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I bit back a groan and nodded. “That’s what I want.”
“W-what about your mam?”
“No, just my da,” I warned her. “Only my da.”
“Uh, okay,” Shannon whispered, looking uncertainly toward the door.
I held my breath, desperate not to break down in front of her.
“I’ll go?” she said, but it was more of a question.
I nodded stiffly, resisting the urge to beg her to stay and hold me and make promises neither of us could keep.
She couldn’t fix this for me, and I was terrified of losing more than I already had. I knew she was fragile and I didn’t want to scare her away. If she stayed in this room, that’s exactly what I was going to end up doing. If I did that—if she saw the ugly side of me, the weakness in me—I would lose her, too.
I couldn’t lose her, too.
With a hammering heart, I watched her open the door and pause in the doorway.
“Bye, Johnny,” she whispered, glancing back at me one final time.
I swallowed deeply before strangling out the words, “Bye, Shannon.”
I waited until the door closed behind her before ripping the covers off my body to check the damage.
Jesus Christ.
Dropping my head back on my pillow, I bit down on my fist and smothered my cry.
When my dad walked into the room thirty minutes later, he was alone.
“Morning, stud,” he said with a smirk.
“Da,” I choked out, tears streaming down my cheeks.
The minute Dad saw my expression, his smirk fell.
Placing his plastic cup on my nightstand, he sank down on the edge of my bed and pulled me into his arms.
“Johnny,” he sighed. “Let it all out, son.”
And it was right there that I cried like a fucking child on my father’s shoulder.
“What am I looking at?” I choked out when words found me.
“Six weeks minimum,” he told me with that honesty I respected him for.
“Dad, it’s gone.” I shook my head and resisted the urge to roar. “The summer campaign…the U20s…it’s over for me!”
“Not gone,” he assured me. “Slim, but not impossible.”
“Slim,” I strangled out, feeling my heart beat so hard I thought it might stop altogether. “Fuck.”
“Don’t you forget who you are.” He stood up then and helped me to sit at the edge of my bed. “You are my son,” he added, lowering my feet to the floor. “And you are a fighter.”
I dropped my head. “I don’t fucking feel like a fighter.”
“You’ve been a fighter since the day you were born,” he corrected, tipping my chin back up and forcing me to meet his blue-eyed gaze. “You’ve never let a thing get in the way of your goals, and you sure as hell are not going to let six weeks stop you.”
