But I wasn’t foolish enough to push my luck when it came to my father and moved for the bread bin with the intention of making a cheese sandwich to go.
Getting out of this kitchen and up to my bedroom without confrontation was my goal for the next minute or so while I hurriedly pieced together a lopsided sandwich and poured myself a glass of water from the tap.
"Goodnight Dad," I whispered when I had my sandwich and water ready.
"Don’t be late again," was all he replied, not taking his eyes off the hurley in his hands. "Do ya hear me, girl?"
"I hear you," I croaked out and then scrambled up the staircase to the sanctitude of my bedroom.
Once inside, I flicked the lock and sank down against my door, desperately trying to get my heartrate under control.
Today was Friday.
Friday was a safe day.
11
A fist in the face preferable to a pie
Johnny
My head was wrecked.
My body was in bits.
I couldn’t enjoy the win or truly celebrate with the team because I was sulking.
Sulking over something I couldn’t figure out.
Refusing the countless bottles of beer thrust in my face, I sat brooding on the couch in Hughie's living room, with the Man of the Match trophy propped on the cushion beside me, my winners medal around my neck, biding my time until I could slip away, drive home, and drown myself in an ice bath.
It was my duty to be with my teammates after a big win like this.
Being the captain, I was supposed to be leading the celebrations.
Dance music was blasting from the stereo in the corner, Gigi D'Agostino's I'll Fly with You, and I knew that stupid duh, duh do de duh foghorn chant would be stuck in my head all night.
The house was littered with the team and people from school, all drinking, eating, and dancing around the place.
Instead of joining in on the banter, I was icing my thigh because putting the ice on my balls wouldn’t be socially acceptable, shoving around a piece of steak Hughie's Ma, Sinead, had cooked me around on my plate, and thinking about a girl who couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough.
That showed it all right there.
Everyone else was drinking and enjoying themselves, while I refueled on protein and drove myself demented over a girl.
Was this what rejection felt like?
If so, it fucking sucked.
What possessed me to go over to Shannon, I'll never know, but everyone was screaming around me, the crowd was in my face, I needed a reprieve, and I saw her standing there, all big-eyes and lonesome, and something just shifted inside of me.
In the moment it made sense to just go over and talk to her.
Because I didn’t want her to be on her own.
Because I could hardly concentrate during the game, knowing she was watching me.
Because when she turned around to leave, my legs moved of their own accord, desperate to intercept her.
I can take you home when you have to go?
What the actual fuck?
I might as well have shouted, love me, fucking love me at the girl.
I felt like a bleeding eejit.
What was I thinking inviting her to the party?
Worse, what was I thinking expecting her to say yes?
I was a glorified stranger to her.
Jesus Christ.
I was so disappointed in myself.
For the bones of two months, I'd been doing so well, so goddamn well, in my attempts to stay away from her.
I couldn’t get her out of my head, but dammit, I was keeping my distance.
One adrenalin pumped victory and I blew it.
Worse than blowing it, I dragged her into a picture with me.
And she looked terrified…
"You alright, lad?" Feely asked, sinking down on the couch alongside me.
Grunting my response, I dragged the cushion from behind my back and set it down on my lap, covering the purpling spreading down my right thigh.
I was still in my kit, as were most of the team.
They were still donning their jerseys because they wanted to show off – and rightly so.
Five-in-a-row winners of the School Boys Shield was a new record for Tommen and some of the younger lads first taste of silverware.
I was still in my gear because I didn’t have the energy to tog off after the match.
If it didn’t look so appealing to the scouts, I'd throw the towel in on the school team and save my body for academy or club games.
"You know, Sinead would have a look at it for you, if you asked her," Feely interrupted my thoughts by saying. "She's a nurse, lad."
I turned to look at him. "What?"
He gestured to my leg. "It's giving you trouble again?"
Striving to reign in my irritation, I shook my head and said, "No, I'm grand. Took a kicking in the ruck, that's all, lad."
The look Patrick gave me was one of apprehension, but he didn’t push it.
I liked that about him.
He didn’t push shite.
If it wasn’t his business, he didn’t ask to know.
"You not drinking tonight?" I asked him, steering the topic away from my failings. "Big win for the school, lad. You should be celebrating."
"I should be celebrating?" Patrick smirked. "What about Mr. MOM himself? If anyone should be kicking back, then it's you."
I smirked at the term Mr. MOM –meaning man of the match – and said, "I've academy training on Saturdays. What's your excuse?"
"Not in the mood," was all he replied.
Like earlier when he didn’t push me for information, I returned the favor.
"I'm actually thinking of heading off," he added, standing up. "I was wondering if you could give me a lift home?"
Like a starving dog presented with a juicy bone, I snapped at his offer.
Tossing my plate and icepack on the coffee table in front me, I pulled myself to a stand and inhaled several steadying breaths through my nose before putting weight on my leg. "Ready when you are."
Patrick smirked but didn’t say anything about my over enthusiasm.
Reaching down, he scooped up my trophy from the couch and handed it to me – thank fuck, because if I had to crouch again I wouldn’t have been able to get back up.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gibsie called out over the music, noticing my attempt at leaving. "Sit your ass down there, Cap," he ordered, ploughing through the crowd towards me. "You're not going anywhere yet."
I opened my mouth to tell him to shag off, but two of the lads from the team, Luke Casey and Robbie Mac, came barreling towards me, dragging me back down on the couch before planting themselves down on either side of me.
I looked to Patrick who shrugged in resignation.
We both knew we weren't getting out of here anytime soon, not when Gibsie turned the music off and announced, "I have a speech to make."
"Sorry, Cap," Robbie Mac snickered. "But you have to hear this."
Resisting the urge to roar from the pain searing through my lower half, I shook my head and reached for my icepack. "For fuck's sake, Gibs."
With his championship medal still dangling around his neck, Gibsie dragged the coffee table over to the stereo and hopped up.
With his jersey wrapped around his head like a fucking bandana, he grabbed the remote control off the unit behind him and held it to his mouth like it was his own personal microphone.
The lads on the team threw their heads back and howled with laughter as he tapped the remote and performed a sound check.
Bleeding eejit…
With a shit eating grin etched on his face, Gibsie tapped his 'mic', and said, "How's it going tonight?" He glanced down at the medal resting on his chest and grinned. "We could get used to this, couldn’t we, lads!"
A deafening burst of cheers and roars of agreement came from the room.
"Alright boys, jaysus, no need to roar at me," he taunted. "For fuck's sake, I'm in the same room as ya!"
His playful response drew an even louder response from the team and our friends.
"Anyways," he chuckled, "Getting down to business, I have a little song I'd like to sing, for the special person in my life."
Oohs and awwws came from a group of girls in the doorway.
I rolled my eyes at how easily the pretty-boy flanker could charm them.