by Chloe Walsh
"But –" I held my hand up and waited for him to give me the go-ahead before continuing, "I've seen you play. You're the biggest guy on the team."
Johnny shook his head, lips twitching. "That's school rugby. Most of the guys in the school leagues play for fun. In professional, competitive rugby, I'm not the biggest guy."
"But you're huge!" I exclaimed.
"I'm tall," he corrected before quickly continuing. "Speed is vital to a center. I need to be agile on my feet and accelerate the fuck out of it when opportunity arrives."
I thought Johnny was massive, but what did I know?
Apparently, not much.
"Hold and defend – that's my job as 13," he said. "Hold the line and defend it. Competing on the ground or overturning a ruck. That's on me, too," he added. "12 and 13 play close to each other."
"Who's your 12 on the school team?"
Johnny inclined his head towards the group of boys. "Patrick Feely."
"Oh." I nodded. "And you guys are good friends, right?"
He nodded. "Yeah, he's a good buddy. I'm constantly watching Feely and vice versa. If he has the ball, I need to be on his ass, ready to take the pass off and capitalize by linking up with one of the wings."
"The wings?"
"11 and 14," he explained.
I nodded. "Okay. 11 and 14 are the wings."
"Exactly. Now, there's a trust needed between your two centers – 12 and 13," he explained. "You need to have complete fucking faith in each other, know your partner like the back of your hand, read his plays, his body languages – hell, you need to read his thoughts at times."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm taking the opposition out wide, I'm depending on 12 to control the inside and vise-versa. If one of us fucks up, the other suffers, resulting in the entire team suffering." He exhaled a heavy breath and said, "It's a tight partnership that needs transparent communication."
"You couldn’t have made life a little easier for yourself, could you?" I breathed, feeling intimidated. "You had to pick the most challenging position on the team."
"Every position is challenging," he said. "Like the spokes of a wheel, if one goes down we all go down."
"Do you kick?"
Johnny shrugged. "I can, and I do when I need to, like line kicks or the odd grubber, but it's not a huge part of my game."
"Grubber?"
"A kick down field to chase after."
"But you don’t do that often?"
"Not that often."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm usually busy competing for the ball and defending the line. I need to be able to take on the opposition in both attack and defense. My body needs to be ready for the hits I take, and I take a lot of fucking hits, Shannon."
"Why do you do it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Rugby," I explained. "Why do you do it?"
"I love it," he replied simply. "Everything about it. The shape of the ball. The physicality of the game. The adrenalin rush. The pressure. The rewards. Pushing myself. I fucking love the game."
I love you, I almost blurted out, holding the three terrifying words back just in time.
Oh my god!
Where did that come from?
I didn’t love Johnny.
I didn't even know him.
Not well, at least.
And sure, the parts I knew about him were good parts, decent parts, beautiful parts, but that in no way meant that I felt anything deeper for Johnny than obvious physical attraction and a teenage crush.
It was ridiculous.
I was ridiculous.
Stop lying to yourself, my brain hissed, you love him with every piece of your fractured heart…
Startled and disorientated from the troubling thought, it took me a few moments to realize that he was still talking to me.
"… you're assigned a ton of extra bullshit that I'm not going to go into detail and bore you with," I managed to catch him say.
He was shifting around again, legs stretched out at an awkward angle.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah." He dropped his hand to his thigh but quickly snatched it back again, casting me a wary look. "I seriously hate these long-ass bus rides," he said by way of explanation. "I'm too cramped."
"So, that's why you prefer sitting on your own?" I offered, giving him an out. "For the leg room?"
"Yeah." Johnny nodded, eyes flashing with relief. "With being the size I am, it's just easier."
"Do you sit on your own in your classes, too?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I prefer it that way."
"Why?"
"Because I'm broad," he replied. "And those desks are narrow as fuck."
He was broad.
He was huge.
And beautiful.
Johnny glanced sideways at me, smirking, and said, "I'd sit with you, though."
My heart leapt in my chest. "You would?"
He grinned. "You're so tiny you don’t count."
I huffed out a breath. "I still count."
"You know what I mean," he laughed quietly. "There's no fighting for leg room." He looked down at my feet, smile still firmly attached, and teased, "Are your feet even touching the floor?"
"Of course," I confirmed, then quickly felt for the ground with my toes to see if I was right. "See?" I tossed back, happy to discover that I was, in fact, right. Granted, my toes barely touched the floor, but there was definite tip-toe contact happening. "Ha-ha."
"Ha-ha?" Johnny threw his head back and laughed. "Are you four years old?"
"Says the guy ribbing me over my height," I replied, giving him my best indignant glare.
"I'm only stating facts," he replied innocently. An impish grin spread across his face before he added, "I was half-expecting you to bring a booster seat on the bus."
Against my better judgement, I cracked a smile at his remark.
There was something about his tone that assured me this wasn’t vindictive behavior.
Johnny was being playful.
It was strange, unexpected, and surprisingly welcome.
"I decided to leave it at home," I impressed myself by retorting. "Thank god I did, because there's barely enough room in here with your ego."
