by Chloe Walsh
It was old and sluggish, but it worked.
Joey was a named driver on her insurance and her dessy driver most days, and I knew she allowed him to borrow it whenever he wanted.
"I'm really stuck, Joe," I added, voice small. "I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate."
"Ah bollox, Shan. I'm working until nine," Joey grumbled. "I got called in to cover for one of the lads, and Aoife works until half ten on Tuesdays so she has the car. Did you try Mam?"
"She's working the late shift," I mumbled. "And I'm not calling Dad."
"No! Jesus, don’t call him," Joey agreed, tone hard. He sighed heavily down the line and said, "Look, hang up and give me a few minutes. I'll call around a few of the lads – see if anyone can pick you up. I'll phone you back in a few."
"No, don’t do that," I was quick to interject, the thought of getting into a car with one of his friends, however tolerant they were of me, was not an appealing concept. "The school stays open late. I can wait here until my bus comes."
A gentle tap on my shoulder drew my attention away from my phone call.
Spinning around, I looked up and locked eyes with Johnny.
"I can take you home," he said, blue eyes locked on mine.
"Huh?" I opened my mouth but nothing but blabbering came out.
"My car's parked outside." He inclined his head towards the entrance. "I can take you home."
"I, uh, I…" Shaking my head, I sucked in a sharp breath and tried again. "No, no, that's okay. You don’t have to do that."
"I know I don’t have to," he replied slowly. "I'm offering."
"Do what?" Joey barked down the line. "Shan? What's going on? Who are you talking to?"
"Oh, ah, just this guy from school," I explained, face burning with heat.
Johnny arched a brow.
I flushed bright pink.
My reaction brought a smile to his full lips.
"Guy?" my brother demanded, drawing my attention back to our phone call. "What guy?"
"Just a guy I know," I squeezed out, tone pitchy. Biting down on my bottom lip, I glanced up at Johnny and said, "Honestly, it's fine. You don’t have to drive me home."
"Hold up – who's driving you home, Shannon?" Joey barked down the line, distracting me once more. "Why are you talking to guys old enough to drive you home? You're fifteen!"
"I know what age I am, Joey," I shot back, nerves frazzled. "Look, relax." Pressing my palm to my forehead, I said, "I'll wait here until my bus comes."
"Put him on the phone," Joey ordered.
"What?" I gaped. "Who?"
"The lad who's just a guy you know with a car," he spat, throwing my words back at me.
I balked. "Why?"
"Because I want to talk to him," Joey replied impatiently.
I peeked up at Johnny who was looking at me expectantly.
Dropping my gaze, I whispered, "Why do you want to talk to him?"
"Because I want to talk to the fucker offering to take my baby sister home in his car, that's why."
Letting out an impatient sigh, Johnny cleared his throat and held his hand out.
I stared at his hand and blinked in confusion.
"Give me your phone," he instructed calmly.
"My phone?"
"Yes." Johnny nodded. "Your phone."
When I made no move to hand it over, Johnny swiped it out of my hand and pressed it to his ear.
"Hey, this is Johnny," he said down the line, holding my shitty phone to his ear. "Yeah, I know your sister –" He paused before saying, "Kavanagh – yeah, that's me." Another pause followed before he nodded. "Thanks. It was a strong performance all round."
Mortified, I reached up and tried to grab my phone, but he was too tall.
Holding a hand out between us to keep me at bay, Johnny continued to talk – to my brother.
"Probably," he said into the phone. "Yeah, it's a risky move. No, tickets don’t go on sale for the summer tour until May…Yeah, I'll see what I can do. Home games only, though…Cool."
What?
Seriously, what?
Confused didn’t begin to explain how I was feeling in this moment.
"I'm well aware," Johnny said in a dry tone, obviously responding to something Joey was saying. "No, I don’t… We're, uh, yeah, we're friends…obviously…a full license…yes…" His gaze flickered to my face. "Seventeen…I know that…yeah, I get it… I know the difference… I won't," Johnny said before pressing end on the call and holding my phone out for me.
