by Chloe Walsh
"What?" I gaped at her. "Why?"
"Because they're a pack of fucking cowards who are too scared to play against him?" Gibsie offered, tone laced with sarcasm. "Eejits."
"So, what – they're trying to punish him for being a good player?" I asked, quite frankly shocked.
"I think it has more to do with being a player with fifteen caps for Ireland, Shan," Hughie responded.
"Caps for Ireland?"
"The amount of times he's played for his country," he quickly explained.
"So, what?" I shot back defensively. "He earned every one of those. They weren't handed to him."
"I'm not arguing with you," Hughie replied, chuckling. "It just intimidates some coaches."
"What's going on?" Johnny's voice filled my ears, moments before he came to stand beside me.
His arm brushed against mine and even though there were several layers of clothing between us, my skin still broke out in goosebumps.
"The usual shit," Gibsie informed him. "They won’t play if you're playing."
Johnny shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, well."
I turned to look at him, stunned by his lack of response.
"This happens a lot," Johnny, noticing my expression, quickly explained, "Coach will get it sorted," before turning to the boys and saying, "round up the lads in the changing room. Tog out and we'll get started on warm ups."
Nodding, both Hughie and the other boy jogged off in the direction of the clubhouse, calling fellow teammates as they went.
"Johnny, lad, this could take hours to clear up," Gibsie groaned.
With all traces of his earlier vulnerability long gone, Johnny said, "Then we'll have hours of practice. Now move your ass."
"Say a prayer for me," Gibsie told Claire. He then dove towards her and smacked a loud, smoochy kiss on her cheek before jogging away.
"Ew, Gerard!" Claire called after him, wiping her flushed cheek with her sleeve.
"Pierce," Johnny snapped, turning his attention to the shaved-headed boy with his tongue down my friend's throat. "Get out of the girl and onto the pitch."
Muttering something about captain cockblock under his breath, Pierce pressed one final kiss to Lizzie's lips before sprinting off towards the team.
Johnny inclined his head towards me. "You okay?"
I nodded.
He reached up and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear then whispered, "I'll see ya later," and then turned around and sprinted off to join his teammates.
Wow, I thought to myself, determination flows through that boy's veins just as potently as the terror that flows through mine.
"Johnny?" I called after him, unable to stop myself.
When he stopped running and turned back to face me, I hurried to close the space between us, not stopping until I was right in front of him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning down at me in confusion.
"Nothing, I just–" Shaking my head, I reached up and cupped his neck, pulling his face down to mine. Pressing up on my tip-toes, I whispered in his ear, "I need you to stay safe out there, okay?" Resisting the urge to fold myself into him, I released his neck and stepped back. "Be careful." I took another step back, eyes locked on his. "Okay?"
Johnny nodded slowly, blue eyes heated. "Okay."
"Bye, Johnny," I whispered and then turned around.
Johnny caught my hand and pulled me back to face him.
"You'll come home with me tonight?" he asked gruffly, eyes burning with heat, as he fiddled with that rogue strand of hair of mine. "You still want to do that?"
"Yeah," I whispered, stepping closer, unable to resist the urge to knot my fingers in his shirt. "I do."
"Shannon, I'm so…" He exhaled a sharp breath and shook his head. "Tonight." His hand moved from my hair to cup my cheek. "We'll talk tonight."
"Okay, Johnny," I breathed, leaning my cheek into his large palm.
Without another word, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead.
And then he turned around and walked away.
Reeling, I watched him until he disappeared into the clubhouse and then I walked back to my friends.
Confused was an understatement for how I was feeling.
The sheer depth of my feelings for him was unhealthy.
The adoration, the lust, the downright infatuation I had for him…it was insanity.
I had never felt this much.
I had never felt so consumed.
60
Cupid's Chokehold
Johnny
If feelings were objects, then I was teetering on the edge of a great precipice, and if girls were weapons, then Shannon Lynch was the greatest weapon of mass destruction my heart had ever been exposed to.
Because I was fucked.
I didn’t bother denying it anymore.
There was no point.
I had never felt this much for another person in my entire life.
It took every ounce of self-control I had inside of my body to walk away from her back there.
Especially when everything inside of me demanded I snatch her away from the world and keep her all to myself.
"I need you to stay safe out there, okay?"
Yeah, at this stage, it was safe to say I was thoroughly fucked when it came to that girl.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
I couldn’t fight my feelings.
Just like that game on the PlayStation, she was kicking my ass.
When she told me about the bullying, something I regrettably already knew, I felt something snap inside of me.
It felt the last piece of my resolve evaporating.
The vulnerability I had seen in her eyes when she exposed her secrets for my benefit was my breaking point.
Girls I knew didn’t do that.
They didn’t act like Shannon.
If Gibsie hadn't come over, I would have kissed her.
I knew I would have.
