps across my skin. Heads held high, emotions over-spilling, nerves frayed, but united we stood. Ulster man with Connacht man, Leinster man with Munster man, exiles and hybrids, coaches and trainers, the back room and our families, roared on by the people, as we made our own little mark on Irish history, as we stood together, paving a path and opportunity for a better future. Respect at an all-time high, we stood together, we worked together for each other, and for the pride of our people – for all the people.

  The Irish fans were the best supporters in the world. The whole fucking world recognized that feat. It didn’t matter the sport or the occasion. They came in drones, regardless of the weather, and regardless of the score at the end of the eighty minutes, they returned the next week. This was what it was all about. These people made the feeling of pride burst clean out of my chest. We played for them, for our country, for each other.

  Today was the proudest moment of my career. Wearing this beloved green jersey and number 13. I gave everything I had to my teammates, I left it all on the pitch, and at the end of the eighty minutes of the last game of the tour, we were victorious against Fiji.

  Exhausted beyond comprehension, I forced my body to comply with my heart – a heart that was demanding I stay the fuck standing and not collapse in a heap on the floor – as I stepped off the bus and into the team hotel with my Man of the Match medal dangling from my neck.

  Both led and flanked by my fellow teammates, I left the sanctuary of our bus and walked into the absolute mayhem that was the aftermath of an international match night. Being the youngest and least experienced person on the team, I followed my teammates lead by keeping my head up and staring straight ahead, trying to look unaffected by the madness when, in reality, I was shaking inside.

  Flocks of fans were screaming in my face, pulling and tugging at my clothes, touching me like my body was public fucking property as we were ushered through the doors of the hotel and faced with even more screaming, diehard fans in the foyer. Phones and cameras were shoved into my face along with jerseys and pieces of crumpled paper. Reporters were shouting my name and then distracted by my captain as he accepted their questions. I ignored the media, turning my attention to the fans instead. Smiling for pictures, I signed every jersey, match booklet, poster, and piece of paper that was thrown at me, forcing myself not to grimace when countless pairs of lips smacked against my cheeks.

  "Johnny, you were amazing!"

  "I'm staying in room 309 tonight."

  "Kavanagh, can we have a picture?"

  "I'll be in the bar later."

  "Congratulations on your first starting cap, kid."

  "God, he's so fucking sexy!"

  "How does it feel to be compared to Ireland's greatest center?"

  "Oh my god, he looked at me!"

  "How are the ribs after that late tackle?"

  "My kid loves you – can you take a picture with him?"

  "The full eighty minutes, two tries, and man of the match, how are you feeling?"

  "Look at the size of him in real life!"

  "Your mother must be proud of you, laddie."

  "This is my room key, big boy…"

  "Are you proud of yourself?"

  "I love you, Johnny Kavanagh!"

  Feeling swarmed and out of my element, I kept my eyes trained on the marker in my hand, doing my best to remain professional, as I scribbled my name across a rugby ball for a young boy.

  "You liked the game?" I asked him, ignoring the group of women trying to pull at me. "Yeah?"

  "You're my favorite," he replied, smiling up at me. "I want to be like you when I grow up."

  Fuck.

  "Thanks for coming," I said, standing in for a quick picture with him and his mother before slipping away, unable to keep up the charade another minute. Stars danced before my eyes, making it hard to see straight, as I battled through the hordes to get to my destination.

  To get to my father.

  I could see him up ahead of me, leaning against a table with a newspaper in hand, dutifully ignoring the madness around him. My heart was thundering against my ribcage; a mixture of adrenalin, desperation, and fear as I pushed through the crowds, ignoring everything and everyone in my path to get to him. Breathing through the panic, I closed the gap between us, letting my bag fall off my shoulder when I reached him. "Da," I choked out, shaking like a fucking child.

  I watched his shoulders stiffen at the sound of my voice. I heard the small sigh that escaped his mouth. Turning slowly, he looked up at my face with a look of sheer pride on his face. "Hello, Jonathon."

  "Da," I repeated, bowing my head, my voice a pained groan.

  "I'm here, son." Three words. Three fucking words that brought me to my knees. "I'm right here," he whispered, wrapping his arms around me.

  "Da –" I dropped my head on his shoulder, clinging to him like a child. "Get me out of here."

  Two hours later, we were sitting in the back corner of a half-empty restaurant, and my heartbeat had returned to its normal rhythm. Grateful to have my father here with me after spending so much time away from everyone I knew, I listened intently as he gave me a summary of everything that had happened back home since I'd been away.

  "Sean's really saying all those words now?" I asked between mouthfuls of steak. "Full sentences?"

  "Most of the time, he's still waffling," Dad chuckled. "But he's trying. He's coming along in leaps and bounds."

  "Well, shite." Stabbing a piece of potato, I shoveled it into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully before asking, "And she's really going to that counselor?"

  "She's really going," Dad confirmed. "It's helping, Johnny. She's healing." I felt my shoulders sag in relief. Shannon had told me she was attending the sessions, but I didn't know for sure if she was telling me the truth. "She's starting to thrive, son. They all are."

  "I miss her." Staring at the food on my plate, I continued to hoof it down, trying to distract myself from the god-awful pain in my chest. "I miss home."

  "And we miss you," he replied. "But we'r
e also extremely proud of you."

  "Is she going out?" I croaked out, forcing the question out of my mouth. "Shannon? She's not too sad?"

  "She's lonesome for you," Dad replied honestly. "I imagine desperately so, but she's putting on a brave face and getting on with things. She spends a lot of time with her friends. I suppose she's getting into the swing of being a teenage girl." Smiling, he added, "And your mother has her primped to within an inch of her life." He chuckled. "I've never seen so much pink and glitter in my life, son. It's everywhere. Makeup. Jewelry. Hair straighteners. Shoes. Dresses. I swear, every time I walk through the front door, there's another half dozen shopping bags clogging up the hallway."

  "Oh, Jesus," I groaned. "She's treating Shannon like a doll, isn't she?"

  "That's one way to put it," Dad laughed.

  Grimacing, I took a sip from my glass of water before asking, "And how is Ma?"

  "Her usual self," Dad mused, giving me a knowing look.

  "She's in her element, isn't she?"

  "Oh, she's loving having so many kids around to fuss over," he agreed, smiling fondly at the thought. "She misses her baby, though. All the children in the world couldn't fill the hole you made in her heart. Or mine."

  "I bet." I chuckled, though it was a hollow sound. "I miss her, too."

  "What's wrong, Johnny?" he asked then, picking up on my mood.

  "They offered me a two-year contract, Da," I whispered.

  "In France?"

  "No." I shook my head. "In Dublin."

  My father blew out a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. "And the money?"

  "Beyond our expectations given my age and experience," I muttered. "The kind of money I didn't expect to earn until my twenties."

  His brows shot up. "The plan was to play for a French club for a year or two to gain experience before you signed for home," he noted. "They must think you're ready."

  "Yeah." Setting my fork and knife down, I mirrored his actions and leaned back in my chair. "They must."