"What just happened?" I balked, staring down at the black screen of my phone. "What did he say to you?"
Johnny shrugged, but didn’t answer my question.
Instead, he swooped down and grabbed my school bag.
"Come on." Throwing my bag over his shoulder, he pressed a hand to my back and nudged me forward. "Big brother gave me permission to take you home."
"What about your school bag?" I blurted out, noting he was only carrying mine.
"It's in the car," he replied, continuing to shepherd me towards the door. "Let's go."
Like a lamb to the slaughter, I went with him, knowing this was a terrible idea, but unable to stop my feet from moving.
There was only a handful of students in the corridors, but I swear I felt every one of their stares as I walked towards the front door with Johnny.
Johnny yanked the glass door open and waited for me to step out before following me.
I had no idea what to do – or say for that matter.
I was so far out of my comfort zone I could barely function.
I felt a little light headed if I was being honest.
We walked side by side in silence through the court yard and down the avenue towards the student carpark.
Even though today was March first, and the second month of Spring in Ireland, it was dark outside, not to mention freezing cold.
I wasn’t a fan of being outside in the dark, and I found myself sticking close to him.
Concussion-giver or not, some part of my brain told me that I was safe with this boy.
That was probably the concussed part talking.
"He didn’t hurt you, did he?" Johnny asked, breaking the silence when we entered the parking area.
"What?" I turned my face to look at him. "No, no, I'm okay."
"You're sure?" He was staring straight ahead, so I did the same, feeling too exposed around him. "He didn’t put his hands on you?"
"I'm sure." Sliding my hands into my coat pockets, I kept my gaze on the line of cars up ahead. "I'm okay."
Johnny tensed and the move caused his arm to rub against mine. "You know, you can tell me if he did." He shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys. "You don’t have to be afraid."
"He didn’t."
"Okay, good," he muttered, pressing a button on a sleek black car key. Lights flashed from a nearby vehicle and he steered us towards it. "This one's mine."
"Whoa," I muttered when I was close enough to make out the impressive looking car. "You have an Audi?"
"I do," he agreed, yanking one of the back doors open.
"Is it yours?"
"Why else would I be driving it?"
I cringed. "I thought it might belong to your parents or something."
"No, it's mine," he replied. "My folks have their own transport."
"Oh," I breathed, gawking in admiration.
Because of the darkness, I couldn’t depict if the car was black or navy, but god almighty, darkness or not, I could easily tell that it was fancy.
And new.
And fast.
And expensive.
No wonder he didn’t want the €65 back.
"Is it an A3?" I asked, awestruck.
"Yeah," Johnny replied, tossing my bag into the backseat where it joined another schoolbag and several more gear bags, all with different club crests.
I could spot a sports bag a mile away, having spent most of my life falling over them.
I was also painfully
aware of the stench of teenage boy that came from one of those bags. It was similar to the stench that wafted from Joey's bedroom; a distinctive odor comprised of a combination of sweat, sex, and man.
Peeking over his shoulder, I ignored the stench of boy and marveled at the leather interior.
"Are you into cars or something?" he asked, turning his head just in time to catch me snooping over his shoulder.
"Not really." I took a step back and shrugged, feeling a surge of heat flood my face and a whole truckload of relief to have been caught checking out his car and not his ass in those pants.
Because I had totally checked that out, too.
It was hard not to.
It was round and firm and…
"But my brother Joey is, so I know a lot of the types from listening to him, " I hurried to explain and distract myself from my dangerous thoughts. "That's a fast car."
"Yeah, it's pretty decent for now."
"For now?"
Nodding, Johnny closed the back door and flashed me a quick smile before opening the front passenger door.
"Ah, shite," he grumbled, staring in dismay. "Sorry about this. I wasn’t planning on having anyone in here."