I already knew what those lips felt like.
I wanted so badly to taste them again.
I would taste them again.
I was starving for her and everything she was.
Every part of her.
Inside and out.
I wanted to fight all her battles. I wanted to give her all her smiles and make her laugh and snatch her away from the rest of the world and keep her all to myself.
I just wanted her.
For keeps.
I knew that was incredibly selfish of me, and I knew that I was probably going to end up fucking up everything and breaking her heart, but the problem was, my heart was involved, too.
I needed to talk to her tonight because I needed to lay it out there.
I couldn’t go another day without getting it off my chest.
Months of wanting, lusting, and pining after her had left me at a point where I couldn’t see straight anymore.
Because I had caught feelings for Shannon.
Huge fucking feelings.
Permanent ones.
I knew I was too old for her.
I knew she was too sweet and pure to be dragged into the limelight that came with my life.
And I knew that she was too fucking broken for a guy like me to get tangled up with.
But I already felt like I was drowning with her.
That's how consumed I was in this girl.
That's how much I loved her.
Fuck.
61
Breathe, Shannon, just breathe
Shannon
Everyone from Royce College sucked.
Seriously, they were pathetic.
The game was delayed for over two hours because the coaches from Royce threw a very public hissy fit over Johnny playing.
It was embarrassing.
Two hours of standing around in the rain, while the coaches from Royce tried everything in their power to have Johnny pulled from the cards.
They were ranting and raving about how it was unfair to have an Irish international playing in the
league.
This was a school rugby game.
Johnny was a student from one of the schools.
He was a minor.
He was entitled to play if he wanted to.
There were no rules being broken by Tommen.
Finally, after several phone calls to the board, an embarrassing and very public bringing out of the rule book, and countless screaming matches between Coach Mulcahy and Royce's head coach, the teams took to the pitch at half past six – with Johnny sauntering onto the field in his number 13 jersey, wearing a shit-eating smirk on his face.
Early on in the game, it became clear why the Royce coach was so against letting Johnny play.
His team was terrible.
Well, maybe not terrible, but they were no match for a fired-up Tommen side.
How they managed to draw second on the table with Tommen was beyond me, because there truly was no competition.
The sheer volume of pride that roared to life inside of me watching him take on his old friends and kick their asses was scary.
I was ridiculously wrapped up in this boy and found myself screaming and cheering for him on the sidelines, ignoring the death glares I received from Bella and her friends.
I didn’t care.
I was so proud of him.
By half-time, Tommen were up 48-3.
Five minutes before the end of the game and it looked even worse for Royce, with Tommen securing three more tries in the second half.
Everything was going Tommen's way until the final play of the game.
With less than a minute to go, Johnny stripped one of Royce's forwards of the ball.
It seemed to be his thing: delivering the final blow in the last minute of the game.
With speed unmatched by anyone else on the pitch, Johnny ploughed down the field, chasing the last score of the game.
It was a blur of movements that resulted in him grounding the ball seconds before a stampede of opposition players crushed him.
The try was awarded.
The team began to celebrate.
But he wasn’t getting back up.
Claire's brother, Hughie, moved into position in front of the posts and quickly kicked the conversion over, securing the win, before rushing over to Johnny– who still wasn’t getting up.
"Claire," I croaked, gripping my friend's arm as I watched on in horror as our classmates and peers celebrated around us. "Is he moving?"
Everyone from our school was cheering and clapping, the lads on the team were hugging each other in celebration, but Johnny was still slumped face-down behind the try line.
Hughie, along with several players from Royce College, were knelt beside him.
One of them was waving his hand at the coaches on the side line.
Another one was roaring at the referee.
Hughie was calling for Coach Mulcahy.
"Claire," I repeated, panicked. "What's happening?"
"I don’t know!" she strangled out, sounding equally panicked now.
A swarm of black and white jerseys came running in their direction then, flocking their captain.
I jumped up, my feet moving of their own accord, and pushed through the crowd.
"Is he dead?" I screamed, hand still entwined in Claire's who was following close behind me. "Oh my god, Claire, is he dead?"
"No, no, no," she kept repeating, but she didn’t sound sure.
"Claire!"
"I don’t know, Shannon," she cried out.
We didn’t make it far, only getting to the edge of the pitch before being swallowed up in the throngs of other students.
Jumping, I tried to see above their shoulders, but I was too short.
Thinking fast I dropped to my knees and peeked between their legs.
Johnny was still on the ground.
Face down.
Unmoving.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two men in yellow bibs run onto the pitch with a stretcher in tow.
Time seemed to stand still then, as I watched them kneel beside Johnny and set to work on moving him onto the stretcher.
The screaming and cheering had turned to hushed whispers as everyone watched on.
My heart, that seemed to have been on pause in my chest for the last few minutes, slammed wildly against my ribcage when Johnny slowly sat up.