"Shannon Lynch has banter. " Johnny leaned back, both sounding and looking reluctantly impressed. "Who'd have guessed?"
"Well, obviously not you." I smiled sweetly at him, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach when he said my name, as my body slowly relaxed, and my sense of humor peeked over my sky-high protective walls, intrigued by this boy's persuasive coaxing.
"Well, shite." Johnny was smiling now. "You're a sarcastic little thing when you want to be, aren't you?"
Feeling a sudden burst of playfulness, I shrugged and said, "I know you are but what am I?"
"Now you're being a messer."
"I know you are but what am I?" I repeated, smirking.
"Sticks and stones will break my bones," he quipped, playing along now. "But girls will never hurt me."
"It's words will never hurt me," I corrected, finding myself mirroring his smile. "Not girls."
"Not in my world," he replied with a low chuckle.
"Liar, liar," I spurted, "Your pants are on fire."
A loud snort tore out of him.
"I suppose you're going to give me the whole 'bitch means dog, dog means nature, and nature means beauty' spiel next?" he snickered.
"That depends," I challenged, feeling both at ease and on edge around him.
I was beginning to realize that I rode a turbulent wave of emotions whenever I was with him.
A wave of emotions that left me feeling both sick with nerves and giddy with excitement all at once.
It didn’t make sense to me.
But his smiles were addictive.
The more he offered, the more I craved.
Johnny leaned closer, eyes twinkling with excitement. "On what?"
"On whether or not you're calling me a bitch," I filled in
.
"I wouldn’t dream of it," Johnny countered in a sarcastic tone. "Besides, if I did, you'd probably tell my Ma on me."
"You know I didn’t mean to do that," I protested. "I never meant to get you into trouble with anyone."
"Sure you did," Johnny pressed, shooting me a teasing wink. "Whenever you're near me, trouble quickly follows." He grinned, revealing the dimples in both of his cheeks. "If I didn’t know any better, I'd think that you enjoy getting me into the height of shite with authority."
I wasn’t naïve enough not to recognize the fact that this conversation was blurring the line between banter and flirting.
At least that's how it felt for me.
Johnny probably didn’t even think about it like that.
It didn’t matter, though, because when he looked at me like that, all smiles and interested eyes, I couldn’t stop myself from playing along.
I forced down a blush and replied with, "That's not true."
"Oh no?" He shot me another teasing wink before adding, "Now who's the liar with her pants on fire?"
"That would still be you," I replied. "And I'm not wearing pink."
He frowned in confusion. "Huh?"
"Pink to make the boys wink," I clarified, feeling smug at tripping him up in this little game we seemed to be playing. "I'm wearing blue, not pink. No need to wink at me."
With a devilish grin etched on his face, Johnny leaned into my ear and whispered, "I reckon I can make those pretty cheeks of yours turn pink."
I turned scarlet. "Wh-what?"
"Too easy," he laughed, thoroughly delighted with himself.
Well aware that he had the upper hand but falling short on a decent comeback to an unfortunately accurate assessment, I resorted to sticking my tongue out at him.
Johnny's gaze dropped to my mouth, his eyes dancing with mischief when he said, "Keep poking your tongue out at me and I'm going to catch it."
I popped my tongue back in and gaped at him. "Yeah, right."
"Try it," he dared, grinning. "Go on."
My eyes widened and I jerked backwards.
I didn’t trust him not to follow up with the threat.
My reaction only made Johnny laugh harder.
"Stop looking at me like that," he ordered, pressing a hand to his side to stop himself from laughing.
"Like what? I'm not doing anything!" I retorted, unable to stop the smile spreading across my lips. "You're the one threatening to snatch my tongue."
"It's that wide-eyed, nervous look you've got going on," Johnny explained, still laughing to himself. "Don’t worry," he mused, grinning down at me. "I won't steal your tongue."
I feigned disbelief. "I'm not sure I believe you."
"You believe me," he assured me in a confident tone.
"Oh, I do?" I arched a brow. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because you trust me," he responded with a huge, megawatt smile.
"I don’t trust anyone, Johnny," I amended quietly, feeling my carefree mood evaporate into thin air, replaced with the familiar heaviness of despair that hung over my head like a constant raincloud.
Johnny was silent for a long moment, obviously pondering my words.
"Because of something that happened?" he finally asked. "In your past?"
"Because of a lot of things," was all I replied, unable and unwilling to give him more.
"Bad things?" he pressed, voice low and probing.
"Personal things," I croaked out, not liking the sudden and serious turn this conversation had taken. I cleared my throat and then added, "Private things."
"Things that make trusting people hard," Johnny finally surmised, watching me carefully.
"No." Shaking my head, I clasped my hands together tightly and exhaled a heavy breath. "Things that make trusting people impossible."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I shook my head.
"You know what they say about a problem shared," he pressed.
"Not always," I whispered.
He studied me for a long moment, obviously mulling over my words.
"Do you want to know what I think?" he finally asked.
"What's that?"
