JOEY
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON?” Podge demanded, as he chased me around the pitch at the GAA pavilion on Saturday afternoon, with his hurley in hand. “I haven’t seen you this pumped since we won the county final in third year.”
“Nothing,” I panted, narrowly side-stepping him, to hook the sliotar with my hurl and tap it back to him. Tony had closed up early, something that left me with my hands hanging, which had led me to text the lads to meet me for a puck around. “I haven’t been out since Christmas.”
“Then what the fuck did Santa put in your stocking?” Alec wheezed, chopping down hard on Podge’s hurl, and robbing the ball. “Speed?”
A reality check. “Nothing.”
Podge narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Then what the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged, breathing hard and fast. “I’m just done with the bullshit.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m done fucking around.”
“Meaning he’s too busy getting his hole off sexy-legs to even think about getting high,” Alec snickered. “Jesus, her pussy must taste like ambrosia or whatever it is the gods eat – ow, Jesus, fuck, don’t hit me with that.” Clutching the side of his head, he groaned, “Dammit, Joe, you’re lucky I’m wearing a helmet. You could have given me brain damage.”
“No, you’re lucky you’re wearing a helmet,” I shot back, still wielding the boss of my hurl precariously close to his throat. “Next time you even think about my girl’s pussy, I’ll take the head clean off your shoulders, ya hear?”
“Give it a rest, Al,” Podge snapped, dragging my attention back to him. “What does this mean, Joe?” His attention was riveted on my face. “When you say that you’re done fucking around, do you mean with Holland and his crew?”
I nodded stiffly. “I mean with all of it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Shrugging in discomfort, I hooked the sliotar onto my boss and broke off on a solo run before deftly lobbing the ball over the bar of the far end goal.
With sweat trickling down the back of my neck, I retrieved the sliotar from behind the back of the goal before sprinting off again, desperate to burn the tension out of my body.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone this long without anything in my system.
But I was still here, still trying, still hanging in there.
For her.
“How long has it been?” Podge asked when I returned with the ball.
“How long what?” Alec piped up.
“A few weeks,” I replied, using the hem of my jersey to wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. “It’s nothing to sing home about, but it’s a start.”
I had this horrible anxious tremor rolling through me, one that no amount of exercise could settle.
I knew why, of course.
My body wasn’t craving exercise.
It didn’t want food or water, and it wasn’t satisfied with a smoke.
It wanted more.
I was fucking ravenous.
But with two weeks of hell put down to get where I was today, I was strong enough to let it starve just a little while longer.
One more hour.
And then another after that.
Keep fucking going, lad.
“Well, shit.” Podge’s brows shot up in surprise and he quickly laced the sliotar down the pitch before telling Alec to go long. “Am I wrong in thinking that Aoife has a fair bit to do with this sudden change of lifestyle?” he asked when Alec was out of earshot. “She’s a good influence on you, lad.”
“We’re taking some time out,” I forced myself to admit out loud to quite possibly the only person I trusted aside from the two girls in my life.
I had managed to work an entire week with Tony without disclosing as much as a drizzle of information on my relationship with his daughter. It hadn’t been easy facing him, and the unknown, but to his huge credit, the man treated me exactly the same as always.
“You and Aoife?” Podge asked, eyes widening, and I quickly realized that he wasn’t going to do the same. “Since when?”
“Since I pulled my head out of my ass long enough to see what I was doing to her.”
“Are you serious?”
“Come on, Podge.” I shrugged, deciding to go with the truth for once. “It’s fairly obvious that the road I’ve been traveling down isn’t exactly aligning with the one Aoife’s on, lad.”
“And that matters to you?”
“She matters to me.”
“Are you broken up for good?”
His question caused my heart to plummet into my ass, and my mind to scream fuck, I hope not. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not I can get my shit together.”
“Which you apparently have.”
“And now, whether or not I can keep my shit together,” I forced myself to add. “Which, let’s face it, lad, I don’t have the best track record of doing.”
“So, this time out was her idea?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It was mine.”
“So, does this time out mean that you guys are seeing other people?”
“No,” I balked, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought. “I don’t want to even think about another girl, lad.”
“Is she?” he pushed. “Thinking about other lads?”
“She should,” I muttered. “But no. I don’t think so.”
“And if she does?”
