Sitting on a bus with Johnny Kavanagh was unexpectedly brilliant.
When Mrs. Moore, our kooky guidance counsellor, called for everyone’s attention and started passing out quizzes and games for us to play, I had expected Johnny to ignore her – because, let’s face it, he was a bloody rugby star.
But that’s not what he did.
No, Johnny played.
Because we were sitting together, we were teamed up for the games and tasks, and managed to work together in a strange sort of harmony, completing our games and activities with ease.
The games we were given were dumb and childish, but after about an hour, I felt myself completely relax with him.
It also didn’t hurt that my partner seemed to be this freakish genius who, when every pair was given a Rubik’s Cube to solve, completed ours with ease in under ten minutes.
It was seriously impressive, considering no other person on the bus had solved their cube.
Every single quiz we were given, or competitive task against the other couples, we won.
Well, Johnny won.
But he was my teammate so that meant I won, too.
I had never won so many pointless competitions in my life – or Easter eggs.
I’d never won anything before today, actually.
We had a stack of twelve chocolate eggs on the floor because the boy seemed to just shine and excel at everything he put his mind to.
Twelve eggs.
Tadhg, Ollie, and Sean were going to be thrilled.
Johnny was so much fun to be with, and I became so immersed in playing with him, that I didn’t have time to worry.
Both curious and intrigued, I studied him during our reflection sessions – which was an actual thing Mrs. Moore liked to do – absorbing every little detail, taking note of the elected variety of songs he listened to, and the way he timed his food intakes, and how many times he thrummed his finger on his thigh– which was constantly.
He appeared cool, calm, and composed, but if you looked beneath the surface you could see that he was like a caged animal inside this bus.
Johnny was too big for the seat, too stunted inside the tiny rows, too broad to be truly comfortable, and he rebelled by sprawling himself out at any given opportunity, regardless of whether he touched me or not.
I was sure he was doing this because he needed to stretch out his long legs.
During our first reflection session, forty minutes into the trip, Johnny reached into his bag and withdrew an expensive looking shaker bottle, the contents of which he downed within seconds.
During the next session, he checked his watch and ate a banana.
The one after that, he did another time check and devoured a protein bar.
I was far too aware of him but it was impossible not to be.
When the bus driver pulled over at some filling-station two hours into the journey, the rest of the team and students hurried off to use the bathroom and buy supplies, but Johnny didn’t get off the bus.
“Do you want to go into the shop?” he asked, offering to move for me.
I shook my head. “No, that’s okay, I’m not hungry.”
And I have no money.
“You sure?” he asked, lowering himself back onto his seat, legs brushing against mine in the process. “I can get you something if you –”
“No, no, I don’t need anything,” I quickly cut him off. “Thanks for offering.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I am.”
Johnny then proceeded to reach into his never-ending bag of supplies and retrieve an airtight container and fork.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as he pulled off the lid, revealing a selection of steamed vegetables, four plain, skinless chicken breasts, and a
“Are you going to get that heated up?” I heard myself ask, my mouth inquiring without my brain’s permission.
“Why?” He turned to smirk at me. “Do you have a microwave in your bag?”
“No, but they might have one in the shop,” I stated, forcing myself not to look away. “It’ll taste better if it’s warm.”
“Nah, I’m used to it,” he replied and then shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Besides, I’m eating for fuel, not taste.”
“That sounds dreadful,” I blurted out.
Johnny smirked between bites. “It is what it is.”
“Do you want to go sit with them for lunch?” I pointed out the window to where a bunch of Johnny’s teammates were sitting around a picnic table outside the shop, munching and chatting. “I don’t mind,” I added, not wanting him to feel like he had to stay here with me when his friends were all together over there.
“I’m happy here,” he quickly dismissed.
“Are you really never allowed to eat normal food?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, remembering what he told me that day at the pub. “I know you’re in training –” I scrunched my nose up at the thought before adding, “But do you seriously never get to have a day off from it?”
Now Johnny turned to look at me. “You don’t consider chicken and veg to be normal food?”
“Well, yeah, of course I do,” I mumbled, pushing down my discomfort. “But all the other lads on your team are eating chicken fillet rolls and deli food. And you’re eating a pre-packed meal.”
“Yeah, well, all the other lads on the team don’t have a bitchy nutritionist to contend with,” he explained between bites. “Or a truckload of coaches and scouts breathing down their necks.”
Huh.
I thought about that for a moment.
“Do you mind?” I asked then.
He smirked. “No, baby, I don’t mind.”
My heart stopped in my chest.
Johnny’s face flushed and he shook his head. “I mean –”
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s fine.”
He looked at me with a pained expression and then exhaled heavily.
Shaking his head, he tucked his lunch box back into his bag and rubbed his forehead.
Desperate to break the clammy tension enveloping us, I blurted out, “Teach me about rugby.”
Johnny looked at me with surprise. “You want me to…” His voice trailed off and he arched a brow. “Why?”
“I’m being forced to watch you guys play again,” I replied. “I should know what I’m watching.” Shrugging, I added, “Like, what position do you play on the team?”
“I play center,” he explained, still looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Outside center is where I’m most comfortable.”
“Okay.” I nodded, absorbing the information. “So, do you go in the scrums and stuff?”
