by Chloe Walsh
"Call my dog a mutt again and you'll be wearing that frying pan," Johnny warned.
"My sincerest apologies, lad." Gibsie threw his hands up in retreat. "I never meant to insult your precious pooch."
Ignoring the snickering and banter, I swung around and stared up at Johnny. "I'm so sorry about this."
His attention flickered from the boys to me and stayed there. "It's okay, Shannon." His voice was impassive, but his eyes were burning with something I was afraid to decipher because I had the distinct feeling that in this moment, my eyes mirrored his. "You can wash up in my bathroom."
"No, honestly, it's okay." My face was burning with embarrassment. "I don’t have to shower in your house."
"Ah, yeah you fucking do," Joey called out. "I meant it when I said you're not getting into Aoife's car like that. I could run a drag off ya with the state you're in."
"For fuck's sake," Johnny snapped.
Yanking the kitchen door open, he caught ahold of my hand and practically dragged me down the hallway.
"Come on," he ordered. "I'll look after you."
"Uh, okay," I strangled out, because in all honesty what hope did I have of saying no when a gigantic rugby player was dragging me through his house?
"For the record," Johnny called over his shoulder as he tugged me up the staircase, turning right when we reached the upstairs landing. "I don’t think you smell that bad."
"Um, thank you?" I strangled out, unsure of the appropriate response to a boy telling you that you don’t smell that bad, and too out of breath to come up with anything better.
He was moving fast, my hand still wrapped in his, and I had to run to keep up with his long strides.
He didn’t stop moving until we were at the end of the landing and standing outside a closed door.
I noted that we had passed at least half a dozen other doors on this section of the landing, but I was too lightheaded from trying to keep up with him to really take stock of my surroundings.
Releasing my hand, Johnny pushed the door inwards and stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow him.
I did – and it was like stepping into a bedroom version of the hall of fame.
The room was huge, the walls were blue, and the enormous, four-poster bed took center stage.
There was an entertainment center opposite the bed that resembled a miniature cinema, but none of those details were what stuck out in my mind.
It was the rows upon rows of trophies and medals ordaining the walls that had my immediate attention.
Framed jerseys littered the walls, along with several peculiar looking caps and posters of the Irish rugby team.
There was a huge oak desk settled in the space at the far wall between two windows.
On top of the desk was an expensive looking laptop and heaps of school books and exam papers.
Above it hung a huge corkboard, mounted to the wall.
Stuck to the board were countless photographs – of different celebrity athletes.
All of whom Johnny was standing beside in the pictures.
"So," Johnny said with a shrug. "This is my room."
He walked over to his bed and kicked several items of clothes under it.
"It's a nice room," I replied, chewing on my lip as I glanced around.
In typical teenage boy fashion, it was a complete mess with the mandatory posters of semi-naked girls with humongous breasts ordaining the walls.
Clothes were strewn everywhere, and PlayStation controllers and games littered the floor by the TV beside a couple of leather beanbags.
"You can shower in here," Johnny said then. Shaking his head, he burst into action, moving for a door in the left corner of his room, near his bed.
"If you're sure?" I squeezed out, feeling incredibly intimidated to be standing in his personal space and potentially removing all my clothes.
We were virtual strangers.
It seemed wrong to be in his space.
Seemed wrong, but felt so right…
"Yeah, it's no problem," he quickly replied, opening the door for me. He poked his head inside for a brief moment before popping back out. "There's fresh towels on the rack. Use whatever you like."
Holy crap.
This was crazy.
It was too surreal.
I left my house this morning to buy some hash browns and a can of coke, and now I was standing in Johnny Kavanagh's bedroom, about to take a shower in his ensuite bathroom.
How was this even happening?
"Do you want me to throw your clothes in the dryer while you're in the shower?" he asked, startling me back to the present.
"My clothes?" My hands moved to my middle and I quickly shook my head. "Uh, no, that's okay."
He nodded stiffly and I watched him kick several more items of clothes under his bed. "I'd give you something of my mother's but she locks her clothes room when she travels."
"Her clothes room?"
"Yeah, she, uh, my Ma works with clothes." Johnny shifted uncomfortably. "It's more of a giant fucking wardrobe of a room if you ask me, but she calls it her office." He smirked then, clearly thinking about something funny. "Gibs broke in there one time and wrecked some important piece for a new line she was working on, so she keeps it locked when she's in London now."
"Your Mam designs clothes?"
"Yeah."
My eyes widened. "Like a fashion designer?"
Johnny nodded.
"In London?"
Another nod.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Whoa…
"What's your father?" I muttered. "A doctor?"
"No, he's a barrister," he replied without batting an eyelid.
Jesus.
His mother was a fashion designer and his father was a bloody high-class lawyer.
Well, at least that explains the mansion I'm standing inside.
Johnny's gaze darted to his bedside locker then and he hurried over and yanked open the top drawer before sweeping the contents on top into the drawer.