I bit back the urge to roar. “Then I won’t hold her back.”
“Jesus, you really love her, don’t you?”
More than life.
“So what if I do?” I bit out, immediately on the defensive.
“Nothing, lad, nothing,” he was quick to placate. “It’s just that I’ve known you since junior infants, since we were four, and I’ve never heard you admit your feelings for anyone.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“Obviously, I noticed that weird chemistry the two of you have the second we walked into first year, but I never realized it was that deep.” He shook his head before admitting, “I always figured the infatuation you had with her had more to do with pissing off Ricey than anything else.”
“Ah, yes.” I smirked to myself, thinking back to the countless times down through the years when Ricey had caught us bantering and lost his shit. “That was an enjoyable perk.”
“Could you have pucked the sliotar any further?” Alec panted, jogging back over to us, ball in hand. “I had to climb into the bushes to get it back.”
“Sorry, Al,” Podge chuckled, and then turned back to offer me a wink. “Keep on keeping it together, Joe.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Keep on keeping it together? The plan?” Alec shook his head and groaned, “Why do I always feel like you two are speaking in riddles around me?”
“Because you’re perceptive,” Podge shot back with smirk.
“No, no, I’m not,” Alec grumbled. “I know what you two fuckers are doing. Don’t deny it.”
“He said you were perceptive, Al,” I laughed, pucking the ball towards him. “Do you know what perceptive means?”
“Of course I know what it means,” Alec huffed, catching the sliotar mid-air. “It’s when you’re second guessing everything, and don’t trust a word of what’s being said around you.”
Podge threw his head back and laughed, while I scrubbed a hand down my face before muttering, “That’s paranoia, Al.”
“It is?”
Podge chuckled “Yeah, lad. It’s a whole different word with a whole different meaning.”
“Maybe I did hit you too hard before,” I offered dryly.
“Paranoia.” Alec frowned. “Then what’s perceptive?”
“Something you’ll never be accused of being again,” Podge laughed.
“Right, lads, spread out and we’ll have another puck around before it gets dark,” I instructed, jogging backwards. “We’ve a match against St. Fintan’s next week, and I have no intention of letting those fuckers knock us out of the playoffs.”
“So, the school board got back to you with their decision?” Alec asked, tone hopeful.
“Yeah, they phoned Mam the day before yesterday,” I replied, jumping up to catch the sliotar mid-air. “Apparently, I’m on the last of my nine lives.”
“So, you’re not getting expelled?”
I grinned. “Not this week.”
It was closing in on five in the evening when Podge nudged me in the arm, alerting me to the fact that we had company.
Squinting in the semi-darkness, I tried and failed to put names on the faces watching us from the far side of the pitch, as my hackles rose, and my body tensed up at the unknown threat.
“They’re definitely watching us,” Podge muttered.
“I think they’re from Tommen,” Alec noted, rubbing his jaw. “I’ve definitely seen that big fella in the local paper playing rugby.”
“Yeah, they drink in Biddies.”
“The fuck are they doing here?” I bit out.
“Yeah. Wrong pitch.”
“Wrong side of town, more like.”
We continued to puck the sliotar around for another five minutes until it was clear that they weren’t going away.
“Give me a sec,” I snapped, throwing my helmet off. “I’ll sort this.” Pissed off and irritated, I stalked towards the group of rich pricks huddling at the sidelines of my goddamn pitch.
“Don’t lose the head, Joe,” Podge warned, hurrying after me.
“Yeah, lad,” Alec muttered in agreement. “There’s like six of them over there.”
“Got a staring problem, assholes?”
“Ah, Jesus,” Alec groaned, clutching the back of my t-shirt. “We’re going to die.”
“Are ye deaf?” I demanded, shaking him off, my entire focus on the lads watching me. “I asked ye a fucking question!”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” one of the lads said, before taking a safe step behind an even bigger lad. “You do the talking, Gibs.”
This one had a familiar look about him, with blond hair and a goofy as fuck smile. “Howdy, friend.”
“I’m not your friend,” I seethed, closing the space between us, hurley in hand. “And the last time I checked, the rugby club was on the other side of town,” I reminded them. “You have no business here.”
“Oh, Jesus.” The blond lad’s silvery grey eyes lit up with what I could only describe as playful mischief when he chuckled, “Are we about to have a turf war?”