Johnny snorted.
“What?” I shot back defensively. “I’ve only watched one of your games and the rules and positions went clean over my head. I’ve already told you that I’m a GAA girl.”
“I know.” Chuckling, he held his hands up and said, “I’m not judging.”
“But you are laughing,” I admonished.
He stared at me for the longest moment before asking, “You really want me to teach you?”
I nodded. “I want to know.”
Johnny blew out a breath and nodded. “Why not,” he mused. “It’ll pass the time before the next bullshit assignment the crazy one gives us.”
“I think it’s meditating once we’re back on the road,” I snickered.
“Stop.” Johnny shuddered. “Do you have a pen and paper in your bag?”
I frowned at his request but didn’t question him.
Instead, I slipped my hand into the front pocket of my schoolbag, retrieved a small notebook and pen, and handed them to him.
“The fuck is this?” Johnny asked, staring at the pink, fluffy bobble dangling on top of the welcome to Tommen pen that Claire bought me. “Christ.” He flicked the bobble, making it sparkle, then turned his accusatory gaze on me. “Could you be any more of a girl?”
“You said you wouldn’t judge,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn. “And I am a girl.”
“Right.” Shaking his head, he turned his attention to my notepad. “Let’s do this,” he announced, clearing his throat. “Prepare to get schooled.” He flashed me an indulgent smile before adding, “Again.”
I grinned. “I’m all ears.”
Johnny opened my notebook to a blank page and began to sketch out a grid with fifteen small boxes, explaining as he worked.
Inside each box, he scribbled down words like Flanker, Hooker, Right Wing, Left Wing, and then explained each position.
Alongside each box he ascribed a number.
Next to the box labelled Outside Center, he wrote 13.
“Outside Center – that’s you, right?” I asked. “You’re 13?”
Johnny nodded.
“Unlucky for some,” I mused.
“Not for me,” he shot back with a grin.
“And there goes your opportunity to feign modesty.”
“There’s no point,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I am what I am and I make no apologies for it.” He lightly tapped the pen against my nose. “Now, concentrate.”
So, I did.
“You have your forwards: numbers 1 to 8. So, that’s your two props, two flankers, your hooker, your two locks, and your number 8. These guys are usually the biggest, heaviest players,” he explained as he scribbled little notes.
Johnny’s handwriting was surprisingly neat for a guy; small, un-joined, and easy to read.
I banked that snippet of information in my mind for safekeeping.
“And then you have your backs,” he announced, drawing my attention back to him. “Numbers 9 to 15. That’s your scrum-half, fly-half, your two centers, two wingers, and your full back. They’re the smaller, lighter, and generally faster players on the team.” With a contented sigh, he waved a hand in front of the page. “And there you have it; the fifteen positions that make up a rugby team.”
“So, these guys are the forwards?” I asked, pointing to the numbers 1 to 8.
Johnny nodded. “Exactly.”
“Like in soccer?”
“No, not like in soccer,” he practically choked on the words, appalled. “Nothing like soccer.”
“Gaelic?”
“No,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Hurling?”
“What – no! Stop talking.” Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair and growled. “Forget about other sports for a while and just listen.”
“You weren’t such a bossy teacher the other night,” I grumbled.
“And you weren’t such a trying student then, either,” he retorted, tapping the pen against the notepad. “Now, focus.” Exhaling a frustrated breath, he said, “In rugby, the backs are positioned behind the forwards at the start of play. That’s the norm. That’s how it’s played.”
“So, all these guys here form the scrum?” I asked pointing to the numbers 1 to 8. “The forwards?” Frowning, I added, “And they bind, set, and engage with the other team when the referee calls for a scrum?”
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding encouragingly.
“What’s a bind?” I asked, thinking back to what Claire, Helen, and Shelly had told me about the sixth-year girls having a competition about binding him.
“Binding is when your front row connects with the opposition’s front row,” Johnny explained.
“Like smashing together?” I asked. “Connecting by force?”
“It’s a little more complicated and technical than that, but yeah,” he replied, scrunching his nose up at the thought. “For the sake of our lesson, let’s just call it that.”
I frowned at the notion, not finding it one bit enticing, before asking, “And the scrum-half throws the ball into the scrum?”
“Exactly.”
“And the ball has to be played backwards and behind the players at all times? A forward pass or throw results in a penalty?”
“Yes.” His eyes lit up. “That’s really good, Shannon.”
I flushed bright pink from the praise.
Encouraged, I listened intently to him.
Rugby seemed to be his life and I wanted to lea
Every teeny, tiny, insignificant detail.
It was pathetic on all levels, but I consoled myself by telling myself that it was a harmless way of passing the time.
Johnny continued to talk, trying to teach me the rules of the game and the roles of each individual player, not to mention different plays and formations.
To be honest, there was a huge amount of information to take in and much of it went clean over my head, but when he began to explain about the role of a center, I listened intently.
“So, on a team, you have two centers – the inside center and the outside center. Playing center means my job is about breaking down the opposition’s defensive line,” he explained. “We also have to keep our own defensive line, read the opposition’s play, anticipate the direction of the ball, know when to make a defensive attack and know when to not.”
“That sounds incredibly complicated,” I admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed and awestruck.
