Keeping 13: Boys of Tommen #2

When I woke up Monday morning, it was to a clear head and a tsunami of pain.

Regardless of how much pain I was in, I knew I wasn’t going to complain about it. Not when there was a high chance they would shoot me up again.

Pain relief of the liquid kind that was flushed through your veins was a bad idea.

No joke, I’d been mostly out on my ass since my surgery, high as a bleeding kite, because every time a damn doctor or nurse checked in on me, they deemed it necessary to click the fucking button attached to the line in my hand and flush more of the crazy into my system.

According to the team of doctors I had met earlier this morning; aside from the holes in my body from the surgery, I had been so distressed and uncooperative on Saturday, pulling at my wires and trying to leave the hospital, that it had been safer to keep me partially sedated so I could rest up and heal.

My parents and Gibsie had been in and out all weekend, visiting my crazy ass, but I’d been completely out of it, ranting and raving like a demented lunatic, screaming about fathers and rugby balls.

Yeah, that was bleeding embarrassing.

I was grateful that I couldn’t remember.

Feeling aware for the first time in over forty-eight hours, I pulled myself into an upright position, ignored the shooting pain in my thighs, and reached for my phone off the nightstand. Thankfully, someone had the good sense to put it on charge for me.

Ignoring the plate of food the nurses had left on my bed tray, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and scrolled through the million missed calls and texts I had received since my life fell apart late Friday evening.

Four missed calls and one voicemail from Coach Dennehy.

Jesus…

I shuddered at the thought of what he had to say to me.

Deciding against being a masochist, I quickly moved on, checking through the others instead.

Three texts from Feely. Five calls from Hughie. A couple of dozen messages in the group text from the lads at The Academy. A million more from the lads from school. My physiotherapist. One from Scott Hogan, one of my buddies at Royce. My P.T. Several more from lads I played with at the club in Ballylaggin. Many more from unknown numbers, or numbers I didn’t have saved in my contacts list. Two from Mr. Twomey, the principal at Tommen. One from Coach Mulcahy. Seven texts and twelve missed calls from Bella.

‘Fucking Bella.’ Frustrated, I ignored the voicemails and read through the countless get-well messages, deleting each one as I went until I was left with a blank screen.

Nothing from Shannon.

Not one measly text message.

Fair enough, she didn’t have a phone right now, but Joey did and he had my number.

Pissed off, I scrolled down my contacts, found the name Joey the hurler, and pressed call. The anger inside of me increased with every ring that went unanswered. When I was connected to his voicemail, I felt like I was two seconds off exploding.

Drugged up or not, I knew I’d called him at least a dozen times over the weekend – I remembered that much – and being ignored didn’t sit well with me.

‘Joey.’ Gripping my phone with more force than necessary, I strived to keep my tone neutral even though I was peppering with anger. ‘I need to talk to her.’ I didn’t give a shite how he interpreted this. I didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought anymore. I had a niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach, one that no amount of sleep or hospital drugs could dissipate. ‘Listen…’ Clenching my eyes shut, I attempted to be diplomatic and failed miserably. ‘I know there’s something fucked up going on.’ Nice one, Johnny. ‘That sounds nuts. I know. I know, okay. But I’ve got this terrible feeling.’ Jesus, I was a headcase. ‘Shannon said something to me, or I dreamt she said something to me, but it’s stuck in my head and I can’t…look, I’m not even sure anymore, but I need to talk to her. I need to clear some shite up, okay? So just answer my fucking calls –’

A beep sounded in my ear, letting me know that I had run out of time.

‘Asshole,’ I grumbled and then dropped my phone on my lap only to flinch in pain at the contact. Gingerly, I removed my phone, placing it back on my nightstand before lifting the covers, pulling back my hospital gown, and taking my first sober, clear-headed look at the damage.

Hmm. I tilted my head to one-side, studying myself. Not bad.

My hips, both thighs, and groin were all swollen, ugly and bruised, with bandages covering the parts of me that had been cut open, but my three favorite body parts were still very much in one piece, so to speak. My dick was there and my balls were keeping it company.

