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Fucking eejits.
“Great display of captaincy, Kavanagh,” Ronan McGarry, another one of our latest recruitments, and a piss-poor excuse for a scrum half, taunted as he jogged backwards past me. “Overrated much?” the younger guy taunted.
“Keep fucking running,” I warned him while I debated how much trouble I would get in if I broke his legs. I really didn’t like that guy.
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Ronan taunted. “Dublin scum.”
Deciding I didn’t care about punishments, I reclaimed the ball and threw it at his head. Accurate and precise, the ball socked McGarry in the desired region—his nose.
“Settle down, hotshot!” Coach barked, jogging over to check on Ronan who was cupping his face.
I snorted at the sight.
I hit him with a ball, not my fist.
Pussy.
“This is a team sport,” Coach seethed, glaring at me. “Not the Johnny show.”
“Oh, it is?” I shot back, snarling, unable to stop myself from taking the bait. Mr. Mulcahy, the school’s senior rugby coach, didn’t like me much and the feeling was completely mutual.
“Yeah,” Coach bellowed. “It damn well is.”
Jogging over to where the ball had landed, I swiped it up and stalked over to him and McGarry, unwilling to let it go. “Then you might want to remind these fuckers,” I snarled, gesturing around to my teammates, “because I seem to be the only eejit that showed up to training today!”
“You’re skating on thin ice, boy,” he seethed. “Don’t push it.”
Unable to stop myself from pushing it, I hissed, “This team’s a fucking joke.”
“Hit the showers, Kavanagh,” Coach ordered, face turning a dangerous shade of purple as he slammed a finger in my chest. “You’re out!”
“I’m out?” I shot back, taunting him. “Out of what exactly?”
I wasn’t out of shit.
Coach couldn’t drop me.
He could ban me from training. He could suspend me. Give me detention.
It didn’t make a blind shit of difference because come match day, I would be on that pitch.
“You’ll do nothing,” I sneered, letting my temper get the better of me.
“Don’t push me, Johnny,” Coach warned. “One call to your fancy little coaches up the country, and you’ll be in more shit than you can dig yourself out of.”
Ronan, who was standing beside Coach, grinned darkly, clearly delighted at the prospect of me getting into trouble.
Furious at the threat but knowing I was beaten, I let rip at the ball in my hands, drop kicking it with an unsated fury thrumming through my veins and no care for direction.
The minute the ball whizzed off the foot of my boot, the anger inside of me dissipated in a rush, ejecting itself from my body in defeat.
Dammit.
I was being difficult.
I knew better.
Coach threatening me with the Academy was a low blow, but I knew I deserved it.