“It’s not an easy position to be responsible for,” Johnny agreed. “Everyone talks about the fly-half, but the two centers are paramount to play. I guess you can say they are the midfield of a rugby team.”
“But you said you were a back.”
“I am a back.”
“But you just said you were a midfield.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“Jesus, please stop asking questions and hear me out.” Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered several swearwords under his breath. “I’m explaining this the best I can, Shannon.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Don’t get mad at me over it.”
“I’m not getting mad at you. I’m trying to–” Johnny stopped short and inhaled a deep breath before trying again. “Aside from the 9 and 10 who tend to control the play, speed, and direction of the game, the centers are the playmakers,” he explained, tone gentler now. “We protect the fly-half, watch out for the scrum-half, take a battering from the opposition’s forwards who are a lot fucking bigger than us. We’re smaller, faster, and nimbler than the forwards. We have to be in order to play fast ball and link with and assist other members of our team.”
“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
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.
“I look brilliant?” he asked as he watched me with interest, a small smile still teasing his lips.
“In brilliant condition,” I quickly corrected and then cleared my throat several times, buying myself some time to scramble for a lie, before finding one and adding, “considering you’re carrying such a bad injury.”
A flash of panic lit his eyes for the briefest of moments before the shutters clamped shut.
And just like that, the playful, tender version of Johnny was gone.
“Don’t go there, Shannon,” he warned, his smiling lips flattened into a thin line, as his entire body visibly tensed. He looked around, noting the line of students all piling onto the bus, before turning his attention back to me. “And especially not here.”
His reaction was like a smack in the face.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hating how uncertain I sounded. “You know I didn’t mean –”
“I’m fine,” he finished for me. “And I know. It’s okay. I just…I can’t…please forget it.”
Rejection and dismissal were never nice feelings to endure, which was exactly what happened to me whenever I foolishly opened myself up to this boy.
He had a knack for building me up with words and smiles and false hope, only to crush me with silence.
It hurt more than it should.
It crushed me.
Several students filed back into the bus then, and their loud chattering distracted us both.
“About fucking time,” Johnny muttered under his breath.
Shrinking away from his sudden change of mood, I concentrated on the line of students all piling back into the bus.
Several lads from the team passed by our seat then, stopping to clap Johnny on the shoulder as they went.
He ignored them all, keeping his attention glued to the sheet of paper in his hands.
“Exchanging love letters?” Gibsie taunted as he made his descent to the back of the bus. “How romantic!”
“Go fuck yourself, Gibs,” Johnny shot back, sounding irritated, as he folded up the note and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m not in the form for your shite today.”
“Yeah, well, I’d tell you go fuck yourself right back, but I can see you already have that sorted,” Gibsie called back with a laugh.
His comment received plenty of attention from other students who decided to jump on the bandwagon and toss out suggestive comments.
“See that, lads? They stayed on the bus when we were inside.”
“He wasn’t hungry for what they had in the shop.”
“Hup out that!”
“Gowan, Johnny boy!”
“Get in there, kid!”
Anxious, I stretched up to flag Claire and Lizzie, praying one of them would switch seats with me, but quickly sank back in my seat when my eyes landed on Ronan McGarry two rows up on the opposite side of the bus. Another dozen rows up was Bella.
Feeling trapped, I looked to Johnny, who had turned in his seat, and was exchanging verbal insults with the lads in the back row behind us.
“He scores on the pitch, he scores on the bus. How many tries did you hammer into her goal line, Johnny?”
I flamed in embarrassment and dropped my head, quickly learning that spending any amount of time with Johnny meant being on the receiving end of a lot of attention.
Unwanted attention.
I didn’t quite catch what was said next, but Johnny leapt out of his seat and stalked to the back of the bus, so I presumed it was of the explicit variety.
I didn’t dare look.
Instead, I kept my head down and my gaze trained on my trembling hands.
“The fuck you say about her?”
“I was messing – ah, fuck, stop! Jesus, relax! It was a joke.”
“Am I laughing, Robbie?”
“Relax, Cap.”
“Am I fucking laughing, asshole?”
“No. Christ – ouch! Stop.”
“Do you think she’s laughing?”
“No.”
“No,” Johnny sneered. “Don’t push me again, ya little culchie bollox.”
“Sorry.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m sorry, Johnny –”
“To her!” Johnny roared, loud enough that it drew the attention of the entire bus. “Apologize to her. Now.”
“Sorry, Shannon,” a chorus of male voices called out.
“Um, that’s okay?” I offered back, because what the hell else could I do?
“Fucking eejits,” Johnny growled when he reclaimed his seat beside me a minute later.
Nudging my leg with his, he drew my attention back to him.
“Don’t mind them,” he said in a low tone. “That’s about me, not you, okay?”
Nodding, I blew out a shaky breath, and turned to look out the window.
He hurt me.
He dismissed me.
And then he jumped right in and defended my honor.
And now?
Now, I was so confused that it was hurting my brain.
The bus roared to life a few minutes later and we were back on the road.
Mrs. Moore called for everyone’s attention then and announced reflection time.
I was never so relieved to hear those words.
Sitting in the silence, I tried to work through my rampant emotions.
“Shannon, I’m sorry.”
Startled, I turned to look at Johnny, wondering if I was hearing things, only to find him looking straight back at me with an expectant expression. “What?”