Frowning, I studied myself, feeling oddly violated that someone had shaved my balls without permission, but decided against being pissed about this. I was sporting an impressive semi, probably due to the excitement of still being in one piece, so I was taking this as a win.

Thank you, Jesus.

Covering myself back up, I exhaled a sigh of relief and pulled the tray laden down with food towards me, feeling my appetite return with a vengeance.

You’re okay, I continued to mentally chant to myself as I chowed down on a rasher, you’ll heal, you’ll get back on the pitch, and everything will be okay.

But she won’t be, a small voice in the back of my head hissed, and you know why.

Tearing viciously into another rasher, I continued to dwell and mull over every moment I had spent with Shannon Lynch from the day I knocked her out with my ball to the moment I sent her away from this room.

I figured it was a coping mechanism. Avoiding my feelings about my impending therapy and prospect of losing out on the U20’s. I couldn’t think about rugby right now. If I did, there was a very good chance I would have a meltdown, therefore I locked my focus on Shannon Lynch, obsessing about every teeny, tiny, insignificant detail until I was sure I would explode.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong and you know it.

Open your fucking mind and think!

Dropping my fork and knife, I shoved the tray away and reached for my phone again. Redialing Joey’s number, I clutched the phone and prayed for an answer. My anxiety was festering inside of me to the point where I couldn’t think beyond anything other than her. When I was greeted with his voicemail again, I lost it.

‘Listen, fucker, I know you’re getting my messages, so you can either answer your bleeding phone or text me back. I’m not going away until I talk to her. Do you hear me? I’m not going the fuck away –’

‘Morning, love,’ Mam chirped as she walked into my hospital room, interrupting me from the one-way conversation I was having with Joey Lynch’s voicemail. ‘How’s your penis today?’

Give me strength…

‘Call me back,’ I muttered before ending the call and gaping at my mother.

‘I brought you some flowers,’ she continued without waiting for an answer, setting a bouquet of I had no idea what the hell they were called on my bed tray. ‘You’ve been so upset.’ Smiling, she padded over to my bed and fussed with my blankets. ‘I thought these might cheer you up.’

‘How’s my penis?’ Gripping the sheets around me, I yanked them up to my chest, not trusting that she wouldn’t pull them off and check for herself. ‘Do you think that’s a normal thing to ask your son?’

Mam shrugged. ‘Would you prefer if I called it a willy, love?’

Jesus Christ.

‘Well, I’m not six years old, Ma, so no, I wouldn’t prefer that,’ I bit out, eyeing her warily as she hovered at the side of my bed. ‘And it’s fine.’

Mam worried her lip. ‘Are you sure –’

‘I’m sure!’ I snapped, batting her hand away when she, like I had predicted, tried to pull down my blanket. ‘Christ, Ma, we’ve talked about this before. You need to start respecting my boundaries!’

Huffing out a breath, Mam sank down on the edge of my bed and patted my cheek. ‘Will you at least show your father?’ She gave me a bleeding look. ‘I’m so worried.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I grumbled. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re both fucking fine, Ma. I’m in a hospital, you know.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Trust me, I’m fine.’ I gave her a thumbs up. ‘It’s all good, Ma.’

Mam sighed heavily. ‘Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever trust another word that comes out of your mouth.’ She bit down on her lip and gave me that horrific, wounded-mother look – the one that always cut me deep, designed to make a son feel like a piece of shit. ‘You really let me down, Johnny.’

Christ, twist the knife, why don’t you…

‘I know, Ma. Christ.’ And I did. ‘I really am sorry.’ Knowing she wouldn’t let it go until I compromised, I forced out, ‘So if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll show Da when he stops by.’

Mam smiled, appeased, and I sagged back on my pillows, grateful to have dodged that particular bullet. ‘Were the doctors in this morning?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah, they were in first thing.’

She looked at me expectantly. ‘And?’

‘They’re letting me home in the morning.’

‘That soon?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s been three days and I didn’t have heart surgery.’

‘I know, but…’ Concern flittered her features. ‘I think you should stay another few days, love. The rest will do you the world of good.’ She leaned over and stroked my cheek. ‘You’re looking so much more rested as it stands. Imagine what another few days could do for you?’

