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“No, you’re not,” she encouraged, breathless and beaming back at me. “You’re just out of practice.” Turning around so that she was walking backwards, facing me, she said, “It’s just us, Johnny—just you and me. And youcando this,” Shannon repeated, looking more confident in this moment than I had ever seen her. “I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She skipped ahead of me with my ball in her hands and my heart in her ass pocket. Christ, she had me hook, line, and sinker, as I trailed after her like she was holding a fishing rod with a line that was attached to something deep inside of me. Forcing down my anxiety, I did as she asked: I lowered my defenses and moved my legs.

* * *

“Well, well, well,” Shannon taunted from further up the beach a little while later. Bouncing the ball in her hands, she gleamed at me. “Looks like I winagain.”

“I think the power is getting to your head,” I shot back, grinning. “Give me that ball.”

“Never,” she laughed. “It’s mine. You gave it to me, and I’m not giving it back.”

Like my fucking heart?

“Throw it,” I encouraged.

Her eyes widened. “Huh?”

“The ball,” I called back. “Throw it and I’ll pass it back to you.”

She eyed me warily. “You promise?”

“Yes, Shannon.” I rolled my eyes. “I promise I’ll give you back the bleeding ball.”

“Okay.” Like a toddler throwing a ball, Shannon held it between her legs, and with her brows set in deep concentration, she tossed it into the air—and about ten feet in the wrong direction.

“I didn’t realize I was playing with one of the minis,” I laughed as I went to retrieve it. “Remind me to get you one of those child slides when I take you bowling.”

“Hey, I’m all you’ve got, thirteen,” Shannon called back, grinning. “So don’t mock me.”

Shewasall I had right now—the only person I could trust not to judge me for not being on form. I couldn’t do this with the lads. I would be too embarrassed. But it was different with Shannon. Everything was different when it came to her.

37

I’ll Keep You Safe

Shannon

“Do you think it will ever stop raining?” I mused, staring out the windscreen at the heavy downpour.

It had been consistently raining all day, which wasn’t anything new for Ireland, but considering it was April, I’d been half hoping to see the sun soon. The wind was howling outside the car, whipping against the windows with a thunderous whoosh. Shivering, I turned in my seat to look at the boy lazing in the driver’s seat next to me.

Johnny had his seat reclined at an almost horizontal angle and was sprawled out like a lion, using one hand to scroll through Gibsie’s iPod while he used his other to hold mine. His dark hair was plastered to his head, and his school shirt was so wet it looked like a second layer of skin as it clung to his huge body. He’d long since shed his drenched coat and jumper, tossing them in the back seat along with mine, deciding we would dry off faster without so many layers.

He had the engine running again, something he did every half hour or so to keep the windows from fogging up and warm up the car. The heater was on full blast, blowing delicious hot air against my damp skin, and the last haunting riff of Jim McCann’s “Grace” was humming softly from the stereo.

“It’s been a long winter,” Johnny agreed, flicking through songs before settling on Coldplay’s “Yellow.” “Hey, look at the name of this playlist.” Snickering, he turned the screen of Gibsie’s iPod toward me. “The lad’s off his rocker.”

“Fuck me, suck me, self-destruct with me,” I mused, reading the playlist name on the screen. “Sounds very…”

“Gibsie?” Johnny offered with a shake of his head. “Yeah, that’ll be him alright.”

“At least he’s original,” I offered. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him before.”

“That’s because the world can only handle one Gerard Gibson,” Johnny said with a chuckle. His hand moved to his thigh, almost absentmindedly, to rub where I knew he was sore.

“Is it sore?” Tightening my hold on the blanket he had found in the boot for me, I asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

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