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“Well, I’ll never forgive you for this morning,” he huffed, rounding the car and falling into step beside me. “Youcameon me, Johnny.”

“I’ll come on you a lot fucking worse if you don’t give it a bleeding rest,” I snapped.

Huffing loudly, he grabbed the front of his jumper and dragged it to his nose. “What does your mother wash the clothes with?” he asked, inhaling deeply. “Smells like heaven.”

“No idea, lad. The woman puts a ton of different crap into the machine for a load.” Shrugging, I added, “Think it’s the blue bottle that makes the clothes smell like that.”

“Hmm,” he mused, expression thoughtful. “Do you think if I brought a—”

“No, Gibs,” I cut him off with a weary sigh as we rounded the courtyard. “She’s not washing your clothes for you, so don’t go there.”

“Fair enough, I was only asking— oh shit!” Fisting the back of my jumper, Gibsie yanked me to an abrupt stop and then dragged me back to where he was standing, poker-straight and glowering.

“What the hell, lad?” I barked, flinching when pain shot up my legs from the unexpected twist in direction.

“Look,” he spat out, inclining his head toward the front building. “That little shit.”

Confused, I followed his train of vision until my eyes landed on Claire. She was standing outside the glass doors of the main building, talking to who I vaguely recognized as the lad Gibsie had roughed up at the school disco last year. Squinting my eyes, I asked, “Is that—”

“Jamie Kelleher,” he offered flatly. “Yeah.”

“And we hate him again because…”

“Because he’s a prick,” Gibsie hissed, glowering. “He wants her.”

“He’s the ex-boyfriend?” I asked, narrowing my eyes to get a better look at him. “The six-week relationship?”

“Two weeks too many,” Gibsie bit out, vibrating with tension. “I hate him. He tried to get her to touch his fucking cock, lad. At the disco.” Growling, he hissed, “What the fuck is she playing at, talking to him again?”

“No clue,” I replied. “She’s probably just being friendly.”

“Well, she shouldn’t,” he snapped.

“Gibs, come on, lad, you need to simmer down.”

“Fuck off,” he shot back. “Easy for you to say.”

Jamie obviously said something funny then because Claire threw her head back and laughed. He stepped closer, smiling down at her, and she placed a hand on his arm.

“That’s fuckingit!” Gibsie hissed. “I’m going to kill him—”

“No, you’re not,” I instructed, returning the favor of fisting his jumper and dragging him back to me. “You’re not going to do anything because you don’t have the right.”

“I don’t have theright?” Gibsie spluttered, livid. “What are youtalkingabout?”

“Exactly what I said. You don’t have the right,” I confirmed, keeping ahold of his jumper. “You’re not with her, lad, so back down now before you do something stupid that’ll evoke girl tears and drama.”

“He’ll be the one crying when I get ahold of him,” he hissed, jaw clenching. “He’s a creep, Johnny. He’s notgoodenough forher.”

“Maybe,” I agreed calmly. “But you’ll be the eejit in Twomey’s office if you go over there all guns blazing.”

“Then I’m going home,” he sneered, roughly shaking my hand off. “Fuck this.”

“Gibs!” I called after him. “Come on, don’t be thick.”

“I’m not watching that,” he roared over his shoulder as he stalked off toward the car park. “I’m not fucking watching it again.”

Give me strength…

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