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“Are you accusing me of abusing my sister?” Darren asked, voice deathly cold. “Because you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Kind of like how your mother got it all wrong when she accused me of being a rapist?” Johnny shot back without missing a beat. “Difference is, Isawyou put your hands on her, Darren.” Narrowing his eyes, he spat out, “So if I were you, I’d climb back into that car and get the fuck out of here before I do something we’ll all regret.”

Darren stared hard at Johnny for several long, palpable moments before throwing his hands up. “You know what, Shannon?” he said, laughing humorlessly. “Mam might be fucked in the head, but she’s dead on the money about him being like our old man.” Stalking around to the driver’s side of the car, he opened his door. “But hey, you do whatever the hell you want.”

With that, he climbed in and slammed the door shut. Revving the engine, Darren pulled out of the parking spot and tore off without so much as a backwards glance. I watched the three small faces staring out the back window of the car until it faded out of sight.

“Well,” Gibsie said in a cheerful tone, breaking the frigid silence. “That escalated quickly.”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

Understatement of the century.

31

Take My Advice, or Not

Johnny

I bulldozed. I didn’t need Gibsie or anyone to tell me what I already knew. Shannon was stone-cold silent the entire drive to Claire’s house, keeping a full seat of space between us, letting me know in no uncertain terms that I had indeed fucked up. Furious with myself, I didn’t say a word when I watched her walk into Claire’s house, terrified of making a bad situation worse.

Even now, as I heaved my body up and down on the chin-up bar fitted in Gibsie’s en suite bathroom doorway, I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t breathe easy, because I knew in my heart I had made things a million times worse for her. Shannon was only across the street, but it could have been a million miles away for all the good it would do me. I was so fucking mad at myself, I could taste it.

“I should go over there,” I announced for the fiftieth time in the space of two hours, and for the fiftieth time Gibsie responded with “No, you shouldn’t.”

He was sprawled out on his bedroom floor with a pen and ruler in hand, surrounded by half a dozen textbooks and frowning in deep concentration as he used that weird yellow paper that helped him to focus and make sense of his own writing.

“What’s that word?” he asked, holding up his history textbook to me. “‘Renown’?”

Locking my arms into place, I squinted at the text on the page before saying, “No, lad, that’s renaissance.”

“Renaissance,” he repeated, churning the word around. “What a stupid fucking word.”

I shrugged and continued pulling my body up, feeding off the pain in my muscles as they burned in protest.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I already told you that I’d give you my history notes, lad,” I replied. “You don’t have to ask again.”

“No, it’s not about school,” he said. “It’s about rugby.”

“Oh?” I frowned, interest piqued. “What about it?”

“What do you think my chances are of getting one of those Academy contracts?”

I paused mid-chin-up with my arms locked tight and studied his face. “You serious, lad?” Helookedserious. “You’re not messing?”

“I’m not going to go down the college route, Johnny. I can barely handle school as it is.” He shrugged. “Mam’s been on my case about what I want to do after school, and I like rugby.” Sighing, he added, “If I don’t make a plan, I’m going to end up in the bakery with her.”

“You’re good at rugby,” I agreed. “You know the Academy were interested in you a couple of years back.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know, and I fucked it.”

“You’re still only in fifth year,” I reminded him. “You have another year to turn it around.”

“You think I can?” he asked, gray eyes locked on mine.

“I think you have the potential to do anything you set your mind to,” I told him. “You’ve got the talent and that’s ten percent of what it takes.”

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