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“I don’t see that happening, Johnny,” my father replied. “You’re too talented.”

“It could,” I warned him. “I could turn it down and get injured again. Worse than before. An injury I mightn’t come back from. I could lose it all, Da. There are no guarantees in this sport. You know that as well as I do.”

“I think you need to take some time out and think this through,” Dad said. “When do they need an answer by?”

“I have a week to decide,” I said wearily. “They’re being amazing to me.”

“Then you’ll take every one of those days to think about it,” he told me. “Nothing needs to be decided tonight.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed. “You’re coming home next week, and then you have that music festival in Dublin with your friends that same weekend. Take that time to enjoy yourself, son. Go and be ateenager. Go mad. Have fun. Unwind. Get drunk—not too drunk or your mother will kill me,” he quickly amended with a smirk. “Butenjoyyour life. We’ll talk about what you want to do about the contract when you get home. We’ll make a decision then.”

80

Guess Who’s Back

Johnny

“So, where is she?” I asked, excitement thrumming in my veins at the prospect of seeing my girlfriend after spending more than seven weeks apart. “Is she at the house? Claire’s? You didn’t tell her you were picking me up early, did you?”

“Excuse me, but can I be your priority for ten minutes?” Gibsie demanded huffily. “I haven’t seen you in almost two months, and all you can think about is getting your dick wet, you selfish bastard. You didn’t even ask about my trip to Scotland last month.”

“I missed you, too, lad.” I chuckled, delighted to be back in his Focus, gripping the oh-Jesus bar and silently praying for him not to kill us both with his deranged driving. “And your Toblerone is in my suitcase.”

“Toblerones,” he corrected, narrowly avoiding an old lady crossing the road. “Plural.Don’t even think about giving Hughie and Feely my stash.” Swerving back on to his side of the road, Gibsie glanced in the rearview mirror and sighed. “Oh, thank god, she’s still standing. For a minute there, I thought I clipped her with my wing mirror.”

“Maybe you should pull over and let me drive,” I offered, trying to keep my breathing even and not freak the fuck out when he mounted the footpath taking a corner. “How the fuck did you get your full license?”

“My tongue,” he replied smugly. “It’s a wonderful weapon.”

I grimaced. “Do I want to know?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

Moving swiftly on before he scarred me for life with his indiscretions, I asked, “So how are your aunty Jacqui and all the gang in Scotland?” Gibsie had family in Scotland. Every summer since as far back as I could remember, he took a weeklong trip to visit his father’s baby sister in Edinburgh.

“She’s a wild one, lad.” Gibsie chuckled. “I swear to god, I wasn’t sure I’d make it home in one piece. The woman can put a pint away faster than any man—and her friend Sharon is mad craic.”

I didn’t doubt it. I’d taken the trip with him back in third year, and he wasn’t exaggerating about his paternal aunt’s wildness. It clearly ran in the family.

“You know that insanely good tattooist?” he continued happily. “The guy in Manchester—Dex Michaels? He owns Heaven and Ink.”

I arched a brow. “The American guy on all the magazines and shite? He inks all the celebs?”

Gibsie nodded. “That’s the one.”

“What about him?”

A smirk crept across Gibsie’s face as he dived into his latest outrageous story, telling me all about how he had comethisclose to getting his calf inked by the high-profile celebrity tattooist until he was checked for an ID and got caught red-handed.

“You’re such a dope.” I laughed. “He was never going to ink you.”

“He fuckingwas,” Gibsie huffed. “I swear it was my backpack that let me down, lad.”

“Your backpack?” I asked, frowning until awareness dawned on me.Oh Jesus.“Oh, Gibs, tell me youdidn’tbring that thing with you.”

“Iknow,” he groaned. “It was a rookie mistake.”

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