Page 51 of Keeping 13

“Jinx,” Claire said and giggled.

“You know, Claire-Bear, if you want to unjinx yourself, you can always touch my wood,” Gibsie offered.

“No thanks, I don’t like wood,” Claire shot back. “Or penises.”

“I remember.” Gibsie chuckled. “Wait—is that the plural for penis? Penises?”

“Probably,” Claire replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, plural for vagina is vaginas, so it sort of has to be, doesn’t it?”

“I thought the plural for vagina was vaginae,” he offered, and then after a thoughtful pause, added, “You know what, I think plural for penis is penii.”

“Oh my god, Gerard, literally nobody says penii or vaginae,” Claire scoffed. “It’s penises and vaginas.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “Sounds weird, though.”

“When it comes to human genitalia, I think it all sounds a little weird, Gerard.”

I zoned out of their conversation, too concerned about Shannon to entertain either of them. Instead, I cranked the stereo and drowned my thoughts out with one of Gibsie’s eclectic mix CDs. I kept my eyes trained on the windscreen, not blinking and barely breathing until we ascended the huge hill and pulled onto her street.

“Shit,” Gibsie muttered when we pulled up outside her run-down house in Elk’s Terrace. “Bad luck, huh?”

“Yeah, lad,” I muttered. “You have no idea.”

“Turn down the music, Gerard,” Claire scolded.

“What’s wrong with my music?” Gibsie asked, looking comically wounded.

“‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’?” Glaring, Claire slapped his shoulder. “Really? After what just happened to her?” Leaning between the seats, she switched off the stereo. “That’s so insensitive.”

“But…but she’s not here.” Killing the engine, Gibsie turned to look at her. Confusion was etched on his face when he said, “And it’s Guns N’ Roses.”

“It’s a bad song choice.”

“Hang on, what about this one—” His words trailed off as he switched the stereo back on and flicked to track 7. The guitar riff of Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak” blasted from the speakers. “Better?” Gibsie asked, waggling his brows. “More suited for the occasion, sweet pea?”

“Much,” Claire replied, her tone approving. “Good job, snuffle-bunny.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“You’re both bleeding ridiculous.” Shaking my head, I shoved the car door open and used my crutches to pull myself out. “This is serious.”

“I know, lad,” Gibsie replied, joining me on the footpath. “I know.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Claire asked, climbing out after us. “Do we just…” She shrugged helplessly. “Go in there?”

“Well, I’m going in there,” I told her. Not waiting for either of them to respond, I rounded the wall that separated the overgrown garden from the footpath and hopped awkwardly to the door. Tension was emanating from my body in waves as I slipped my hand out of one of my crutches and rapped my knuckles against the door.

“Keep the head, Cap,” Gibsie instructed quietly in my ear. Reaching around him, he caught ahold of Claire and shoved her in front of both of us. “Smile, Claire-Bear,” he coaxed, keeping his hand on her hip. “No one could say no to the sun.”

Finally, after what felt like an age, the front door swung inward and we were greeted by what I could only describe as the male version of Shannon. Dark brown hair, piercing midnight-blue eyes full of secrets. “Yes?” he asked politely. “Can I help you?”

“Who are you?” I decided to come right out and ask. I already knew this was Darren, but I wanted him to confirm it.

“You’re at my door,” the man replied. “Who are you?”

Fighting down the urge to reach over and drag him out of my way, I asked, “Is Shannon here?”

Darren leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. “Who wants to know?”

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