“Now, Johnny, pet, I’ve put a mixture of muffins and cakes in the basket, plenty for everyone, and don’t forget to tell your mother to give me a call. I need the dates for the children’s birthdays,” Mam said on Thursday morning when Johnny stopped by to pick me up for school.
By the time I made it down the staircase to intercept her, she had already cornered my best friend in the front hallway. “I’ve made every one of your birthday cakes from the age of twelve and I plan to do the same for the Lynch children,” Mam continued to say, as she handed my best friend a gigantic picnic basket full of goods from the bakery. “She’s a mighty bit of stuff is your mother.”
“She’s a keeper alright,” Johnny agreed with a polite nod. “And thanks a million, Sadhbh. Ma will be delighted. I’ll tell her to give you a buzz. She was saying that she wanted to bring you over for coffee soon.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Mam replied with a beaming smile. “I’m looking forward to meeting the newest members of the Kavanagh clan.”
“The youngest two are worth meeting,” I tossed out, bouncing off the last step. “But the middle fella is a demon.”
“Alright, Gibs?” Johnny smirked, attention flicking to me. “Looking sharp, lad.”
“Alright, Kav.” I winked. “Right back at ya.”
“Oh, good, you found your uniform,” Mam said, retraining her entire focus on me. “Sweet Jesus, would you look at the state of you.” Catching ahold of my necktie, the woman all but strangled me to death in her attempt to make me look presentable. “Now.” Admiring her handiwork, she patted me down, pulling and probing at the collar until she was satisfied. “You’re growing more handsome by the day, bubba.”
“I know,” I agreed with a wolfish grin. “I’m lovely to look at, aren’t I?”
“Come on, bubba,” Johnny drawled, tone laced with sarcasm, as he retreated in the direction of his car, armed with a wicker basket containing what I knew was a mountain of freshly baked goodies.
“You’ll make sure Edel gets the basket, won’t you, Johnny?” Mam asked, following us out to the car. “And whatever you do, don’t let that son of mine anywhere near those muffins. You know what he’s like with chocolate. The poor child can’t control himself.”
That was the thing about my mother. She might have horrible taste in men, not to mention a poorly angled moral compass when it came to upholding marital vows, but she had a heart of gold.
Contrary to my feelings towards anything with the last name Allen, I had a good relationship with my mam. I loved the woman, and I knew she loved me.
Mam seemed to know how to manage me by giving me both the space I needed when my mind went dark, and the concessions required when I lost my head and screwed up. She understood that I had issues hanging over my head since childhood that I was trying to deal with myself, and she never overstepped or pushed me for more. She handled me the way I needed her to, and it was what worked for us.
“Will do, Sadhbh,” Johnny replied politely, placing the basket in the boot of his car, along with a mountain of other crap. “Thanks a million.”
“And you’ll keep an eye on him for me at school, won’t you, love?”
“Always.”
“Good boy, Johnny.”
“Good boy, Johnny.” Rolling my eyes, I tossed my bags into the boot and turned back to my mother. “Keep an eye on me? What the fuck, Mam? Am I three years old again?”
“Language, Bubba.”
“Apologies, Mother.” My attention flicked to the tiny brunette leaning against the passenger door when we reached his Audi, and my heart softened.
“Hi, Gibs.”
“Little Shannon.” I smiled. “How’s my second favorite girl in the world?” She was looking a hell of a lot more put together than last weekend. Hungover at the beach and puking her guts up. “All set for fifth year?”
“Sufficiently terrified,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. “And I guess we’ll soon see if I’m ready or not, huh?”
“You’ve got this, little fighter,” I encouraged, ruffling her hair when she walked over. “You’re going to make this school year your bitch.”
“Damn straight she is.” Without a hint of hesitation, my bulldozer of a best friend hooked an arm around his girlfriend and pulled her close. “You’ve got this, Shan,” he whispered, bending low enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “And you’ve got me.”
“Yeah.” Releasing a shaky breath, she snaked her arm around his waist and smiled up at him. “I do.”
I knew it from the very beginning that what Johnny had with Shannon was permanent. I’d never seen a fella more plagued by his feelings than Johnny. He loved the bones of that girl and, yeah, it took him his usual amount of time to predict, ponder, panic, and, finally, process his feelings, but he had; and once his mind was set, it was a done deal.
Shannon Lynch was his endgame, and Johnny Kavanagh was hers.
Because when Johnny executed his decision, that was it. He didn’t change his mind and he didn’t flee. I’d never seen that level of commitment from anyone, let alone someone so young, but that was Johnny. He was commitment personified. Dedication was his middle name, and he didn’t go back on his word.
That’s why it had hurt him so much last year when Cormac had fucked him over with Bella. Because he could never do that to a friend, so it was impossible for him to conceive such a betrayal.
It wasn’t the way he was programed.
That’s why he was my best friend, and I could die on a hill of fealty to him.
Because it would be returned tenfold.
After all, it was his arrival in Ballylaggin that I credited to saving my life. If he hadn’t walked into my classroom that day, if he hadn’t offered me that chance to reinvent myself, then I honestly didn’t know where I would have ended up.