My eyes took in the absolute carnage that was his front seat.
Holy hell.
It was a total mess.
"I can sit in the back if it's easier for you?" I offered, not wanting to put him out any more than I already was.
"What – no," Johnny muttered, scratching his jaw. "Just give me a sec."
Diving into the car, he scooped up an arm full of empty bottles, socks, plastic containers, chewing gum packets, deodorant cans, and towels, and tossed them over the back of the seat.
He had to repeat this cycle three more times, dumping the rubbish from the front seat to the back, before the space was clear – pausing midway to pocket a black wallet to which he informed me that he had been looking for this.
Finally, when he was finished with the impromptu clean up, he climbed back out, grinning sheepishly, "I think we're good now."
I smiled. "Thanks again for offering to drop me home."
"It's no problem," he replied. "I figure I still owe you for the broken head, huh?"
"You didn’t break it," I was quick to clear up. "You just knocked my brain around a little."
Johnny grimaced. "I kind of did, didn’t I?"
"Well," I mused. "It's fifteen miles to my house. So, between the money, threatening to cut off Ronan's penis, and the spin home, I think we can call it quits."
"He's not in your class, is he?" Johnny expelled a frustrated breath. "Because that can be sorted, too."
"We only have one class together twice a week," I explained.
The male to female ratio in third year was heavily unbalanced with eighty boys and only five girls.
All five girls were placed into the same class, 3A.
Luckily for me, Ronan McGarry was in 3D so, with the exception of a couple of mixed classes during the week, I wouldn’t have to look at him.
"He's never spoken a word to me until this evening," I added.
"Well, if he gives you even a whiff of shite then let me know," Johnny growled. "And I'll fix it."
"You'll fix it?" I questioned. "You make it sound like you're in the Mafia or something."
Johnny barked out a laugh and held the door open, gesturing with his hand. "Come on, Shannon like the river. Get in my car."
He was so unexpected, and I was so distracted by him, that I didn’t feel any hesitation.
I just climbed in and fastened my seatbelt, watching as he closed my door and jogged around the front of the car to his side.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in the driver's seat beside me with the doors closed, that I felt my heartbeat increase and my usual swell of anxiety churn.
"Christ, it's freezing," Johnny announced, rubbing his hands together before starting the engine.
He was right.
It was freezing in here.
"It's late to be catching a bus," he added, flicking on the light overhead. "School finishes at four."
"Yeah, I know." I clasped my hands together, my entire body a bundle of nerves. "But the half-five bus is the only one that goes past my road."
"That sucks."
"It's not so bad," I replied, adjusting my seatbelt. "I usually manage to get most of my homework done before I leave school in the evenings."
A small shiver rolled through me then, to which Johnny automatically responded with, "Are you cold?"
Reaching for the heater, he turned it on full blast, then returned to rubbing his hands together and shivering.
"Shouldn’t take long to melt," he added, pointing to the thin layer of ice on the windscreen.
"I'm okay, but you should probably put a coat on," I stated, eyeing his bare arms. "Or at least a jumper. It's like 2 degrees out there. You'll end up getting sick."
"Nah, I'm used to it," he told me. "I spend most of every winter on a pitch in the pissings of rain."
"Playing rugby," I filled in thoughtfully.
"Yep." Cupping his hands close to his mouth, he blew a breath into them and continued to rub. "Do you play any sports?"
"No." I shook my head and fingered a button on my coat. "I like watching, though."
Tilting his head to one side, he studied my face. "Do you watch a lot of rugby?"
I could feel the weight of his stare in my cheeks.
They were on fire.
"Ah, no," I mumbled. "I mean, I watched that one match last week, and I watch Ireland in the Six Nations championship every year, and I sometimes follow the soccer. But it's mostly GAA – Gaelic football and hurling." I looked over at him. "My brother, Joey – the guy on the phone? He plays for Cork."