‘It’s going to be okay,’ I told her, feeling like shit for putting unnecessary stress on her shoulders. ‘I know the rules.’

‘But will you follow them?’ she muttered under her breath.

‘I won’t mess this up,’ I told her, looking her straight in the eye. ‘I won’t, Ma. I’ll do the bedrest. I’ll do the rehab. But then I’ll be going back.’

Her face fell.

I steeled my spine, knowing I couldn’t give into the puppy eyes.

‘I don’t think you should play anymore, Johnny.’

‘I’m going to play, Ma,’ I replied quietly.

‘No.’

‘Yes, Ma.’

‘Johnny, please.’

‘I’m playing.’

‘I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt again.’

‘Ma, this is what I’m going to do,’ I explained, trying to keep my tone gentle. ‘I know it’s not what you’d have chosen for me, but it’s what I’ve chosen for myself, okay? I’m good, Ma. I’m better than good. This is what I was meant to do with my life. I can’t not play because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt.’ I shrugged. ‘That could happen crossing the road.’

‘But it didn’t happen crossing the road,’ Mam shot back. ‘Every hospital bed you’ve ever occupied, and there has been more of those than I can count on two hands, has been a direct result of you playing rugby.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so hell bent on injuring yourself.’

‘You don’t have to understand,’ I replied, knowing there was zero point in trying to explain this when she was hellbent on stopping me from playing. ‘You just have to support me.’

‘Why couldn’t you take up golf?’ Mam sobbed, dropping her head in her hands. ‘You’re good at golf, love. Or swimming, or tennis?’

I reached over and patted her shoulder. ‘Because I’m a rugby player.’

‘Oh, Johnny –’

‘Just support me, Ma,’ I said gruffly. Sitting up straight, I pulled her in for an awkward half-hug. ‘And I promise, I’ll make you proud.’

‘I’m already proud of you, ya big eejit,’ she sniffled, batting away her tears. ‘And that has nothing to do with bleeding rugby.’

‘Good to know,’ I muttered. ‘I think?’

‘Now, enough of making your ma cry,’ Mam said as she forced a smile and stood up. ‘Tell me how you’re feeling.’

‘I’m fine,’ I replied, wary again. ‘I just told you.’

‘Emotionally,’ she replied, pushing the tray with my food back to me. ‘I want to know how you’re feeling in your heart.’ Pulling open a napkin, she set it down on my lap and poured a cup of tea from the pot. ‘Eat up, Johnny, love. ‘Tis out of your belly your mickey grows.’

‘Scarred,’ I choked out, grabbing my fork. ‘I feel emotionally fucking scarred, Ma.’

‘Mind your language,’ she scolded, swatting the back of my head with that left hand I’d been dodging like the bleeding Matrix most of my life. ‘You were raised, not dragged up.’

Biting my tongue, I shoved a stone-cold rasher into my mouth and chewed viciously.

‘Good boy,’ Mam praised, ruffling my hair.

Dear Jesus, save me.

Please save me from this fucking woman…

‘How’s the man of the moment?’ Gibsie’s familiar voice filled my ears, giving me a much-needed reprieve from the woman hovering around me like a bleeding helicopter.

‘Alright, lad,’ I replied, locking eyes on the blond eejit who had been my best friend and partner in crime since childhood, as he stood in the doorway of my hospital room.

‘Good morning, Gerard,’ Mam chirped happily. ‘Did you have a nice sleep, love? I left a fresh change of clothes outside your door this morning –’ Mam paused and gave Gibsie a quick once-over before smiling in approval. ‘Ah good, you found them. The beige goes lovely with your complexion, pet.’

‘I did, Mammy K,’ he replied with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. ‘You’re too good to me.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Well, I’ll leave you two boys to it – give you a chance to catch up.’ Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, Mam strolled over to the door, where she received a kiss on the cheek from Gibsie. ‘I’ll be in the canteen if you need me.’

‘I love that woman,’ Gibsie announced when Mam was gone.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Forks make good weapons, you know.’

‘She’s so fucking –’

‘You’ll have no eyes left in your head if you finish that sentence,’ I warned, yielding my cutlery like a weapon.

Gibsie chuckled. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like I got mowed down by a truck on Friday night,’ I grumbled, lowering my fork.