Yeah, we had shits and giggles, and banter galore, but when the cards were on the table, he had my back, and I had his. There was a permanence to that kind of friendship that soothed something deep inside of me.
I wanted to be that self-assured, but I wasn’t programed the same way as he was. I didn’t think like Cap or move like him. I was too impulsive and loose-lipped to ever be in control of my emotions like he was.
Unlike Johnny, rugby wasn’t the be-all and end-all of my world. I played because it was fun. It was a bonus that I happened to be good at it. All my friends were playing so I joined in. What the hell else was I supposed to do at lunchtime and on the weekends? Besides, it got me out of class on numerous occasions throughout the school year. The fact that I was better than most was a nice bonus.
Apparently, physical activities were my strong point, which was a blessing considering I sure as shit wasn’t going to win any awards with books.
I wanted to be smart like the rest of them. To hand in my homework and not sweat half my body weight out for fear of being called on in class to read out loud or listen to the usual “your writing is illegible” spiel. Like I didn’t already know it. It was illegible because I couldn’t fucking spell so it was easier to scribble the words out and make it look so messy that the teachers didn’t call on me.
My thoughts weren’t as clear as his, and my future wasn’t set in stone. It was blurred and changing every day. I didn’t know my own mind because I was afraid of it. To be in my head too much. To think too much.
So, I didn’t.
I didn’t think.
I refused to dwell on the past, which made it hard for me to plan for the future. Because I had a feeling that in order to thrive in the future, a person had to put to bed their past.
That wasn’t something I could do right now.
It wasn’t something I could contemplate facing.
“What about you?” Shannon asked, snapping me back to the present. “Are you ready for sixth year?”
“You know me, Little Shannon,” I replied, winking when Johnny opened the passenger door for her, “I was born ready.”
“Enjoy your first day, son,” Keith said, joining my mother on the footpath a few moments later, coffee cup in hand. “Remember what we said about knuckling down.”
An uneasy feeling settled inside of me, watching him talk to my friends. Repressing the urge to scream I’m not your son for the millionth goddamn time, I swallowed down my bitterness, slapped on a smile for my friends’ sakes, and said, “Will do, Fa.”
Mam beamed at me, thinking the word Fa was a term of endearment for the man she’d thrust into my life when I was six. In her mind, Fa was short for father. In mine, it was short for fucking asshole.
“How did the summer campaign go for you, Johnny?” Keith asked, steering his attention to my friend. “I heard you were offered one hell of a contract up the country.”
“It was a productive campaign,” Kav, ever the professional, answered in that usual tone of voice he used for reporters and media. Polite but distant. Humble but self-assured. “And nothing is set in stone yet. I still have my final year of school to complete before any decisions are made.”
“But you’ll eventually turn professional?”
“Like I said.” Johnny glanced back at his girl before adding, “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”
“Well, you must have made some impression on the coaches if they wanted to sign you up early.”
“I had an adequate tour.”
“He was amazing,” Shannon piped up from the passenger seat.
“He was fucking epic,” I was quick to add, clapping my best friend’s shoulder before yanking the back door open and climbing inside. “He outperformed everyone.”
“That’s a bold statement.” Keith’s brows shot up. “You have a lot of faith in your friend there, son.”
“Yeah, I do,” I shot back, leaning out the open window, because in all fairness, this was my best friend we were talking about. He had complete control over his body and mind, and it was something rare. Something to be envious of. To have that much self-belief. To be so self-controlled, so headstrong and full controlled. To know your mind and go for it without doubting yourself.
Johnny Kavanagh was, at eighteen years old, one of the best rugby players in the country, and I had no doubt that give him a few years, he would raise those stakes to be the best in the world. He was that talented.
“My son Mark played outside center for Tommen back in the day,” the asshole himself continued to say, bragging and boring us to tears. “Of course, he didn’t turn professional like yourself. Went down the finance route instead.”
“Probably for the best,” I taunted, struggling to keep my smile in check, “all things considered.” You know, since the academy frowns on rapists that drive teenage girls to suicide and all that jazz.
“My spin is gone. My spin is gone!” a familiar voice yelped from across the street. “Don’t leave without me!”
Craning my head around, I watched as a whirlwind of blonde curls came hobbling down the driveway of the Biggs’ house, with a juice carton in one hand, a high-heeled shoe in the other.
Yeah, a high-heeled shoe as in singular. “Johnny, Gerard!” Because the other was on her right foot. “Wait for me, guys!”
“Good timing,” Johnny told Claire, catching her school bag midair when she flung it at him.
“Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver,” she replied before diving into the backseat. “Hugh, the turncoat, left me behind.”
“Claire-Bear.” The minute my eyes landed on her, I felt instant relief. Like the button on a skintight pair of jeans had been popped, giving me space to breathe again.
“Gerard.” Her smile was wide, genuine, and needed so much more than she would ever know. Leaning across the seats, she smacked a sticky, lip-gloss tainted kiss to my cheek before turning her attention to Shannon.