"No shit?" Johnny's brows shot up. "Senior level?"
"No, he's only eighteen, so it's the minors for now," I replied. "But there's talk of him being called up to the senior team next season."
"You know, now that I think of it, the name Joey Lynch sounds familiar," Johnny mused. He twisted in his seat to face me, expression full of interest. "He's over in BCS, right? A hurler?"
"Yeah." I nodded. "He was a duel player for years, like most people, but when he got called up to county level, he dropped football."
"Nice." Johnny blew out a breath. He sounded impressed when he leaned back against his door and said, "It's not easy to get a call up to county level anywhere, but especially in Cork where the competition is so fierce."
"It really isn’t." I kept my body position straight ahead but turned my head to look at him. "People don’t get how incredibly hard it is to play at that level and stay there. They assume it's easy for athletes and that they're spoilt and entitled, but they don’t see the huge, behind the scenes sacrifices that are made daily by those guys."
"You can chalk that down," he replied, nodding his head in agreement.
Propping a foot on his seat, Johnny hooked his arm around his knee, rested his other arm on the steering wheel, and gave me his undivided attention.
"Your brother's taking this opportunity with both hands?"
"I guess," I replied, thinking about my brother and his attitude towards life.
This was strange.
I usually wasn’t much of a talker.
Not around strangers at least.
It didn’t feel that way around him, though.
Not tonight, at least.
I felt oddly forthcoming and Johnny's interest in what I had to say encouraged me to keep talking.
Besides, my brother was a safe topic.
Everybody loved Joey, myself included, and I was fiercely proud of his achievements.
"But he's still in school – doing his leaving cert this year – and there are a lot of distractions for him. Our father wants him focused on hurling 24/7, but Joe is a sociable guy. He finds it hard to say no to his friends," I continued to ramble and he continued to listen intently to what I was saying.
"Honestly, Joey has the talent
and skill to play at any level," I stated truthfully, appreciating every nod Johnny made as I spoke. "It's keeping his head that's his biggest problem, and distractions are everywhere. Everybody wants a piece of you when you're in the public eye, and Joey has a hard time keeping his feet on the ground." I waved a dismissive hand in the air as I spoke. "I guess it's hard to keep your feet on the ground when you're a teenager playing in a man's world and reaping the rewards for it – " I paused, exhaling a heavy sigh before adding, "You know how it is with parties, girls, special treatment, and all that."
"Yeah," Johnny replied, rubbing his jaw almost absentmindedly. He had this strange expression etched on his face as he looked at me, one I couldn’t quite depict. "I do know."
"It was the same for Darren," I added thoughtfully, thinking back to how similar my brothers' lives were at eighteen.
Johnny's brows knitted. "Darren?"
I flushed. "Oh, he's my oldest brother. He played a year of senior level before giving up."
"No shit?" Johnny's brows shot up. "Why did he give up?"
"The pressure?" I offered weakly, unwilling to delve into my family's issues. "I guess he lost heart in the game."
There was a long, pregnant pause after that where neither of us spoke.
It was unsettling and brought with it my earlier anxieties.
"Sorry," I mumbled, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I probably just bored you half to sleep with all that." Fingering my braid nervously, I looked from the now ice-free windscreen to him before saying, "I'd say we're good to go."
Johnny made no move to leave.
Instead, he surprised me by saying, "What about you?"
"What about me?" I replied, feeling a little unnerved.
"Are you a skilled camogie player?" He shot me a grin. "Since it clearly runs in your family."
"Ah, no," I replied, flushing bright red. "Definitely not. I was never any good at it. But I love watching. I love the physicality of the game."
Johnny nodded, absorbing everything I was telling him with perfect politeness, only to surprise the hell out of me when he said, "I think you'd like rugby."
My brows rose up at the odd statement.
"I think what you meant to say is I might die playing rugby," I corrected, gesturing to my body. "If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of on the small side."