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“I just don’t get it.” Gibsie groaned, plopping into the armchair across from mine. “How is it not a word?”
“Gibsie, please!”
“I just want the word, Johnny.”
“Fine, it’s your word,” I agreed, exasperated. “You can have it. Fucking call the Oxford Dictionary and trademark the bleeding word for all I care. Just help me.”
“Yeah, well, I might just do that,” Gibsie huffed, running a hand through his blond hair. “Right, tell me about your problem.”
I exhaled a heavy sigh. “I like her.”
“Okaaay,” he drawled. “Tell me what the problem is.”
“That’s my problem,” I bit out. “I like her, Gibs. I think I really like her, man. Like really as in a lot. A lot more than fucking like. Christ!”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Still not seeing the problem here, lad.”
“I. Don’t. Want. To. Like. Her.” I spelled it out for him, fresh out of patience now.
“Because she’s fifteen and you’re seventeen?”
“She’s sixteen,” I admitted with a groan. “Her birthday was yesterday.”
“Then you know the age thing is horseshit, don’t you?” Gibsie countered. “You’re clutching at straws, lad. The age thing is a big fat excuse because yer one Shannon has you rattled and you’re panicking because you’ve never felt rattled a day in your life.”
“I am rattled,” I admitted without hesitation. “Completely fucking rattled.”
“This is brilliant.” Gibsie chuckled gleefully, thoroughly enjoying my rare breakdown.
“It’s not a laughing matter,” I snapped.
“Are you kidding me?” He snorted. “It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.”
Noticing my murderous expression, he stopped laughing and gestured for me to continue.
Jerking forward, I ignored the pain in my groin and rested my elbows on my thighs. “I drove her home the other week, lad. She missed her bus over that stunt McGarry pulled outside the bathrooms, and I couldn’t leave her there—”
“And you’re only telling me now?” he accused.
I shrugged helplessly. “I know I should have walked away, but I didn’t. I put her in my car and we talked—for hours. And not just about rugby, Gibs. About all random, pointless bullshit that should have bored me to tears. It didn’t. It was just like that day when I knocked her out and I spent an hour outside Twomey’s office talking to her, except better because she was in her full senses. She is so goddamn easy to talk to, Gibs. Like you wouldn’t believe.” I released a heavy sigh and said, “I didn’t want to let her go, lad.”
Gibsie rubbed his jaw. “Shit.”
“Exactly.” Leaning forward, I loosely clasped my hands together and stared at my best friend. “In all the years you’ve known me, Gibs, when has that ever happened to me?”
“It’s definitely a first for you,” he agreed, expression thoughtful.
“It gets worse,” I grumbled.
“Worse?” He frowned. “How?”
“I told her about my surgery.”
Gibsie’s brows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “I told her everything, and then I lost my shit on her.”
“Why?”