‘That good, huh?’

‘Don’t start, Gibs.’ Relaxing my shoulders, I grabbed a sausage and took a bite. ‘I’m in a shit ton of pain and feel like I haven’t slept in a month. I can’t do humor today.’

‘Well, at least your appetite is still intact,’ he offered, eyeing the huge plate of rashers, sausages, and toast I was inhaling.

‘Don’t judge me,’ I grumbled. ‘I took a knife to the balls for this.’ Swallowing a mouthful of pork, I reached for a rasher. ‘I deserve the grease.’

He grimaced. ‘Fair point.’

‘Yeah,’ I deadpanned. ‘I know.’

‘So?’ he asked, eyeing me with barely contained excitement. ‘Would you say that you’re back to your full senses now?’

I shrugged. ‘Unfortunately.’

Gibsie nodded. ‘And your heart?’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘What about it?’

‘It’s not going boom, boom, fucking boom today?’

‘No,’ I replied slowly, knowing I was somehow walking myself into a trap but clueless as to how. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Excellent,’ he replied. ‘Because I’ve been sitting on more material than I can handle. It’s burning a hole inside of me, lad. Seriously, I can’t sleep at night with the excitement. Waiting for you to come down from your buzz was like waiting for Christmas morning – and you know how much I love Christmas, Cap.’

For fuck’s sake.

‘Come on.’ Waving a hand, I gestured him inside. ‘Get it over with.’

Clearly delighted with life, Gibsie barreled into the room, not stopping until he was sitting on the foot of my bed. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Before I start, I need to ask your preferences on where we should hold your stag.’

I gaped at him. ‘What?’

‘I was thinking Kilkenny,’ he explained, tone light and full of humor. ‘But we could do Killarney if you prefer to stay closer to home.’

‘The fuck are you talking about?’

‘Well, funny you should ask that.’ Grinning, he settled down on my bed and began to spur more shite at me than I could take in. ‘You’re engaged, or maybe you’re betrothed. I’m not sure of the terminology – although, according to you, you’re already married.’

I stared blankly back at him. ‘Come again?’

‘Ah, lad.’ He threw his head back and laughed. ‘You really don’t remember?’

‘Look at me.’ Dropping my fork on the plate, I pointed to my face. ‘Does this look like the face of a person who knows what’s going on?’

My response only caused him to laugh harder. ‘I love it,’ he laughed, thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. ‘The wait was worth it. This is the best day.’

‘Explain, Gibs,’ I snapped, flustered. ‘Now – before I stick you with one of these bleeding needles in my arm.’

‘Shannon,’ he snickered. ‘Came with me to see you Friday night.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I growled, rubbing my forehead. ‘I remember that much.’

‘And do you remember the conversation you had with her?’ he countered, eyes dancing with mischief. ‘With anyone who would look at you?’

‘No,’ I bit out. ‘Everything from that night is a haze.’ I could only remember small parts of Saturday morning. Parts where I acted like a complete tool towards Shannon. I let my pride get the better of me and sent her away. After that, I’d lost my shit and panicked, demanded to be taken home. My pain had been so severe that I’d been given enough meds to knock me out. ‘What did I do?’

‘It’s not what you did,’ he snickered. ‘It’s what you said.’

‘Gibs, I swear to Christ, if you don’t tell me what’s going on –’

‘Lad, you told her you were in love with her,’ he laughed, slapping his hand against his thigh. ‘Right before you asked her to have your babies.’

My eyes widened. ‘No!’

His grin deepened. ‘Yes!’

‘Jesus Christ, Gibs,’ I hissed, voice rising higher than normal. ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’

‘Because it was brilliant.’ Laughing, he added, ‘I thought you were going to make her sign something you were so fucking adamant about it.’

I dropped my head in my hands. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

‘No clue,’ Gibs chuckled. ‘But if I had to put money on it, I’d say you were speaking your true feelings.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I gaped at him, appalled. ‘I don’t want any bleeding babies.’

Gibsie winked. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

‘Stop it,’ I grumbled, suppressing a shudder. ‘You know I don’t.’

‘You begged her.’

