Three dogs were where my father drew the line.
My folks had converted one of the garages into a home gym for workouts.
They supported my lifestyle and encouraged my dreams, even if they didn’t always agree with my methods of pursuing them.
We also had a separate outhouse built several years ago that contained a jacuzzi and sauna. It was a life saver after matches.
Our closest neighbors lived a mile and a half down the road so it was fairly secluded, and the house was south facing so it constantly captured the sun.
Even though I missed the noise and bustle of Dublin and spent a solid two years trying to get used to the quiet, I couldn’t deny that where I lived now was fucking beautiful.
Not a manor, just a nice place to live in.
"Come on, Johnny," Gibsie pleaded. "You've been in a horrible mood for weeks."
"I wonder why," I grumbled. "Listen, lad, I know you mean well –" I paused to grit my teeth when a nerve pain shot up my leg, "but I'm not going out tonight."
"Because of Bella?" Gibsie asked, leaning against the banister. "Or because of Shannon?"
"Because of me," I snapped, bristling. "Because I am dead on my feet."
Forcing myself not to limp, I made it to the staircase, inhaled a steadying breath, and pushed my legs to comply and not let me down.
Like they did earlier.
"You're limping, Johnny," Gibsie acknowledged in a quiet tone as he followed me down to my room.
"Keep your fucking voice down," I hissed, pushing my bedroom door open. "My Ma's in her office."
"Well you are," he countered in an oddly serious tone. "Are you okay?"
"Took a spill at training –" I paused to lift Sookie onto my bed, "Nothing a night's sleep won't fix."
"You sure that's all it is?" Gibsie asked, sinking down on one of the beanbags by the TV – "his" beanbag. "If you don’t want your mother knowing, I can drive you to the hospital to get it checked out –"
"I'm fine." Walking over to the beanbag next to his, I sank down beside him, only to hiss when a sharp pain rocketed up my pelvis. "Absolutely fucking fine."
Gibsie shook his head and reached for the remote control, thankfully keeping his thoughts to himself for once.
Flicking on the television, he began to channel surf. "What do you want to watch?"
"You can go out," I told him, stretching my legs out in front of me. "I'm not holding you back."
"Nah." Standing up, he walked over to the PS2 and switched it on before settling back down beside me. "I was only trying to get you out of the house."
"Appreciate it," I muttered, taking the controller he held out for me. "But not tonight."
"You're going to make that team, Johnny," he mumbled as he set up a game of FIFA 05. "You know that, right?"
Exhaling a steadying breath, I forced the panic threatening to engulf me back down and concentrated on the screen in front of me.
"You will," he added quietly.
"I hope so," I bit out, focusing way too hard on the controller in my hand. "I really fucking do, Gibs."
Otherwise, I was going to lose my mind.
"Do you want to get drunk?" he offered then. "Here – with your Da's whiskey, and no clingers following you around and tormenting you?"
I thought about it for a minute and exhaled a heavy sigh.
"Yeah, lad," I replied with a nod. "I really fucking do."
23
Exes and hell no's
Johnny
I saw her again today.
We passed each other no less than five times in the hallway, and every single time she put her head down and walked past me without so much as a backwards glance.
This wasn’t a new thing of course.
Shannon had been brushing me off like I was invisible for over a week now.
Nine days to be precise.
Being ignored didn’t sit well with me.
It was unfamiliar territory to me and I was quickly learning that I didn’t like it one bit.
Especially when the person ignoring me was the very same one who was tormenting my every waking thought – my dreams, too.
That's right; I was actually fucking dreaming about the girl now.
How messed up was that?
Last night, for instance, I dreamt that Shannon was watching me play.
Except instead of being on the school pitch, we were at the Aviva Stadium in Dublin.
And instead of wearing Tommen's black and white, I was wearing green and white.
Shannon had on a matching Irish jersey, with my name and number on the back, and she was cheering for me in the stands.
I was thrown the ball but when I caught it, Shannon began to cry.
For real, her face was contorted in pain and she was pointing at me.
That's when it got really disturbing because when I looked down, my legs were gone.
In their place were two stumps.
Then I began to shrink away, shriveling up like the creepy guy in the Harry Potter books.
Shannon's distraught face was the last thing I saw before I jerked awake.
It was fucking horrendous.
I woke up in a bog of sweat and had spent a solid five minutes patting my legs to assure my panicked mind that they were still there.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a warning sign.
Of what, I had no idea, but I had this god-awful feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t go away.
That feeling had stuck with me all day.
I couldn’t seem to shake it off.
I couldn’t shake her off.
None of this made any sense to me, and I had no goddamn clue why she was the person I wanted to go to.
Not Gibs.
Not my Ma.
Not my coaches.
I was freaking the fuck out inside, worrying myself half to death over the summer campaign, and it was a girl I barely knew, with soul deep eyes, that I wanted to confide in.
Because something told me I could.
Because somewhere deep down inside of me, I felt like she knew me.
Like she could save me?
Jesus, I was losing my bleeding mind…
After a disastrous last class on Friday – where I had retained not one iota of what the teacher had been prattling on about – I was heading out of the main building towards the P.E hall to catch up with Coach, when I heard a familiar voice call out my name.
For a split second, I debated pretending I hadn't heard her and walking out the door, but then she grabbed my hand and tugged me backwards, and manners won out.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I mentally reminded myself to be nice, before turning around to face her.
"Bella," I acknowledged with a curt nod.
She looked just as good as she always did, with her black hair styled into a bob and a full face of makeup.
She was tall and curved and filled her school uniform in all the right places.
Fortunately, I was completely unaffected.
"Hey, Johnny," Bella replied with a massive smile. She was tall, 5'11, but she still had to crane her head up to look at me. "How are you?"
The words 'like you give a shite', were on the tip of my tongue, but I toned my impatience down and went with, "What's up?" instead.
"Oh, you know, the usual," she replied, tucking her dark hair behind her ears.
Actually, I didn’t know.
I didn’t know anything about her and she knew even less about me.
We didn’t talk.
We fucked.
And that had been her decision more than it had been mine.
"I was coming out of the office and saw you walking outside," Bella continued to say, trailing her thumb over my wrist. "So I thought I'd come say hi."
Freeing my hand from hers, I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. "Hi."
"I feel like we haven't talked in so long," she added.
I glared at her. "We talked a few weeks ago."
When you were trying to force yourself on me.
And let's not forget about the million fucking messages and voicemails you've left me.
"We did?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah, Bella, we did."
"Oh god," she giggled, acting all coy. "I was completely wasted that night," she added. "I hardly remember a thing." She took a step closer. "I definitely don’t remember seeing you that night."
I stepped back. "Well, you did."
I wasn’t buying this convenient lack of memory bullshit.