"I'll go find you something of mine you can change into," he mumbled, cheeks turning slightly pink, as he shoved the drawer closed and kicked a bunch of papers that had toppled off his locker under the bed. "I'll leave some clothes on the bed just in case you want to... Just pick whatever you want."
I hesitated, taking one step forward and three steps back, before taking a deep breath and walking over to the bathroom door.
Johnny stepped aside for me to pass, but he was so big that I still managed to brush against him.
"Thanks, Johnny," I whispered before hurrying into his bathroom with a raging case of hormones and a hammering heart.
"You're welcome, Shannon," I heard him say just before I clicked the door shut.
Oh Jesus.
What the hell was happening?
35
Answers
Johnny
"I've a question, Joey the hurler," I snarled when I stalked back into the kitchen, having deposited his naked sister in my shower.
"Go for it, Mr. Rugby," Joey shot back, unfazed.
I swung my gaze to Gibsie and gestured to the door. "I need a minute, Gibs."
My best friend must have seen the fury in my eyes because for once in his life, he didn’t make a smart comment or crack a joke.
He just stood up and walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
"Now," I said when we were alone, eyes locked on Joey. "Who the fuck is putting their hands on your sister?"
Joey's brows shot up.
"Yeah, you heard me," I growled. "I found her on her hands and knees at school on Friday, throwing her guts up." I ran a hand through my hair, furious and beyond agitated. "Something's happening to her and I want to know what it is."
"Why?"
"Because I want to fix it."
"Why?"
"Because no one should be putting their goddamn anything on her," I barked.
"What did she tell you?" he asked calmly.
&nb
sp; "That she fell over Legos," I bit out.
Fell over Legos my ass.
Fell into a fist was more like it.
Joey studied me with sharp, green eyes for the longest moment before nodding. "If Shannon says that's what happened, then that's what happened."
"No –no! Don’t give me that shit," I hissed, frustrated. "This isn’t the first time I've seen her with marks." I distinctly remembered a red mark on her face a couple of weeks ago, and that mark on the back of her neck on Friday. "What's happening to her?"
Joey leaned back on his stool, eyeing me with a superior fucking expression I hated.
He knew something I didn’t, and it was driving me insane.
Yeah, I wasn’t sure I liked Joey the hurler that much anymore.
"Who is hurting your sister?" I repeated.
He needed to give me something before I jumped to conclusions and kicked his ass.
"Is it those pricks from your school?"
Did they get her for what I did at the bar on Friday?
"Was it them?" I demanded. "Those girls?"
Joey remained silent.
"Is she hurting herself?" I asked.
He continued to stare at me.
"Are you hurting her?"
He arched a brow.
"Lad, you better start talking, because brother or no brother, I will kick your fucking ass."
"You'll need to talk to Shannon," he finally said. "I can't give you the answers you want."
"Yes, you can," I snapped. "Just open your mouth and speak."
"No." He shook his head. "I can't and I won't. If she trusts you enough, she'll tell you. If she doesn't, she doesn’t. Either way, it's not my call."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, furious. "Not your call?"
"Exactly what it sounds like," Joey countered. "It means it's not my call. But I can assure you that I have never put my hands on my sister," he added, giving me a hard glare. "Or any other woman for that matter."
"I want to know what's going on here, Lynch," I snapped, striving for every piece of control I could muster. "If she's being bullied or some shit like that, then I can help. I can fix this if you tell me."
His brows rose. "You can fix this?"
"For her?" I nodded determinedly. "Absolutely."
"You like her." He arched another brow at me and tilted his head to one side. "Maybe even more than like her."
I didn’t bother denying it.
Not to him.
This wasn’t Gibsie, or one of the lads at school trying to get a rise out of me.
This was her brother.
I knew better than to spew bullshit in this moment.
"I want to know what's happening," was all I replied. "I need to."
"Listen, I'd love to tell you," Joey finally said with a heavy sigh. "I'd have no goddamn problem laying it all out there for you. I have nothing to hide. But she –" he pointed to the door behind me, "won't want me to do that. She would die if she thought anyone knew her business. After all the shit that went down on her at BCS, she wants that clean slate at Tommen. I want that for her, too."
"So she is being bullied?" My heart fucking sank. "Someone at Tommen?" If someone at my school did that to her face then I was going to burn the fucking school down. "Or from her old school?"
I had a hard time believing those creeps from the bar would be stupid enough to pull another stunt with her.
Call me full of myself, but I scared the shit out of them on Friday.
Joey stared hard at me for the longest moment before shaking his head.
"Listen, Kavanagh," he finally said. "If you want to know what goes on inside of that head of hers, then be worth it."
"Be worth it?" I frowned at his words. "Be worth what?"
"You're a smart guy," he shot back. "You'll figure it out."
I shook my head. "I don’t –"
My words were cut off by the sound of Joey's phone as it rang loudly.
Calm as a breeze, he held a finger up and dragged his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, then muttered a string of curses before pressing it to his ear.
"What the fuck do you want?" he snapped.