“I’m a prick.” Johnny shook his head and exhaled a frustrated breath. “I tell you to trust me and then I turn around and act like that?” he hurried to explain, only to stumble over his next hurdle of words, “I shouldn’t…It’s just that…I never normally…I don’t…You’re the only girl I’ve –” He blew out a breath and gestured between us before finally saying, “I’m not good at this, Shannon.”
“Not good at what?” Now it was my turn to look confused. “Talking? Because you don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’re not hearing me,” he snapped, then shook his head, looking annoyed with himself. “No. I’m not saying this right.”
“Saying what right?”
Johnny ran a frustrated hand through his hair and expelled a harsh breath.
“I overreacted,” he finally said.
“Yeah,” I replied flatly. “You’re pretty good at that.”
Disappointed, I folded my arms across my chest and then turned back towards the window, but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back to face him.
“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and gruff, keeping his hand on my arm.
I released a trembling breath, forcing my body not to spazz out from the contact, and asked, “Do what?”
“Block me out.”
“Pot meet kettle,” I snapped, turning my face away.
“You can’t ignore me,” Johnny pushed, trying for humor. “We have a friendship contract.”
I wasn’t laughing.
“Then rip it up,” I told him, then yanked my arm free.
“Shannon, let me explain.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Shannon, come on –”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “No.”
Johnny sighed. “Shannon, please.”
“I said no!” I snapped. “You did this to me in your car and you’re doing it again now. That’s a pattern. I don’t like those kinds of patterns. So, no!”
Johnny released a frustrated growl.
Seconds later, I felt his hand on my neck as he leaned over my seat and pulled my body sideways to face him.
Stunned, I could do nothing but stare up at him. “Wh-what are you doing?”
Johnny’s eyes were wild and heated, panicked and interested, as they flickered from my eyes to my lips.
For the briefest of moments, I thought he was about to kiss me.
But he didn’t.
Of course, he didn’t.
Instead, he released a ragged breath, cupped the side of my neck, bringing me closer, and touched his cheek to mine.
Pressing his lips to my ear, in a voice barely more than a whisper, he said, “I’m scared, Shannon.”
“Scared?”
I felt him nod, his stubbly cheek rubbing against mine.
“Of what?”
“You.”
“Me?” My heart flipped in my chest. “Why?”
“What I told you that night?” he whispered, gently clutching the side of my neck with his huge hand. “All that shite about my surgery and how much pain I’m in? I’m furious with myself for losing my head and telling you something that can be used against me. I gave you power over me and now I’m fucking panicking, okay? I lost my cool with you in the car because you struck a nerve. Because you called me out on my bullshit. Because you were right.”
“I was?”
He nodded and the movement caused his cheek to rub against mine.
“I’m not thick,” he continued to whisper. “I know what I’m risking by playing, but I have everything riding on the next fifteen months – on my body holding out. It’s my career,” he told me, voice barely audible.
His words were coming so low and fast, mixed with a thickening Dublin accent, that it was a struggle to keep up.
“It’s my future, and I can’t bear to watch it slip through my fingers. I’ve worked too hard to get to this position to let it all go. They’re making me take a test, Shannon. I haven’t told anyone about it. And if don’t pass it – if they find out I’m not a hundred percent – they’ll pull me and I’ll be out for months, Shannon. Months. It mightn’t seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it’s my life. I’ll miss my shot with the u20’s in June. I’ll miss everything. I’ll lose everything. That can’t fucking happen.”
His lips brushed against my earlobe as he spoke.
It wasn’t an intentional move or remotely flirtatious, he was clearly agitated, but I still had to suppress a shiver at the contact.
“And you knowing all of this? Me telling you? Knowing that it could be held over me?” Johnny sighed heavily, his warm breath fanning the curve of my jawline. “I don’t do that, Shannon. I don’t make myself vulnerable to anyone. Ever.” His fingers trembled against my neck as he spoke. “And it scares the shite out of me that I’ve handed that kind of power over to you.”
“Then why did you do it?” I asked, as a small shudder rolled down my spine.
Leaning back so that I could look at his face, I asked, “Why did you tell me?”
He looked so helpless as he shrugged.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long time and I still don’t have an answer, Shannon,” he croaked out, tormented blue eyes locked on mine. “I don’t understand what’s happening between us.”
I realized that I was witnessing a rare moment of vulnerability from Johnny, and my heart could barely take the pressure.
Seeing him like this…so exposed and unguarded?
It did something to me.
Made me feel protective.
Like I needed to nurture him or something, which was insane because one look at the boy and it was obvious he didn’t need anyone’s protection.
But I still felt it.
I watched him watch me for the longest moment, soaking in his defeated expression and the way he looked down at me almost hopefully, like I had the answers to all his questions.
I didn’t.
The right thing to do would be to comfort him with words of assurance.
I didn’t do that.
Instead, I whispered my truth.
“I don’t want you to play.” Throwing caution to the wind and moving on instinct, I tucked my legs beneath me, shifted closer, and pressed my lips to his ear. “Not today, and not tomorrow. I don’t want you to go out there and put yourself in harm’s way, Johnny. I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to stop. I want you to rest your body. I want you to take care of yourself.”