His eyes were open, his chest was moving, and though he looked like he was in a great deal of pain, he was alive.
He was shaking his head and pushing away all offers of being lifted onto the stretcher.
I couldn’t hear what was being said, but his lips were moving at a rapid rate as he continued to shake his head and bark something to the medics.
Finally, the men gave up on trying to help him and backed away.
The crowd, both Tommen supporters and Royce, began to clap as Johnny eventually got to his feet.
His arms were slung over the shoulders of Hughie and Gibsie, and his head was bowed, as he limped off the pitch.
As they practically carried him off the pitch.
For a moment, I just knelt there, on my hands and knees in the muddy grass and breathed, allowing the tsunami of relief to wash over me as I watched him go.
I didn’t understand my reaction and I didn’t care.
He was okay.
He was alright.
And I could finally breathe again.
62
Time's up, lad
Johnny
"This stops, Johnny!" Gibsie hissed in my ear as he helped me out of the shower and onto the foldup bed I'd spent the previous hour being poked, prodded, and stitched up on by the emergency doctor on the scene.
"Can you keep your goddamn voice down?" I hissed, glancing at the door that separated us from the rest of the team. "I don’t want anyone knowing."
"Too fucking late for that," Gibsie snapped. "You left a trail of blood from the clubhouse to the pitch."
"Jesus," I strangled out, shaking.
"This stops right fucking now, Johnny," he warned again as he pulled a pair of jocks up my thighs, careful not to upset my groin. "No more training," he growled, adjusting the waistband on my hips. "No more hiding your pain." He stalked over to the bench and grabbed a towel. "No more lying." He wiped a streak of smeared blood off my thigh. "No fucking more!"
"I'll be fine," I strangled out, shaking from head to toe.
"Fine?" Gibsie spat, pausing mid-pace to glare at me. "Oh yeah, because you look fucking peachy right now, bleeding your mini fucking Johnny's all over the bed."
"Stop –"
"You're killing yourself. You do realize that, right? You do understand that you are putting your entire life on the line for a fucking green jersey that doesn’t mean shit in the long run."
"Gibs, stop, lad," I begged. "I can't fucking hear this right now."
"Oh, you're going to hear it!"
"I fucking can't hear this," I choked out, voice cracking. "Okay? I can't…"
"Look at yourself!" Gibsie demanded, jabbing a finger at my crotch. "Look at the condition you're in."
Blood was oozing from the gash in my leg where my stiches had been.
"That should have healed weeks ago," he hissed. "It's March, Johnny. Fucking March, and you're walking around with your leg half open."
"He ripped me with his boot studs," I choked out. "It could have happened to anyone."
"Yeah, well, he wouldn’t have been able to rip you open like that if you had let your body heal the fuck up properly in the first place!" Gibsie roared in my face. "You're weak. Your body's not healing. And you almost dick-capitated yourself!"
Groaning, I dropped my head back on the foldup medical bed and released a pained sigh. "It's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" he practically screamed with a furious expression etched on his face. "Lad, your leg looks like it's about four hours away from full blown septicemia!"
"Gibs –"
"No, Johnny!" he snapped, shaking his head. "You heard what the doctor said. You heard how se
rious he said it could have been!"
"I heard him, Gibs," I croaked out, covering my face with my arm.
Of course, I heard what he said.
How the fuck could I have missed it when he blew my world to pieces?
Surgery.
More fucking surgery.
Immediately.
Which meant more time.
Time that I didn’t have to spare.
It was over.
The summer campaign.
The U20's.
I could feel it slipping through my fingers.
Everything was being taken from me.
And I couldn’t deal with it.
"Coach called Dennehy at The Academy." Exhaling a ragged breath, he took a step back and held his hands up. "And I've already called your mother."
"Jesus Christ," I strangled out, feeling tears filling my eyes.
"She's getting the next flight into Dublin," he added. "Called your Dad, too. He's meeting us at the hospital."
I shook my head, unable to cope with what I was hearing.
Unable to breathe through the absolute devastation ripping through me.
"You'll play again, Johnny," Gibsie said in a calmer tone. "It just won't be right now."
"Right now is when it matters," I strangled out. "Right now is all that matters."
"No, lad," he corrected. "Getting you healthy is all that matters."
"What am I going to do, Gibs?" I choked out, keeping my hand over my face. "It's my whole life."
I heard him exhale heavily, and then his hand was on my shoulder.
"We'll figure it out, Johnny." He squeezed my arm. "Just rest here for a bit and let the meds kick in. The ambulance won't be much longer, lad."
"I don’t want to go out there." I shook my head. "I don’t want them to see."
"No one knows any details," he assured me. "Just that you took a spill and got knocked out."
"Don’t tell," I begged. "Please…I can't –"
"I won't," he promised.
63
Oops, I did it again