I cocked a brow. “A turf war?”
“Yeah.” He nodded eagerly. “Like the T-birds and the Scorpions in Grease.”
“Grease?” I gaped at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Don’t mind Gibsie,” another one of them said, and this one was definitely familiar. “He’s a fair bit dysfunctional.”
“How do I know you?” I demanded, eyeing him warily.
“I’m Hughie Biggs,” he was quick to offer up, holding his hands up, the universal symbol of peace. “Our sisters are friends.”
“Yeah,” the big one chuckled, waving a tissue in front of him. “We come in peace.”
“Shut up, Gibs,” Hughie muttered, shaking his head. “Jesus, lad.”
Taken aback, I unfurled my fists, and forced myself to simmer down.
There was no threat here.
I needed to get my body to register that.
“What are you doing here, Biggs?” I asked, addressing Hughie, and ignoring the big ape of muscle he had standing beside him. “What do you want?”
“Looking for you, actually.”
Now, I was on alert again. “Why?”
“I sort of need a favor.”
“I don’t do favors for strangers.”
“Our sisters are friends,” he repeated, tone hopeful. “Which means we’re sort of friends, or acquaintances, maybe…no? Okay then.”
“I don’t do friends,” I repeated coldly, sizing up each and every one of the overgrown bastards, with their designer clothes, and expensive haircuts. “And I don’t do favors.”
“Hey,” Alec huffed, folding his arms across his chest in outrage. “Thanks a fucking lot, friend. What am I? Dog shit?”
“Shut up, you dope,” Podge grumbled. “Let Lynchy handle this.”
“Fair enough,” Hughie replied, with a shake of his head. “Clearly coming here was a bad idea.”
“Clearly,” I bit out, staring him down until he looked away. “See ya.”
“What?” the big fella demanded. “No, no, it was a brilliant idea, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”
“And what was that exactly?”
“We’re looking to take a trip to the spliffs of Moher, if you get me?” he chuckled, waggling his brows.
I stared blankly back at him.
“We need drugs.”
“Jesus, Gibs,” Hughie groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Tact, lad. Tact.”
“Drugs?” I cocked a brow. “And you came to me because?”
“Because we’ve heard the rumors,” another one said.
I arched a brow. “Rumors?”
“From Hughie,” the big lad offered up.
Hughie groaned loudly. “Jesus, Gibs.”
“He said you’re off your trolley on drugs and I really need to borrow some of those.”
“Thanks a fucking bunch, Gibs,” Hughie spluttered, taking a safe step back.
I locked my gaze on the big one. “And you thought that I could help you with that?”
He nodded brightly.
“Look at me, asshole.” I gestured to my training gear. “Do I look like a dealer?”
When he didn’t immediately say no, I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not a fucking dealer.”
“But you do have contacts, right?” he offered back, tone coaxing. “You know, friends in low places and all of that jazz? You are from Elk’s Terrace, aren’t you?”
“One: I’m not your friend. Two: the fact that you’re insulting me to my face by insinuating that I’m from a lower place than you, deserves a smack in the mouth. And three: I’m not doing shit for you. Now, clear off.”
“I accept all three of those reasons as being fair and true,” the big fella replied. “And I honestly would oblige you by clearing off, but I really need those drugs for my captain.”
“Your captain.”
“Yeah, my captain.” He nodded eagerly. “He’s having a hard time right now – a really fucking hard time. He had this procedure before Christmas, you see, and the poor bastard is as stiff as a poker from it. All I’m looking for is something to help relax him.”
“Gus, is it?” I asked calmly. “Is that your name?”
“Gibsie,” he corrected with a sheepish grin. “It’s Gibsie, although my mother calls me Gerard—”
“I don’t give a shit what your mother calls you,” I interrupted, leveling him a warning look. “And as for your captain and his procedure? Tell him to go to a doctor and get a prescription like everyone else.” Turning back to Hughie, I added, “Don’t come back here, Biggs.” I pointed to the big ape beside him before adding, “And especially not with him.”
“But he can’t write me a prescription for weed!” the big lad blurted out. “Please? Come on, man, it’s just a little weed?”
“What part of I’m not a dealer are you having trouble with?”
“I know, I know, you’re not a dealer, blah, blah, blah. I heard ya,” he reeled off. “But if you could make an exception just for tonight, then I would really owe you one.”
