Keeping 13 Read online

  "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 y
ou, 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 j
ust 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?"