“Shannon–”
“Let me finish,” I whispered.
He nodded stiffly.
Trembling, I reached up and cupped his jaw. “I meant it when I told you that I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
I felt his body turn rigid, but I didn’t move away, the need to comfort him pushing me forward.
“I don’t agree with your choices,” I croaked out. “But I respect that they are yours to make.”
Something inside of this boy called to me.
I had no idea what that something was, but it made me brave.
It made me want to step out of my comfort zone and help him – even if helping him meant doing the wrong thing.
“I can keep a secret, Johnny Kavanagh,” I whispered, stroking his cheek with my fingers. “And I promise I’ll keep yours.”
With his hand still cupping the side of my neck, Johnny exhaled a heavy sigh and let his head fall forward, his hair brushing my neck.
“I’m in so much pain, Shannon,” he confessed, tone thick and gruff. “All the time,” he added, covering my hand with his. “It hurts so bad I can hardly sleep at night. I can’t concentrate for shit at school. I’m fucking up on the pitch. In training. Everything’s going to hell, and the only person I can talk to about it is a girl I barely know.” Exhaling a heavy breath, he pulled me closer. “You’re the only thing that distracts me, the only thing I can concentrate on, and I don’t even know you. I feel closer to you than my own teammates. I’m telling you things I wouldn’t tell my best friend. How fucked up is that?”
“It’s not fucked up.” My heart was hammering so hard against my ribcage that it was making my breathing come hard and fast. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Johnny refuted, burying his face in my neck. “Not one bleeding thing about what’s going on in my life right now is okay.”
One moment, he had his face buried in my neck and the next he was gone.
“Fuck,” Johnny growled, jerking away from me like I had scalded him. “Fuck!” he repeated, running a hand through his hair. “I did it again. I did it a-fucking-gain.”
Stunned, I remained on my knees, watching his every move.
“Is there any chance of you forgetting everything I just said?” he asked in a half-hearted tone, as he looked at me, eyes burning with desperation.
Unable to form words, I just stared back at him, shaking my head.
I couldn’t pretend.
Not anymore.
“No.” Johnny agreed glumly and rubbed his face with his palm, “Didn’t think so.”
The reasoning behind my next statement was based on basic, human instinct rather than thought, encouraged by the desperate need I had inside of my chest to stop this boy from hurting.
“I was bullied,” I blurted out, startling us both with the admission.
I wanted to put him at ease, and the only way I could think of making that happen was to give him a deeply private confession of my own.
“Badly,” I clarified, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Johnny’s eyes locked on mine. “At your old school?”
“Yes.” I nodded, and then shook my head. “Not just at BCS. It happened everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” Johnny repeated slowly, brows furrowed deeply.
“Everywhere,” I confirmed, biting down on my lip to stop it from wobbling.
“For how long?” he finally asked, shifting his body back to face me.
“My whole life,” I offered wearily, forcing myself to keep eye contact. “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t hated by everyone.”
“What?” he balked, sounding horrified. “No! Shannon, you shouldn’t be thinking like that–”
“It’s the truth, Johnny,” I was quick to clarify. “I’m unlikable. It’s a fact. Plain and simple.”
“That’s bullshit,” he growled. “You’re not unlikable.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I countered. “I am unlikeable.”
“I like you,” Johnny shot back without an ounce of hesitation.
Well, I love you, Johnny Kavanagh!
Even though you’re leaving.
Even though you don’t feel the same.
Even though loving you is going to break my heart.
I love you with everything I have.
And I probably always will.
“Well, that makes you one of very few.” I exhaled a shaky breath. “I was hated growing up, Johnny! Seriously hated. Nobody wanted to play with me. Nobody wanted me on their team i
“Claire Biggs and Pierce Ó Neill’s girlfriend?” Johnny asked, voice gravelly.
“Lizzie Young,” I confirmed with a nod. “Yeah, they went to my primary school, and honestly, if it wasn’t for them, I would have been completely alone.”
“But they moved on to Tommen after primary school?”
“They did.”
“And you went to BCS?”
“Yeah,” I croaked out.
Bewilderment was etched on Johnny’s face, like this was hard for him to comprehend.
And for a guy like him, it probably was.
He wasn’t short of friends or adoring fangirls.
He was popular and a big star.
He didn’t have the faintest idea of what it felt like to be on the other side of the popularity spectrum.
Where I resided.
Johnny’s tone was careful when he asked, “It was the same for you there?”
“No.” Inhaling a steadying breath, I continued to open myself up for danger. “It was worse.”
Johnny was silent for a long moment before asking, “They hurt you there?”
Repressing a shudder, I forced a small nod.
“Shannon?”
“Every day,” I confessed.
“Christ,” he practically snarled as he ran a hand through his hair. “No wonder your Ma lost it on me that day.”
I sighed heavily. “It wasn’t the first trip from school to the A&E.”
“Jesus.” He blew out a harsh breath and pulled me closer. “How bad did it get?”
I shrugged helplessly, unable to get the words out, or maybe I was just unwilling to verbalize the trauma.
I wanted it gone from my memory.
I wanted that part of my life erased forever.
“Shannon?” Johnny pressed, tone achingly soft, as he tugged me so close that my knees touched his thigh. Keeping one arm hooked around my back, he leaned closer and repeated his earlier question. “How bad did it get?”