"I think that you don’t want to trust anyone," he stated, continuing to push for more. "But you trust me despite yourself."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but stopped short, stumped on his words.
Was he right?
Did I trust him?
Perhaps I did in my own peculiar way.
I mean, I trusted that he wouldn’t intentionally attempt to hurt or sabotage me.
I trusted he was a good person with a kind heart and a beautiful mind.
But everything else?
The scary parts?
The terrifying feelings he provoked that I didn’t dare read into for fear of the unknown?
I wasn’t so sure.
"Because you can, Shannon," Johnny's voice broke through my thoughts. "You can trust me." His gaze was locked on mine, his strikingly intense, blue eyes burning holes inside of me. "I won't hurt you."
"I'm not afraid of you," I shot back defensively, feeling thrown off kilter by his eerily accurate assessment.
"Good," Johnny replied calmly, eyes locked on mine. "I don’t want you to be."
"Well, I'm not."
"I'm glad."
Feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable, I just sat there, unable to form a coherent sentence, as I stared back at the boy who had been throwing my heart through hoops since that very first day.
He'll let you down, the defensive part of my brain argued. He'll hurt you worse than all the others.
"I won't," Johnny stated, seemingly able to read my thoughts. "Whatever you're used to," he continued to say, eyes locked on mine. "Or whoever you're used to. Whatever's responsible for that sad look in your eyes –" he paused to brush his thumb over my cheekbone. "That's not me, I'm not like that, and I won't do that to you."
"You promise?" I whispered, then quickly chided myself.
When I was anxious, I always asked for a promise.
It was a terrible habit I had from spending years of my life living in a constant state of uncertain anxiety.
Usually, I asked for those promises from my brother, and Joey supplied me with an abundance of them to ebb some of the stress.
Whether my brother meant to keep those promises or not, the small affirmation, however impossible or ridiculous, appeased something inside of me for a little while, making life a little more bearable.
"I promise," Johnny surprised me by saying.
In that moment, and with those two small words, Johnny Kavanagh unknowingly blasted a hole clean through the wall around my heart.
"Please don’t do that," I whisper/begged, as I frantically tried to repair the hole he'd left in me with facets of information like: don’t get attached because he's leaving soon, and past experiences like the night he hurt me, or worse, the night he rejected me.
Johnny frowned. "Do what?"
"Make promises," I breathed, heart slamming against my ribcage. "Please don’t."
"I just did," he told me unapologetically. "It's out there, and I'm not taking it back."
My stomach flipped.
My heart jackknifed.
My entire body trembled.
This isn’t safe, my brain warned.
Block him out.
Protect yourself.
Don’t let him in.
"I don’t go back on my word, Shannon," Johnny added. "So, you're just going to have to deal with it."
Then he dropped his attention to the notebook still in his hands and began to furiously scribble something inside before handing it back to me a minute or so later.
"What do you say?" he asked with a smirk.
I glanced down at the page and choked out a laugh.
In neat capital letters were the words: Shannon like the river. Will you please be my friend?
Two hand drawn boxes were sketched below the writing.
O
ne box had a yes over it, and the other had a no.
The yes box had a smiley face.
The no box had a sad face.
At the bottom of the page were the words: Signed by alongside a slightly crooked line with his signature scrawled across it. Beneath the line with Johnny's name was an empty line for my name and he had dated the note January 10th 2005, my first day at Tommen.
A side note stating: PS: Shannon promises not to sue Johnny when he's signed for the pros for any injuries he may or may not have caused her on the date mentioned above. This is a valid disclaimer, I shit you not, took up the last few lines of the page.
It was ridiculous, adorable, and I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face.
"To be fair, I think we've been friends for a while," Johnny offered with a boyish smile. "I'm just putting it down on paper so you can stop ducking and dodging me at school."
"I haven't been avoiding you at school," I denied quickly – too quickly.
Johnny arched a brow and the look he gave me screamed bullshit.
"Fine, I've been avoiding you at school." I admitted, mortified.
"I like honesty," he encouraged with a teasing lilt to his voice. "It's the foundation of a solid friendship."
I laughed and smiled down at the note. "And you actually want me to sign this?"
"I exerted a great deal of imagination drafting that up," Johnny shot back. "I'd be insulted if you didn’t."
I shook my head and bit back a smile. "You're ridiculous."
"Fair warning, though," he chuckled. "I don’t have sisters and I've never been friends with a girl before so if I fuck this up or say the wrong thing, you'll need to have patience with me."
"Well, I have plenty of brothers," I replied, "so I'm used to boys saying the wrong thing."
Ticking the yes box, I signed my name to the page, and then tore it out of my notebook before handing it back to Johnny.
The smile Johnny rewarded me with was wide, genuine, and breathtakingly beautiful.
God, he looked like a different person when he smiled.
His entire face transformed.
His eyes lit up.
The dimples in his cheeks were visible.
He was simply beautiful, and I almost told him just that.
Thankfully, I stopped myself just in time, scrambling together, "You look brilliant," instead.
Johnny's brows shot up, expression quizzical, while I sank further into my seat.