Jerking off the stool, Joey walked over to the stove and turned his back to me while he spoke in a hushed tone. "No, you were told …there's no back…I don’t give two shits how sorry you are…no…She's where?"
I watched as Joey's entire frame stiffened.
I strained to hear the person on the other line, but it was impossible.
"When did that happen…and the baby…okay….no…what the fuck do you want me to say…why would I be sad…it's a goddamn relief is what it is…fine…yeah, I'll be there…I just said I'd be there, didn’t I?"
Joey glanced behind him and caught me staring.
I arched a brow, not particularly giving a shit that he knew I was eavesdropping.
That's what I was doing.
I wasn’t about to deny it.
"I'll be there," Joey said in a low tone. "I'm on my way."
With that, he ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket.
"I need to take off," he said in that calm, cool, and collected tone of his.
"Take off?" I gaped at him. "Where?"
"I have somewhere I need to be," was all he replied and then moved for the door.
"Hold the fuck up," I ordered, stepping in his way. "Your sister is in the shower."
"Yeah." He rubbed his jaw and said, "I'm going to need you to hold onto her for me."
"Hold onto her?" I shook my head, struggling to comprehend what the fuck was happening. "You just want me to hold onto your sister?"
"That's what I said, wasn’t it?" Joey shot back tightly.
"You're not saying anything," I snarled. "That's the problem. You're not telling me shit!"
"I did tell you," he snapped. "I told you to ask Shannon."
"So, you're what, just going to leave her here?" I demanded. "For how long?"
"I don’t know," Joey shot back.
"You don’t know?"
"Yeah, I don’t fucking know," he spat. "Is that a problem?"
"It's not a problem that she's here," I growled. "It's a problem that you're leaving her here and I have no goddamn idea of what to tell her."
"Fine," Joey snapped, glaring at me with blazing green eyes. "Tell my sister our father just called. Our mother had a miscarriage on Friday night, and he's on the way home from the hospital with her now."
"Shite," I muttered.
"You have no fucking idea," Joey bit out as he shoved past me and stormed down the hallway.
"Do you want me to bring her straight home?" I asked, having no goddamn clue how to deal with this. I followed after him, feeling at a complete loss. "Or take her to the hospital–"
"I want you to hold fucking onto her," Joey roared. Stopping at the front door, he spun around and glared up at me. "Can you do that, Johnny Kavanagh? Can you look after my sister for me? "
"Yes," I bit out, not liking his tone but knowing he must be feeling some kind of grief. "I can."
"Good," he snapped. "I'll call when I can to sort out picking her up. Just keep her until I call you, okay?"
Sort out picking her up?
The fuck did he think his sister was?
A bleeding package?
Knowing the guy must be going through hell right now, I simply nodded and tapped my number into the phone he held out for me and handed it back to him.
"Gussie!" Joey barked, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I'm leaving now if you want a spin into town for your car."
Gibsie popped his head out from the living room door.
"Everything okay?" he asked, looking between us in confusion.
"Go on," I told Gibsie, gesturing for him to follow Joey who was stalking down the driveway to his car.
"You sure?"
I nodded stiffly.
Thankfully, Gibsie had the good sense to not ask questions.
Instead, he g
ave me a quick salute and hurried after Shannon's brother.
Exhaling a ragged breath, I walked over to the door and closed it quietly.
What the fuck was I going to do?
36
Bad news
Shannon
It took me a ridiculous amount of time to get the temperature right in Johnny's shower, because apparently, he liked to incinerate his skin when showering.
When I finally got the temperature down to a bearable heat and felt the power jets wash over my body, I had a hard time getting out.
Seriously, his shower was amazing.
It was a combo – a bath with an overhead shower – and I had to stand in an oval shaped tub with a curtain drawn across, but I swear it only added to the most luxuriating wash of my life.
Using his shampoo and soap felt weirdly inappropriate, like it wasn’t something I should be doing, but I was filthy and definitely smelly, so I lathered my body with samples from every available, fancy-looking bottle on the rack.
When I was finally clean and smelling like boy's body-wash – rather than wet dog – I climbed out, wrapped myself in a fresh towel, and bundled my dirty clothes in a ball.
The smell wafting from my clothes was so gross that I immediately dropped the bundle and had to breathe through my mouth for several moments to stop myself from gagging.
Joey and Gibsie were right.
I really did stink.
There was no way I could put anything I owned back on without projectile vomiting.
Pressing my ear against it, I listened carefully to make sure his bedroom was empty before unlocking the door and stepping out.
Seeing that it was empty, I exhaled a sigh of relief and tiptoed over to his bed to where a massive pile of clothes was strewn in a heap on the edge of the mattress.
Tucking my damp hair over one shoulder, I began to sort through the pile of clothes he had laid out for me.
Sifting through half a dozen t-shirts, I grabbed the smallest one – that happened to be size XL.
It was blue in color, soft to the touch, and it smelled like Johnny.
I quickly shrugged it on.
The hem fell to my mid-thigh, the short sleeves reaching my elbows, letting me know that I was practically a hobbit in comparison to him.