“Morning, bestie,” she cooed, leaning between the seats to give her an affectionate squeeze. “Oh my God, you smell amazing!”
“Thanks,” Shannon replied, cheeks blushing. “It’s the perfume Johnny brought me back from camp.”
“Well, it’s working for you, girl.” Flopping back down next to me, Claire reached around for the seatbelt, taking the middle seat much to my delight. “This is our year, Shan. I can feel it in my bones! Autumn is a such a good season for me.”
“You really think so?”
“Oh yeah,” Claire cheered, fist bumping both of us. “Here’s to friendship, fifth year, falling leaves, and freaky Halloween costumes!”
“Jesus,” I groaned, glum at the thought of the impending school year. “How is the summer over already?”
“No clue.”
Tossing Claire’s bag in the boot to join the rest of ours, Johnny rounded the car and politely waved off my mother, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
Leaning across the console, he kissed his girlfriend before turning the key in the ignition.
The minute he turned the key, the engine roared to life. It was accompanied by the sound of Fort Minor’s “Remember the Name” as it blasted from his impressive car stereo.
Kav’s playlist was always set in beast mode. It didn’t matter what day of the week it was, or what the occasion, the music he played was ferocious, aggressive, and highly motivating. Seriously, after spending too long in his car, or listening to his iPod, I felt like running laps and swinging fists.
The music he listened to was in direct contrast to the mild-mannered persona he presented to the world. Of course, I knew he had the ability to be a fucking demon given the chance, but the lad was just so restrained.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about that man that just rubs me up the wrong way,” Johnny said, lowering the volume on the stereo.
That would be your good judgement, lad.
“I know he’s married to your ma, Gibs, and I mean no offense,” he tossed over his shoulder, “because Keith’s always been sound to me, but there’s just something … ”
“Sleazy about him?” Claire chimed in, adjusting her seatbelt.
“Sleazy,” I chuckled, draping my arm around her shoulder. “Good one, Claire-Bear.”
“I know, right?” she replied, beaming back at me.
“Yes,” Johnny said in an enthusiastic tone from the front seat. “Sleazy. That’s the word. I was going to go with off, but sleazy hits the nail on the head.”
“That’s because he’s a cheater-cheater, pumpkin eater.”
“Claire!”
“What?” Cackling in amusement, Claire looped her arm through mine and rested her head on my shoulder, causing the smell of her strawberry shampoo to attack my senses. Fucking perfect. “Wife stealers are sleazy slimeballs.”
“Oh my God!” Shannon squealed. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not?” she scoffed without a hint of remorse. “It’s true.”
See, this is why I loved Claire Biggs.
She saw through all the bullshit and facades.
“Ah, he’s not the worst of them,” I threw out there, because agreeing with Claire would open a can of worms that I had zero intentions of tending to. Also, I happened to be sitting in the same car as the girl who had endured sixteen years of living under the same roof as a bloodthirsty murderer. Compared to Teddy Lynch, Keith was a lamb. Perspective.
“Oh my God, guys, I almost forgot!” Yelping in excitement, Shannon twisted around and thrust her phone in our faces. “You need to see this picture.”
“Well, would you look at that,” I whistled, snatching up the phone to get a better look at the chubby, blond-haired infant, wrapped in a blue blanket, filling the screen of her phone. “I helped make him.”
“You drove them to the hospital to have the baby, Gibs, don’t lose the run of yourself,” Johnny filled in, pressing a kiss to Shannon’s hand before settling it on his lap with his. “He’s a gorgeous little fella, isn’t he?”
“Drove the horror train, more like,” I muttered under my breath, still feeling slightly traumatized from the noises that had come out of Aoife’s mouth when she was in the throes of labor the other night. Yeah, the very night I had the misfortune of coming achingly close to seeing Joey’s spawn being calved.
“Shut the front door!” Claire squealed, snatching the phone out of my hands to get a better look. “Look at that itty-bitty, baby Joey.”
“Joe said he has my nose,” Shannon gushed proudly, clasping her hands together. “He’s so beautiful, guys. And I know I haven’t met him yet, but I swear that I love him to death already.”
“Jesus.” I blew out a breath and repressed a shudder. “I still can’t believe Joey’s a daddy.”
“He’s always been one of those, lad,” Johnny said.
“True that, Kav.”
“Another Lynch boy.”
“He’s not a Lynch, he’s a Joey.”
“Newsflash, Joey’s a Lynch, Gibs.”
“Nah, he’s a Joey. Like Bono. He doesn’t need a last name. Iconic.”
“I think the term you’re searching for is infamous.”
“Aww.” Claire continued to croon and coo at the screen of the phone. “I want one.”
“You want one of those things?” I gaped at her. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Me, too,” Shannon admitted with a wistful sigh. “I want two.”
“Two’s a good number,” Johnny agreed. “But three’s better.”
“Jesus Christ, it’s contagious!” Snatching the phone out of Claire’s hand, I tossed it back to Shannon. “Here, put that phone away before that baby’s picture causes an epidemic.”