To the point that I wanted to die.
“Bad enough that my Mam had to bury herself in debt to transfer me to Tommen,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “And bad enough that I let her do it,” I added, forcing myself to look at him and hating the sympathetic expression I found him wearing.
“Those girls?” he asked then. “At the pub?”
I nodded. “Ciara was the worst.”
His eyes darkened. “The blonde one.”
I nodded weakly. “I couldn’t go back to BCS after Christmas. Too much had happened, and it was getting out of hand.”
“Getting out of hand?” Johnny stared hard at me. “Surely it had been out of hand for years.”
“Oh, I know,” I agreed. “But it was really starting to affect my brother and my parents were worried.”
“Your brother,” Johnny replied flatly.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Joey was constantly getting suspended for fighting over me. He already had four suspensions because of me by Christmas, and Mam was petrified that he was going to get himself expelled in his leaving cert year. Dad was furious because he thought Joey’s behavior would cost him his spot on the minors. It was a total nightmare.” Shrugging, I exhaled a heavy sigh and said, “In the end, Mam convinced our father that it would be better for Joey if they pulled me from BCS.”
“What about you?” Johnny asked, blue eyes locked on mine. “Was it better for you?”
“It was the best decision that was ever made for me,” I replied without hesitation.
“And Tommen?” Johnny pressed, his entire focus on me. “How’s that for you?”
“Aside from the Ronan trouble, I haven’t had any problems at Tommen,” I replied honestly, cheeks burning under his keen observation. “Oh, and Bella threatening war on me for talking to you.”
“And this?” He trailed his fingers over my neck, blue eyes scorching me. “I need to know about this.”
I shivered into his touch. “I told you.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he coaxed.
“Then don’t make me,” I pleaded, knowing that I was giving everything away to him – my heart, my secrets, my trust – and was unable to stop. “Please don’t push me.”
“Shannon –” he started and then quickly stopped. He stared hard at me for a long moment before finally nodding. “For now.”
I sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
“But I’m going to find out,” he whispered. “Whether you tell me or not.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “I’ll find out and I’ll make them suffer.”
My heart seized in my chest.
I knew this.
He wasn’t going to let it go.
I could see it in his eyes that night in his bedroom.
Johnny Kavanagh was hell bent on exposing my secrets.
“And Bella won’t do shit,” Johnny continued, tone gruff, eyes heated and intense, “If she goes to war with you, then she goes to war with me, too.”
“I don’t like war or confrontation,” I replied nervously, panicking at the thought of his terrifying ex and the damage she was capable of causing me. “I don’t want her to hate me, Johnny. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“She’s threatened by you,” he said gruffly. “Her reaction to you is based on jealousy.”
“Threatened by me?” I shook my head. “Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he stated, causing my cheeks to flush a deep shade of pink.
A boy had never called me beautiful before.
Not like this.
Not with such forwardness.
Not with such sincerity.
Johnny said it, though, and my heart was flapping around in my chest like a demented, caged bird, fighting to escape.
He cleared his throat then, looking slightly uncomfortable, and for a moment I thought he was about to take the compliment back, but then he steeled his features, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and whispered, “Inside and out.”
Those extra words did the trick.
Those extra words ruined me.
I could feel my body tremble as I turned my gaze to his, locking eyes.
“I am?”
He nodded slowly. “Everywhere.”
Oh, god.
My heart.
I couldn’t handle this.
I couldn’t cope with him…
Panicked and uncertain by my feelings, I quickly hurried on, “We’re on a level playing field now. I know your secrets and now you know mine, so you can rest assured that I won’t be announcing your injury to the whole world,” I told him, feeling both vulnerable and exposed. “Not when you have your own dirt on me.”
“Yeah, I guess we are,” Johnny replied in a thoughtful tone, before quickly backpedaling. “Wait– you told me all that so I would have leverage over you?”
I shrugged.
Johnny frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“I was trying to make you feel safe,” I blurted out.
“You want to make me feel safe?” The expression on Johnny’s face was one I couldn’t decipher as he stared down at me with storm-filled, blue eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re freaked out about me knowing about your, uh, your –” I pointed to his crotch, cheeks flaming, and then blew out a breath, “It’s clearly upsetting you, and I wanted to make you feel better. I wanted to give you that so you don’t feel cornered.”
“I don’t get it.” Johnny shook his head in obvious confusion. “I mean, I’m glad that you told me – I’m fucking honored – but you telling me something extremely personal like that with the expectation that I would use it against you and feel good about it? The fact that you were okay with that – that you thought I’d be okay with that?” He blew out a breath. “That’s the part I don’t understand.”
“Maybe you were right about me trusting you despite myself,” I whispered, feeling a flood of heat and ice collide inside of my chest.
His brows shot up. “So, you do trust me.”
The shrug I gave him was a helpless one because that’s exactly how I felt in this moment: disarmed and utterly helpless.
“Words, Shannon,” he pushed, tone gruff. “I need the words.”
“What do you want me to say?” I croaked out.
“Tell me why you trust me.”
“Because when I’m with you, I feel…”
“You feel?”
“Safe, okay?” I strangled out. “When you’re around, I feel safe.”