“You already owe me,” I muttered. “The last five minutes of my life that I’m never getting back.”
“You can come to our party tonight,” he tried to coax. “It’s at Hughie’s gaff. It’s 90’s themed—”
“No, it’s not, Gibs.”
“Yes, it is,” the big lad argued before turning back to me. “His folks are in Portugal. Free drink all night – oh, and sausage rolls, too.”
“Free sausage rolls?” I feigned excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say that earlier? I’m in.”
His eyes widened in delight. “Really?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, not really, you langer.”
“We can pay,” another one said, and this one had dark hair. “We have money,” he added, standing slightly back from the others. “Whatever you want. It wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Shit, Feely, lad, don’t say that,” Hughie groaned. “We only have two hundred.”
Now, I was listening. “Two hundred?”
“Yeah,” he replied, withdrawing a wad of twenties from his jeans pocket. “Is that enough?”
I glanced at Alec, who was dutifully trying not to burst out laughing. He might be a thick fucker, but he was streetwise enough to know that they had enough cash to supply their rugby team and our hurling team.
“How much are you looking for?” I heard myself ask.
“Lynchy, can I talk to you real quick?” Podge interrupted, before dragging me away from them.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, shrugging his arm off.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” he demanded, when we were out of earshot “I thought you were done with Shane Holland and all of that bullshit?”
“I am,” I bit out, glaring at him. “I don’t need to go anywhere near Holland for this.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “I have an eighth back at the house.”
“I thought you were done with all of that?”
“I am,” I repeated, pissed off. “I haven’t used.”
His eyes bulged. “Weed is using.”
Mine narrowed in response. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Cannabis is a drug.”
“Cannabis is a plant.”
“It’s against the law in this country.”
“So is taking a piss on the street,” I shot back. “Rules are stupid. What’s your point?”
“Jesus, Joey,” Podge groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. “It’s like two steps forward and ten steps back with you.”
“Bullshit. It’s prescribed by doctors for pain in half the world.”
“So is Oxycontin and the dozens of other prescription meds I’ve watched you ram down your throat since primary school. They’re prescribed for pain, too, Joe, but you know only too well what happens when they fall into the wrong hands.”
“I told you that I haven’t touched anything in weeks.”
“Except weed,” he reminded me, tone exasperated.
“Don’t act all high and mighty about it,” I shot back defensively. “Not when you’ve passed around many the spliff in your day.”
“There’s a big difference between having a smoke and hustling a bunch of naïve rich boys out of cash.”
“Hey, don’t fucking judge me,” I warned, narrowing my eyes at him. “Two hundred quid, Podge. Two hundred. And they’re waving it around like its monopoly money. That might be pennies to guys like them, but for the likes of me, that’s serious fucking money.” I threw my hands up in frustration and spat, “You might be in the privileged position of being able to turn your nose up at it, but I sure as hell can’t afford to. Do you have any idea what that money could do for me?”
For my mother.
For my siblings.
It would mean the difference between my brothers living off cold baked beans and butter sandwiches for the next week in the freezing cold of winter until Mam or I got paid or having a hot meal in their bellies and a warm fire to heat them before bed.
There was no choice to make in this instance.
“And what about Aoife?“ he demanded, cutting me where it would have the biggest impact. Right in the heart. “How happy do you think she’ll be when she finds out—’
“Don’t bring her into it,” I warned, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare throw her in my face.” Shaking my head in warning, I held a hand up and took a step back, regretting ever confiding in him. I couldn’t trust a goddamn soul. “You know why I can’t turn this down, you fucking know, Podge, so don’t twist the knife in deeper.”
Guilt flickered in his eyes, and he shook his head. “If you need money for your family, I can—”
“I don’t want your charity,” I spat, shaking because of how horribly fucking exposed I felt. “I can handle it myself.”
He stared at me for the longest time before relenting. “Fair enough.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “I won’t say another word, only to say that I think this is a bad idea.”
“I accept that,” I replied with a stiff nod. “Now, you can either stay here on your high horse and judge me, or you can come with me to their fancy-ass party, and eat your weight in sausage rolls.” Turning around, I strode off in the direction of the lads from Tommen. “Either way, bad idea or not, I’m doing this.”