My mouth fell open. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Shannon, please have my babies!’ he mimicked. ‘I’m begging you, Shannon. Grow my spawn and touch my dick –’

‘Stop,’ I begged. ‘Please. Don’t tell me anything else.’

‘You told the nurse she was your wife,’ he added salt to my wounds by saying. ‘You told your mother all about how nice her tits were and how you couldn’t wait to fu–’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ I choked out, cutting him off before he could ruin my life even further. ‘That’s why she’s avoiding me, isn’t it?’ I demanded, horrified. ‘She probably thinks I’m going to try and fucking impregnate her the first chance I get.’

‘Well, your dick is working now,’ Gibsie offered, thoroughly enjoying my torment. ‘A little snippet of information you decided to announce to her, stud.’

No wonder Joey wasn’t answering my calls.

If Shannon told her brother half of what I had apparently said to her, there was no doubt he’d be waiting for me in Ballylaggin with a vendetta and a sawed-off bleeding shotgun.

‘I’m so fucked,’ I croaked out, dropping my head.

‘Nah.’ Slapping my shoulder, Gibsie said, ‘Girl loves you back. Told you so Friday night.’

I groaned loudly, feeling shame in the deepest parts of my soul. ‘Because I coerced her.’

‘No, because she just does,’ he corrected.

‘Doubtful,’ I grumbled. ‘Very fucking doubtful, lad.’

‘Listen, Johnny, I’m going to give it to you straight here, lad,’ Gibsie added, tone slightly more serious now. ‘You’ve spent months lying to yourself and everyone else about your feelings. It was too much. All of that pent-up frustration had to come out of you sooner or later.’ Shrugging, he added, ‘The anesthesia and morphine just helped the process along – forced the truth out of you.’

‘I’m not,’ I denied, knowing it was pointless, but feeling like I needed something to cling onto. ‘I didn’t mean any of that.’

Gibsie arched a brow. ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining.’

My shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘Yeah, okay, I meant it. Happy now?’

‘Are you?’ he asked, unblinking.

‘Am I what?’

‘Happy?’

‘No, I’m not happy, Gibs.’ I glared at him. ‘Look at me,’ I demanded, slapping my chest for emphasis. ‘I’m bleeding terrified!’

‘About your dick?’

‘My dick, my balls, the girl, the game –’ I paused and exhaled a shaky breath, ‘I’m losing my fucking mind here.’ Pushing the tray away, I slumped back on my pillows and sighed. ‘And I’m worried.’

‘Understandable,’ he agreed. ‘But you’re going to be fine –’

‘About her,’ I reiterated with a pained growl. ‘I’m worried about her, Gibs.’

‘Why?’

‘She said something to me the other night,’ I admitted, feeling at a loss. ‘And I can’t remember.’ Running a hand through my hair, I confided in my best friend the doubts I was having. ‘It was something about her Da, lad.’ Grimacing, I tried to snatch up the memory but it continued to float just out of my reach. Frustrated, I let out a sigh. ‘I think…’ Stopping short, I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing that once it was said, I couldn’t take it back.

‘You think?’ Gibsie coaxed.

‘This stays between us,’ I warned him.

He nodded. ‘Always, lad.’

Releasing another sigh, I sat up and brushed my hair back with both hands, feeling restless and uneasy. ‘I’ve been seeing things,’ I slowly began, watching him carefully, testing out his loyalty even though I knew I didn’t have to.

‘Dead people?’

‘Fuck right off!’

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry,’ he coaxed, sobering his features. ‘Tell me.’

I stared hard at him, waiting until his face was void of amusement before continuing, ‘On her.’

His brows furrowed. ‘On her?’

Dropping my hands to my lap, I fidgeted restlessly. ‘On her body.’ Guiltily, I looked up at him and blurted, ‘Too many things that have happened too many times and are too coincidental to be explained away as an accident.’

Gibsie’s eyes narrowed as awareness dawned on him. ‘Things like bruises?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere.’ I released a pained sigh. ‘All over her body, Gibs.’

‘Shit.’

‘At first, I thought she was being bullied again –’ I paused and scrunched my nose up, feeling like a piece of shit for breaking her confidence, but this was eating me up. ‘She had a shitty time at BCS, Gibs. A real fucking bad time, lad. So, I fixed it – or at least I thought I had, but…’

‘But?’