“Because you are,” Johnny confirmed in a gruff tone. “I’ve already told you that I’m not going to hurt you, and I hope like fuck that I’ve shown you that, too.”
I exhaled a ragged breath and ducked my face, desperate to hide how deeply those words affected me.
“Shannon, look at me.”
I shook my head, refusing his request.
I couldn’t.
It was too much.
He was far too much.
“Look at me,” he repeated, tone soft and coaxing.
When I made no move to oblige, Johnny tipped my chin up with his hand, forcing our gazes to lock, blue eyes burning holes in mine.
“You. Are. Safe,” he stated, enunciating every word with aching slowness, as he trailed the pad of his thumb across my chin. “Whatever happened to you in your old school,” he said, pushing through the barriers once more. “It won’t follow you to Tommen.” With blue eyes burning bright with sincerity and determination, he added, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you here.” He pressed his forehead to mine and exhaled a pained sigh. “And if you just tell me where else I need to keep you safe, I’ll do that, too.”
“Why?” It was one word that was loaded with so many unspoken thoughts and notions, but it was all I could come up with.
Johnny hesitated for a moment and then said, “Because I care.”
“Why?”
“I just do.” He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help it.”
“It’s been you, hasn’t it?” I whispered. “You’re the reason no one gave me hassle over the pitch incident? You’ve been protecting me?”
He stared warily at me but didn’t respond.
“Come on, Johnny,” I sighed. “I’m not thick. I know you had something to do with it. I was half naked in front of a field of boys. I threw up outside my locker, for god’s sakes. Gossip like that doesn’t just evaporate into thin air.”
“I told you that day outside Twomey’s office that I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” he finally admitted.
Yeah, he did.
He promised.
And he kept it…
“Well, thanks for caring,” I breathed.
“Thanks for being worth it,” Johnny replied, hand still on my cheek.
Shivering from the contact, I leaned into his touch, seeking more.
I was trying so hard to control myself, but it was virtually impossible to do when he had his hands on my body.
I wanted to crawl onto his lap and I wanted to run far away from him all at once.
It didn’t make sense to me.
I was incredibly confused.
My feelings were terrifying me.
His words.
His eyes.
His actions.
He was throwing me.
I was losing myself.
“How are the lovebirds?” a familiar voice boomed close to my ear.
Startled, I looked over Johnny’s shoulder to find a grinning Gibsie.
“Hey, little Shannon,” Gibsie drawled with a mischievous wink. “Don’t mind me. I just need to borrow my buddy for a sec.”
Oh, god.
Mortified, I quickly scrambled backwards, breaking the contact.
Johnny muttered a string of unintelligible curse words under his breath before turning around. “This better be fucking important,” he snapped, shoulders tensed.
“That depends,” Gibsie replied nonchalantly.
“On what?” Johnny barked.
“On whether or not you still want me to remind you of that thing you asked me to remind you about?”
“Thing?” Johnny shook his head. “What thing? The fuck are you talking about?”
“Lines and bulldozers, my friend,” Gibsie shot back with a meaningful look.
I had no clue as to what Gibsie was referring to, however it was clear that Johnny did, because he exhaled a loud breath, expelling the word, “shite,” with it.
“You’re welcome,” Gibsie replied, patting Johnny on the shoulder before making his way back to his seat.
“What was that about?” I asked when we were relatively alone again.
“Hmm?” Johnny replied, obviously distracted.
He kept turning back to look at his friend.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m grand.” He cast a quick glance to me and then turned back to mouth something else to Gibsie.
I couldn’t quite figure out what they were saying to each other.
They seemed to be communicating through body language – although it was fairly easy to figure out what Johnny meant when he gave Gibsie the finger.
Shaking my head, I gave up on trying to crack the code of their unspoken conversation and turned my attention to Johnny’s iPod – something he had given me to listen to during one of our reflection breaks earlier.
Slipping the headphones on my ears, I carefully scrolled through his playlists and almost had a heart attack when my eyes landed on the one named Songs for Shannon.
With my heart racing, I cast a quick peek up at Johnny, but he was still fully immersed in vulgar sign language with Gibsie.
Exhaling a small puff of air from my lungs, I pressed into the playlist and quickly scrolled through the list of songs.
Coldplay – Yellow
Guns N’ Roses – Sweet Child O’ Mine
Goo Goo Dolls – Iris
The Fureys – When You Were Sweet Sixteen
Howie Day – Collide
Declan Ó Rourke – Whatever Else Happens
The Offspring – Want You Bad
Busted – Fall At Your Feet
Aerosmith – Crazy
Counting Crows – Colorblind
David Gray – This Year’s Love
Bon Jovi – In These Arms
Westlife – World of Our Own
Eagle-Eye Cherry – Save Tonight
Metallica – Tuesday’s Gone.
Snow Patrol – Run
The Verve – Lucky Man
HIM – Wicked Game
The La’s – There She Goes
These were love songs.
These were all love songs.
Saved to a playlist with my name on it.
Why?
Why would he do this?
Did he…?
No. No, he didn’t.
Of course, he didn’t.
Then why…
“Shannon, can we talk?” Johnny’s voice penetrated my thoughts, startling me, and causing me to drop his iPod.
Thankfully it landed on my lap and not on the floor of the bus.
