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A crazy fucking amount. X

“You’re right.” I blew out a shaky breath. “It’s him.”

“Told you,” Joey replied. “He’s not running on you, Shan.”

“Are you?” I asked, looking at my brother. “Running on Aoife?”

Guilt clouded his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

And just like earlier with Tadhg, Joey’s silence spoke volumes.

24

Pull Your Balls

Johnny

“Lose the pants.”

Three words I’d heard more in the last few months than I cared to remember. Sliding off the bed, I kicked off my shoes and then undid the fly of my gray school trousers before pushing them down.

“The underwear, too.”

Jaw clenching, I did as I was told and stepped out of my jocks until I stood in the middle of the room, bollocks naked.

“Wonderful, Johnny,” Dr. Quirke said, shifting her glasses higher on her nose. “Now, climb back onto the bed, please, and lie on your back.”

With my dignity checked at the door, I swallowed a groan and flopped down on the bed. For a moment, I debated covering my face until it was over, but quickly thought better of it. If they were messing around down there, I needed to see what was happening, dammit.

“Very nice,” the good doctor stated and I supposed it wasn’t a bad compliment to get, but it was a compliment given to me by a sixty-year-old woman while she was cupping my balls in her glove-covered hands, so I kind of took issue with it. “Both sets of stitches have dissolved and everything seems to be healing beautifully.”

Beautifully?

I snorted, because how the fuck could I not? Given my current circumstances, it was either laugh or fucking cry. I had an old lady feeling my ball sac, and another two equally ancient female nurses standing over me, smiling at me in encouragement. One of them was actually giving me a thumbs-up.

Jesus.

I was in the bleeding twilight zone.

When the doctor instructed me to roll onto my side and pull my legs up, I did close my eyes, knowing full well what was coming, and also knowing there was a good chance I’d never find my dignity again.

“Everything is looking positive,” Dr. Quirke said later when I was fully dressed and sitting in the chair opposite her. “But I have to ask—” Pulling off her glasses, she twirled them around aimlessly. “Why would you risk yourself like you did, Johnny?”

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t know.” I’d been afraid of losing my spot—of being dismissed. I’d seen it happen to countless players since joining the Academy at fifteen. I knew what happened to the boys that didn’t quite cut it, and I saw what happened to the lads thatdidmake it but were cut due to injury. It sucked and I worked my arse off to never be one of those. It was why I had tried to play injured. I was desperate to impress, to stay relevant and on the top of their minds. The thought of some younger, uninjured, fresh-groined fucker coming in and stealing my spot was something that kept me up late at night. “I didn’t think,” I finally replied. “I just did it.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m recommending another seven days of using one crutch rather than two, and refrain from driving for at least another week.”

“And training?” I asked, knowing it was a long shot. “What’s the deal?”

“Hmm.” Dropping her gaze to the notes on her desk, Dr. Quirke flicked through a few pages, clucking her tongue every few minutes. “The physiotherapy sessions you’ve been attending,” she mused, studying one specific page in my file. “You’ve had a full week’s worth, yes? How have they been going?”

“Unproductive,” I bit out, jaw tensing. “I can do more, I’mreadyfor more, but they’re not pushing me.”

“And you’ve been swimming every other day?” she continued, ignoring my response. “In the hydrotherapy pool?”

“Yes,” I replied, drumming my fingers against the armrest. “But I needmore.”

“You need to take your recovery slowly,” she corrected. “Slow and steady wins the race.” Picking up a pen, she scribbled something down on my notes. “Pain relief?”

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