‘But I know it’s more than that, Gibs. I know I’m sounding like a madman, but this is real to me. I know there’s something going on. I remember her telling me something the other night,’ I growled, furious with myself for not retaining the crucial piece of the jigsaw. Because I knew in my bones I was missing something vitally important. ‘And now I think I’ve figured it out.’

‘You have?’ Gibsie asked, sounding more serious than I’d ever heard him speak. ‘You’ve got a name?’

Nodding slowly, I looked him in the eyes, begging him to not judge me for saying what I was about to say. There was a chance that I was off the mark – a huge, colossal, Grand Canyon sized chance, but I didn’t think so, and the risk was worth her safety.

‘I think it’s her da, Gibs.’ Swallowing down my uncertainty, I looked my best friend straight in the eyes and said, ‘I think Shannon’s father is abusing her.’

I was a mathematician by nature and the common denominator in every problem I tried to solve regarding Shannon Lynch was her father.

She said father.

She told me that.

I knew she had.

She told me something about her fucking father.

I just couldn’t be certain.

For days, my mind reeled, going back over every single conversation I’d had with her, trying to find something I knew I was missing.

No matter what I did, or how hard I thought about it, my mind kept returning to that first day, to the conversation we had when she was only semi-aware of what she was saying:

‘Here.’ I trailed my finger over the old mark. ‘What’s this from?’

‘My dad,’ she replied, breathing out a heavy sigh.

‘My Dad’s going to kill me,’ she continued to choke out, clutching her torn skirt. ‘My uniform’s ruined.’

‘Johnny,’ she groaned and then winced. ‘Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. This is bad…’

‘What?’ I urged. ‘What’s bad?’

‘My Dad,’ she whispered.

If I was wrong about this, and there was a huge chance that I was, she would never forgive me. I figured I was already in the doghouse over the way I acted, but accusing her father of abusing her would be the nail in the potential coffin for us.

You’ve probably already fucked yourself over there, too, Johnny, lad…

Fuck.

I was losing my bleeding mind as my brain concocted up the most depraving, disgusting, inhuman, drug-induced thoughts.

Was Shannon’s father hurting her?

Was I being ridiculous?

I was ashamed of thinking the thoughts I had, but they were there, in my head, loud and proud and driving me batshit with anxiety.

Was he abusing her?

Was that what was happening?

I’d never met the guy, but surely her brother or mother would have stepped in.

I’d met Shannon’s mother once, granted it wasn’t the friendliest of encounters, but the woman genuinely seemed to love her daughter.

She looked well.

Healthy and pregnant.

Her brother was strong and fit.

Her other brothers were practically babies.

That left the dad.

‘Fuck.’ Gibsie shook his head. ‘That’s a big accusation, Johnny, lad.’

‘I know,’ I groaned, feeling thoroughly disgusted. ‘And I know if I’m wrong, then I’ll be opening a huge ass can of worms, but I just…’ I shook my head and clenched my fists. ‘I can’t get it out of my head. I think that’s what happened to me,’ I added. ‘Why I lost my shit all weekend. I was trying to go home to her, Gibs. Because I’m scared for her.’ I shrugged, feeling helpless. ‘I know it’s a hunch, but I can’t sit back on this, Gibs. I can’t ignore this or pretend it’s not happening. Something’s happening to her and I’m not prepared to sit back and do nothing.’ I exhaled a ragged breath. ‘She means too much to me to brush this under the carpet. Even if I’m wrong, it’s worth checking, right? That’s the right thing to do here, isn’t it?’

‘Just give me a minute to process this.’ Leaning forward, Gibsie pressed his fingers to his temples. ‘This is a lot to take in, lad.’

No shit.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t sit still. Pain was consuming me but my thoughts were worse, plaguing me to the point that I was a restless bundle of nerves and anxiety.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it.

‘I need to go,’ I announced, unwilling to wait for him to process a damn thing. ‘I’m serious, Gibs. You need to get me out of here, lad. I need to go home and check.’

