This girl was going to get me into trouble.
I was in enough trouble as it stood.
I was on the outs with Coach.
Almost decapitating the girl wasn’t going to look good for me.
"Why'd you do that?" she whispered, clutching her small face in her even smaller hands. "You hurt me."
"I'm sorry," I repeated. I felt oddly helpless and it was a feeling I didn’t like. "I didn’t mean to."
She sniffled then, blue eyes watering, and something inside of me snapped.
Ah, shite.
Horrified, I threw my hands up and blurted out, "I'm so sorry," before crouching down and scooping her up from the grass. "Christ," I muttered, helpless, as I set her on her feet. "Don’t cry."
"It's my first day," she sniffled, swaying on her feet. "My fresh start and I'm covered in shit."
She was covered in shit.
"My Dad's going to kill me," she continued to choke out, clutching her torn skirt. "My uniform's ruined."
A pained, hissing sound tore from her throat then and the hand she was using to hold her skirt shot to her temple, causing the scrap of fabric to fall away from her body.
My eyes widened of their own accord, an unfortunate reaction of seeing a female's underwear.
Wolf whistles and cheering erupted from the lads.
"Oh god," she cried out, scrambling clumsily to retrieve her skirt.
"Go on, gorgeous!"
"Give us a twirl!"
"Fuck off, you assholes!" I roared at my teammates, stepping in front of the girl to block their view.
I could hear the lads cracking up behind me, laughing and talking shite, but I couldn’t concentrate on a word they were saying because the sound of my heart hammering in my chest was deafening me.
"Here," reaching for the hem of my jersey, I pulled it over my head and ordered, "Put that on."
"It's filthy," she sobbed, but didn’t stop me when I pulled it down over her head.
She slipped her hands into the sleeves and I felt an immense amount of relief when the hem fell to her knees, covering her up.
Christ, she really was a tiny little thing.
Was she even old enough to attend secondary school?
She didn’t look it.
Right now, she looked very, very young and…sad?
"Kavanagh, is the girl alright?" Coach demanded.
"She's grand!" I repeated, my words a harsh bark.
"Take her to the office," he instructed. "Make sure Majella checks her over."
Majella was the school's first respondent. She worked in the lunch hall and was the go-to woman when a student sustained an injury.
"Right, sir," I called back, flustered, quickly swooping down to snatch up her skirt and school bag.
I stepped closer and she flinched away from me.
"I'm only trying to help you," I stated in as gentle a tone I could muster, holding my hands up, as if to show her I meant no harm. "I'll take you to the office."
She looked at bit dazed and I worried I might have given her a concussion.
Knowing my luck, that's exactly what I'd done.
Fucking hell.
Flinging the bag over my shoulder, I tucked her skirt into the waistband of my shorts, placed a hand on her back, and tried to coax her up the hilly bank separating the pitch from the school grounds.
She wobbled on her feet like a baby foal, and I had to resist the sudden urge I had to wrap my arm around her shoulders.
A couple of minutes later, that was exactly what I had to do anyway because she kept losing her footing.
Panic surged through me.
I broke the fucking girl.
I broke her head.
I was going to get a suspension for losing my temper and a warrant put out for my arrest.
I was a cunt.
"I'm sorry," I continued to tell her, glaring daggers at every nosey bastard who decided to stop and gawk at us as we walked at a snail's pace.
She was in my jersey and it fell around her like a dress.
I was freezing my tits off beside her in nothing but a pair of training shorts, socks, and studded football boots.
Oh, and the pink fucking school bag slung on my back.
They could look all they wanted; my only concern was getting this girl's head checked out.
"I'm seriously fucking sorry."
"Stop saying sorry," she moaned, clutching her head.
"Right, sorry," I muttered, feeling her lean her weight on me. "But I am sorry. Just so you're clear."
"Nothing's clear," she croaked out, stiffening against my touch. "The ground's spinning."
"Ah Christ, don’t say that," I strangled out, tightening my arm around her rigid frame. "Please don’t fucking say that."
"Why'd you do that?" she whimpered, so frail and small and covered in shite.
"I'm an asshole," I informed her, shifting her pink school back onto my back as I tucked her in closer. "I fuck up a lot."
"Did you do it on purpose?"
"What?" Her words threw me enough to cause me to halt. "No." Twisting my body so I could look down at her face, I frowned and said, "I wouldn't never do that to you."
"You promise?"
"Yeah," I grunted, hitching her up with my arm and melding her body to my side. "I promise."
It was January.
It was wet.
It was cold.
And for some strange, disconcerting reason, I was burning the fuck up on the inside.
My words, for whatever reason, seemed to ease the tension inside this girl because she released a huge sigh, loosened her rigid frame, and allowed me to take her entire weight.
4
Faceplanting
Johnny
With a great deal of effort and a surprising show of otherwise absent self-control, I managed to respect her wishes and walk her to the office – when all I wanted to do was scoop her up in my arms and run for help.
I was panicked and worrying, and every time she groaned or sagged against me, the higher my anxiety grew.
However, having spent the last ten minutes outside the principal's office, listening to Mr. Twomey rant and rave, I was all out of that precious patience.
Why wasn’t he taking her off me?
Why the fuck was I still standing outside his office holding up a half comatose girl?
He was the adult here.
"Her mother is on the way," Mr. Twomey announced with an exasperated sigh, sliding his phone into his pocket. "How could this happen, Johnny?"
"I already told you. It was an accident," I hissed while I continued to hold the girl up, keeping her small frame tucked into my side. "You need to get Majella to check her over," I repeated for the fiftieth fucking time, "I think she has a concussion."
"Majella is out on maternity leave until Friday," Mr. Twomey barked. "What am I supposed to do with her? I have no first aid training."
"Then you better call a doctor," I shot back heatedly, still holding onto the girl, "because I broke her fucking head."
"Watch your language, Kavanagh," Mr. Twomey snapped.
I rolled off the standard, "yes, sir," not really giving a shite and not feeling particularly sorry either for that matter.
My role in the rugby academy meant that I was given a lot of leeway in this school, a lot of preferential treatment that other students didn’t get, but I wasn’t going to push it on my first day back.
Not when I'd used up my quota by maiming the new girl.
"Are you okay, Miss Lynch?" Mr. Twomey asked, prodding her like she was an uncooked turkey he didn’t want to catch salmonella from.
"It hurts," she moaned, sagging into my side.
"I know," I soothed, pulling her closer. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"Jesus, Johnny, this is all I need," Mr. Twomey hissed, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "It's her first day. Her parents coming here tearing up the school is the last thing I need."
"It was an accident," I bit out, angry now. She groaned and I made a conscious effort to lower my voice when I said, "I hardly meant to hurt the girl."
"Yes, well, tell that to her mother when she arrives," Mr. Twomey huffed. "She was already pulled out of Ballylaggin Community School for being verbally and physically attacked. And what happens on her first day at Tommen? This!"
"I didn’t attack her," I spat. "I made a bad kick."
Shifting her under my arm, I glared at the so-called authority figure.