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“Goodbye, Joey,” I whispered numbly, and then I climbed out and walked inside.
40Lines and Bulldozers
JOHNNY
I was in a horrible mood on Monday morning that was partially propelled by the god-awful pain I was in, but mostly attributed to the fact that I hadn’t closed an eye last night. All night, I had tossed and turned over Shannon. All bleeding night, I laid awake with only my regrets to keep me company—and that bleeding picture from the paper.
I should have stopped her. I shouldn’t have let him take her.
Why, I had no bleeding clue, but there was a voice inside my head screaming at me to protect her. I wanted to. I just didn’t know what I needed to protect her from.
Or who.
I was completely fucking clueless, armed and ready to go to war for a girl I didn’t know, against an enemy no one would tell me about. Jesus, I was so fucked in the head from her. It was getting out of hand.
She was disrupting my perfectly content way of life, and I didn’t fucking know how to cope with it. The girl fucked with my head and made me weak and swayable. It wasn’t right, and she had no business coming into my life at this pivotal point.
She was like a tornado I never saw coming. The one problem I didn’t foresee when making my plans. The one person who could fracture all my hard work.
And the most nerve-racking thing about it all was that I liked it. I liked the fact that she was turning my life on its axis and encouraging never-seen-before notions and feelings inside of me, and then I hated that I liked it. I was thoroughly addicted to every single thing about the girl and it had nothing to do with the physical—and the physical was pretty fucking perfect.
Most importantly, she didn’t look at me like I was a meal ticket. She looked right through all the bullshit. Seeing me. Seeing only me.
And that made me want to move some shit around and place her slap-bang in the middle of my world.
I knew I needed to get a fucking handle on myself. Except I couldn’t. Because she was addictive. And I was obsessed.
I’d lost count of the number of lads I’d played rugby with down through the seasons that had dropped out or lost form over a girl. I couldn’t afford to let that happen to me. There was too much at stake.
Everything was at stake.
Before Shannon, I never had any problem concentrating. Before her, I had never been uncertain about a thing. I knew exactly who I was, where I had come from, and where I was going.
And now?
Now I was a mess.
I didn’t need this. I didn’t need this fucking stress.
I had fitness exams in less than three weeks’ time that I needed to focus on. Exams that if I didn’t pass would put my whole future in jeopardy. That’s what I needed to be focusing on.
My career.
Not a girl.
By the time I made it to school, I was distracted, off-balance, and freaking the fuck out. There was something very wrong with me and I needed an immediate intervention.
“I need a favor,” were the first words that came out of my mouth when I found Gibsie outside the woodwork room before first class. “Seriously!” Exhaling a harsh breath, I shoved him down the hallway toward the fifth-year common area. “You need to help me.”
“Okay, but I have class in two minutes,” Gibsie complained, shuffling along in front of me.
“So have I, Gibs,” I snapped, steering him into the thankfully empty common room. “Double accounting with Moggy Dan. But this is far more urgent than me balancing spreadsheets and you designing a fucking coffee table for your ma.”
“Alright, lad, relax,” he coaxed. Shaking out of my hold, he walked over to one of tables and pulled out a chair. Dropping his bag on the floor, he sat down and faced me. “I’m all ears.”
Slamming the door closed behind us, I grabbed a leather armchair and shoved it against the door before dropping into the chair.
“You were right, Gibs,” I groaned. “I’m so screwed.”