‘You can’t walk out of the hospital on a hunch,’ Gibsie shot back, glaring at me. ‘Christ, Johnny, you can’t even walk without help. How do you propose I smuggle you down to Cork, ya langer? Under my fucking jumper?’

‘Something’s happening to her, Gibs,’ I strangled out, feeling my heart hammer against my chest. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’

‘Hold up a sec, I’ve got an idea –’ Pausing, Gibsie pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked a few buttons before placing it on loudspeaker and setting it down on the bed between us.

‘Hello?’ Claire’s voice filled the silence after three short rings.

‘Claire-bear,’ Gibsie replied, holding out a hand towards me, gesturing for me to stay quiet when I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

‘Gerard.’ Relief filled her tone as she spoke. ‘Are you okay? How’s Johnny?’

Keeping his eyes on me, Gibs ignored her questions and asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘T-tell you what?’ Claire asked, sounded worried.

‘About Shannon’s father.’

‘What the fuck!’ I mouthed, ready to kill him.

‘Wait,’ he mouthed back, holding a hand up to keep me back. ‘Trust me.’

‘What are you t-talking about?’ was Claire’s hesitant response.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he bluffed, slapping a hand over my mouth.

‘She told Johnny, didn’t she?’ Claire sobbed. ‘Oh god, and he told you.’

My heart stopped dead in my chest.

My entire world collapsed.

I was right.

I was fucking right!

‘Yeah, she told him,’ Gibsie said, sounding furious. ‘What I want to know is why you didn’t tell anyone, Claire?’

‘I didn’t know for sure,’ she hurried to say, sounding devastated. ‘She never confirmed anything, but all the bruises…I knew he was doing something to her. I was afraid, Gerard. I was scared, okay?’

And then it hit me like a goddamn freight train.

‘Who’s hurting you, baby? I’ll fix it.’

‘It’s a secret.’

‘I won’t tell.’

‘My father.’

Moving on instinct, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and ripped off my covers. Sliding out of bed, I hobbled towards the bathroom door with 999 already dialed.

‘Johnny, what are you doing, lad?’ Gibsie called after me.

‘The right thing,’ I hissed, furious.

‘Should we talk to your dad first?’ he asked. Climbing off the bed, he moved towards me. ‘He’s the barrister, lad, and we don’t know what’s –’

Holding a hand up to ward Gibs off, I pressed my phone to my ear and concentrated on the operator’s voice. ‘999, what is your emergency?’

‘My girlfriend’s in danger,’ I hissed down the line, losing the fight to control my emotions. ‘She’s only sixteen years old. She’s a minor and she needs your help. She lives at 95 Elk Terrace in Ballylaggin, County Cork, okay? Did you get that? 95 Elk Terrace. She’s really small okay? Fucking tiny. She can’t defend herself and I can’t get to her –’ Trembling from head to toe, I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles in the bathroom, clenched my jaw, and growled, ‘I need you to send someone over to the house right away because her scumbag father has been beating the shite out of her.’

‘Well,’ Gibsie said grimly from the bathroom doorway when I had ended the call. Folding his arms across his chest, he gave me a nod of approval. ‘You are the definition of the cat amongst the pigeons.’

‘Christ, Gibs.’ Exhaling a ragged breath, I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and hissed, ‘How did I not see this?’

‘In all fairness, lad, how were you supposed to?’ Gibsie offered with a sigh. ‘Look at your parents, Johnny. Hell, I’d put money on John having never raised a hand to you before.’

True.

‘Exactly,’ Gibsie filled in, reading my thoughts. ‘It’s hard to imagine something like that happening when it’s so beyond the scale of normal for you that it’s pretty much incomprehensible.’

‘It didn’t click,’ I choked out, wrestling with the huge tsunami of guilt rising up inside of me. ‘I just…I didn’t see this in my head.’

‘Listen, I texted your Dad,’ he replied. ‘He’s on the way, Johnny, lad. He’ll help us.’

‘Good,’ I replied, tone clipped, as I tried to catch my breath and process this. ‘I’m going to need him to take my case when I go down for murder.’

‘Think he’ll represent me, too?’ Gibsie asked. Shrugging, he added, ‘When you’re embarking on hell, it’s always good to have a buddy.’