There was an underage county selector for Cork in the stand, and I’d blown it.
Knowing that my father was also somewhere in the stands, watching my piss-poor performance, and plotting my punishment for disappointing him, only made me feel ten times worse than I already did.
Thoroughly depressed and thoroughly fucking stressed, I whipped my helmet off the minute the referee blew the final whistle and stalked off in the direction of the changing rooms, ignoring several claps on the shoulder from my teammates.
Tossing my hurley and helmet on top of my gear bag, I reached a hand behind my head and whipped my jersey off, ignoring all of the chatter around me.
Burning the fuck up from running around a pitch for the past hour, I blew out a harsh breath and snatched up my water bottle.
“Mighty stuff, lads,” Eddie, our club trainer, declared with a clap, when he walked into the changing room a few minutes later. “That was a solid win. Those lads from St. Pats are a hard bunch. They were never going to go down without a fight, so be proud of yourselves for a hard-earned victory.”
Unscrewing the cap on my bottle, I poured the contents over my face and neck, feeling immediate relief when the water began to cool my overheated skin.
“Good game,” a familiar voice said, and I turned my head just enough to see none other than Molloy’s boyfriend, Paul Rice. He was taking up perch on the bench beside me, freshly showered, and with a towel slung around his waist. “I thought you were in for that goal in the second half.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, tossing my bottle back into my bag, and reaching for a towel. “Me too.” The ball I’d put narrowly wide would come back to bite me when I got home, no doubt.
“You had a good game, though,” Ricey offered, as he got dressed. “Nice shot at the end. I thought at one stage, they were going to run away with it—“
“I played poorly,” I cut him off by saying. “Don’t try to dress it up as anything else.”
“What’s your problem?” he demanded, running a hand through his dark hair. “We won, didn’t we?”
“You’re my problem,” I came right out with, bristling with tension. “I thought I made that clear last year?”
“What the hell?”
“I don’t like you, asshole. I don’t like how you talk; I don’t like how you act, and I sure as shit don’t like how you treat your girlfriend. We might share a team and a classroom, but that’s it,” I added. “Don’t misconstrue my tolerance of your presence as an invitation to speak to me about anything other than hurling.”
“Seriously?” I watched as recognition flashed across his face. “You’re still holding on to that fight we had?”
Damn straight I was.
“Jesus, Lynchy.” He shook his head in frustration. “That was a year ago, and Aoife let it go, so why can’t you?”
“More fool her,” I replied flatly. “I guess she doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I know you’re a dog,” I replied, deciding against taking a shower. Fuck it, I would have one at home later. Stuffing my gear into my bag, I grabbed a pair of sweats and dragged them on. “And not a very discreet one at that.”
His dark eyes widened like saucers as awareness dawned on him. “Are you talking about Danielle Long? Because nothing happened with her, I swear—”
“Only because she didn’t want it to happen.” Pulling a fresh t-shirt on, I kicked on my runners, and tossed my gear bag over my shoulder. “Yeah, dickhead, I saw the sex-texts you sent her over the February midterm. The many, many texts you sent her.” Sliding my hurley through the earholes of my helmet, I gripped the middle of the handle and gave him a seething look. “I have your card marked, ya little perv.”
“What were you doing going through Danielle’s phone?”
“She showed them to me,” I replied. “Right around the same time she asked me to give you a message of her own.” Offering him a menacing glare, I said, “Do you need me to explain the message in detail or have you gotten the gist?”
“Those texts were only a joke,” he defended with a fake laugh. “A piss-take with the lads.”
“Sure they were,” I deadpanned. “I already told ya before that Molloy’s old man is good friend of mine. Fuck her over and I’ll take it as a personal insult.”
“Take it easy, lad. It’s not that deep,” Ricey huffed defensively.
“Does Aoife know that?” I shot back.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he growled. “It was a few texts. I didn’t ride the girl, and, besides, myself and Aoife were off at the time.”
“Going by those messages you sent her friend; I think it’s pretty clear that you and Aoife should be off permanently.”
“Oh yeah, because that would suit you down to the ground, wouldn’t it?” he argued back. “You’d only love that, wouldn’t you, Lynchy?”
“Does she know about the many many other girls that you’ve been messing around with when her back is turned?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”
“Bull-true,” I hissed, pointing a finger at him. “I see you, Ricey. I see right fucking through you, asshole.”
“And I see you right back,” he snarled, shoving to his feet. “At least have the balls to admit why you’re so interested in my love life.”
Bristling, I stepped towards him, and then had to take a breath in order to stop myself from lashing out, from springing forward and throttling the bastard, but it wasn’t coming easy to me.
“It’s so fucking obvious, lad.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re jealous because I’m with her.”
“Keep it up,” I warned, chest rising and falling quickly, as my temper rose. “I dare you.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie said, clearly noticing the tension, as he came to stand between us, with several of the team joining him – Podge included. “What’s going on here, lads?”
“None of this grudge you’re holding against me has anything to do with being friends with her dad,” Ricey said with a smirk. “You’ve got a problem with me because I got the girl that you’ve wanted since day dot. She’s with me, not you, and it drives you fucking nuts.”
“That’s enough, lads, we’re all on the same team here.”
Fury emanated from every pore in my body, as I balled my hands into fists at my sides and willed myself to not react. “If I wanted your girlfriend, asshole, she’d be with me.”
“She’d be with you?” Rice threw his head back and laughed; Billy-brave-bollocks now that the coach and half the team were around to save him. “You’re talking out of your hole, Lynchy. My Aoife wouldn’t give a fuck-up like you a second glance. She’s one of the nice girls, too nice for her own good sometimes. So, don’t mistake her friendliness for anything other than taking pity on some washed-up drunk’s pathetic scumbag son. It’s bad enough you’ve got her father throwing you scraps; like meat to a half-starved stray—”
“You’re a fucking dead man! “
“Don’t do it,” Podge was quick to say, perceptively stepping in front of me and pushing me away from the prick with a death wish. “He’s not worth it, Joe.”
No, but she is.