I turned to face him, feeling my heart race violently in my chest.
“Talk?”
“Yeah.” Johnny nodded slowly, blue eyes dark and heated. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Uh, yeah, okay…” Wiping my palms on my skirt, I exhaled a shaky breath before adding, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Not here,” Johnny said, glancing around the bus. “Tonight,” he added, eyes trained on mine again. “After the match. I’ll take you home and we can talk in my car?”
“Uh…” I chewed on my lip, feeling panicked at the thought of having to wait that long. “If that’s what you want?”
“It’s probably best,” he replied gruffly.
Oh, god.
Was it bad?
Was he going to tell me something terrible?
“Don’t look so scared,” Johnny said, distracting me once more from my thoughts. “I won’t hurt you.” Reaching over, he tipped my chin up with the back of this hand and gave me a small smile. “I promise.”
I was so lost in this boy I could hardly breathe.
“Alright, everyone, reflection time is over,” Mrs. Moore called out, clapping her hands to garner everyone’s attention. “We only have forty minutes left before we get to Dublin, so I propose another quiz.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Johnny groaned, dropping his hand. “Not another bleeding quiz.”
I chuckled at his reaction.
“What’s funny?” he asked, smirking at me. “Don’t tell me you actually enjoy these things?”
I enjoy being with you.
“I’m on the winning team,” I teased, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Of course, I’m enjoying this.”
“True,” Johnny agreed with a lopsided grin. Pulling the stack of certificates we had collected throughout the day’s tasks out of his bag, he plopped them on my lap and said, “We make a pretty good team, Shannon like the River.”
Yes.
Yes, we did.
I waited for everyone else to climb off the bus before sliding out of my seat.
“Good luck today,” I said as I hovered in the aisle, watching Johnny as he rummaged through the discarded bags at the back of the bus, clearly searching for his own.
“Huh?” Johnny replied, obviously distracted, as he muttered something about messy bastards under his breath.
He looked stressed.
The closer we got to Royce College, the more agitated he grew.
Now that we were here, Johnny was vibrating with tension.
I understood why.
He was supposed to go to school here, which meant he would more than likely be playing against his old friends and teammates.
That was a lot of pressure.
And he was hiding an injury.
“The match,” I clarified. “I hope you win.” I gave him a small wave before hurrying down the aisle towards the exit, desperate to put some much-needed space between Johnny Kavanagh and my heart.
“Shannon?” Johnny called after me.
Pausing at the door, I swung back to look at him. “Yeah?”
His blue eyes burned holes inside of me when he said, “Thanks.”
“For what?” I whispered.
Johnny smiled. “For being nothing like the rest of them.”
“Uh, okay?”
“I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
I nodded. “Bye Johnny.”
Feeling off kilter, I hurried off the bus where I was immediately intercepted by both Shelly and Helen.
Hooking their arms through mine, they led me away from the bus.
“Girl, you have some explaining to do,” Shelly said excitedly.
“And we want all the details,” Helen agreed with a nod.
“Details?” I asked, feeling flushed by their ambush. “About wha
“Don’t even think about it,” Helen warned. “You just spent three hours up close and personal with Johnny.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I replied. “The seat next to his was the only one left.”
“What did you talk about?” Shelly asked, eyes dancing with excitement. “What did he say to you?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, feeling awkward. “Just stuff.”
“Just stuff?” Helen spluttered.
“Shannon, I am trying to live vicariously through you here. You’ve got to give me more than ‘just stuff’,” Shelly huffed.
“Back off, vultures,” Lizzie barked. “Go and find another carcass to fight over.”
She was leaning against the back of the bus, with a huge boy standing in front of her.
I instantly recognized him as Pierce.
I decided that they had to be back on again when I took in the sight of her hands on his waist, and the way he was nuzzling her neck.
Claire, Gibsie, Hughie, Coach Mulcahy, and Patrick Feely were standing close by, though they weren’t paying any attention to us.
In fact, they all seemed to be in a debate over something as they circled Coach Mulcahy.
“Lizzie!” Shelly whined. “I was only asking.”
“If you want to know what Johnny Kavanagh talks about then go and ask Johnny Kavanagh,” Lizzie shot back. “Not Shannon.” Turning her gaze on me, she said, “Come on, Shan. We’re over here.”
Grateful for her interruption, I slid out from between the gossip girls, gave them a quick wave, ignored their disappointed expressions, and then hurried over to my friends.
The closer I got to my friends, the louder the discussion between the others seemed to get.
“He’s playing, Coach,” Hughie was snarling. “They can’t do this.”
“I agree, Biggs,” Coach replied with a phone to his ear. “This crap won’t stand – Hello, yes, I would like the speak to the principal.” With his mobile welded to his ear, Coach hurried off, barking orders into the phone.
“What a pack of langers,” Gibsie tossed out angrily.
“Pussies,” Hughie agreed.
“To be fair,” Patrick Feely mused, “the team seems willing to play. It’s their coach with the issue.”
“Issue?” I asked, sidling up to Claire because Lizzie’s mouth was currently being occupied by Pierce’s tongue. “What’s going on? Is the match cancelled?”
“Royce’s coach is refusing to allow his team to play if Coach plays Johnny,” Claire explained, looking as enraged as everyone else.
“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.
