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“Come on, Cap, you’re the one with the empty house. You know Feely’s mother will lose her shit if he goes home in this condition, and my mam won’t let us through the front. And Gibs—” He gestured a thumb to the window. “He’s as good as your brother, lad.”
All unfortunate truths.
“You’re a bunch of bleeding eejits is what ye are,” I grumbled before relenting. “Fine.” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “Get them. I’m going now.”
“You absolute legend, Kavanagh,” Hughie praised as he staggered back into the pub to get the lads.
On any other occasion, I would offer to help him. Gibs was a handful after drink, but I’d sooner walk over hot coals than go back inside and face Bella.
“Sorry about this, Paddy,” I mumbled, wandering over to lean against the taxi while I waited for the three fucking stooges to come out of the bar. “I thought I’d be alone.”
“No worries, boyo,” the plump little man replied. “Any friend of Johnny Kavanagh’s is a friend of mine.”
“Yeah? Well, my friends are assholes,” I admitted with a shrug.
And partial to puking. In taxis…
“Paddy—” Scratching the back of my head I turned to look at him, my mind set on potential damage control. “Remind me to drop you off a couple of tickets to one of our home games in the summer, if you’re interested.”
“Jesus, Johnny, are you serious?” The taxi driver’s eyes lit up. “I’d be delighted, boyo. Thrilled to pieces. I watch all your matches. I even get my daughter to live stream the ones not aired on the telly. I’m always telling my wife that young Kavanagh is the best I’ve ever seen wearing the green thirteen.”
I shrugged off his words, knowing that at seventeen years old I should be rattled to hear a man more than three times my age giving me such high praise, but I had heard those exact words so many times that the compliment ran off me like water off a duck.
“Appreciate the support, man,” I replied. “You have my number on your call list. Just send me a text to remind me because I’m drunk as fuck right now and won’t remember a word of this in the morning.”
“Will do,” Paddy replied. “And not to be overstepping the line here, but you’re well rid of that girl.”
I frowned at him, mentally racking my head for a time in history when I’d been foolish enough to take her home with me. That’s the only way the taxi driver would know.
In the fogginess of my mind, I vaguely remembered a night out over Halloween break last year when Bella had thrown a huge tantrum outside the pub because I refused to take her home in the taxi to my house.
It was one of the last times I’d been with her.
“The one your pal was talking about,” he explained. “She’s bad news for a lad like you.” Tapping his temple, he added, “Trust old Paddy, lad. Girls like that one are takers.”
He had that right.
Fucking hell.
Hughie and Feely staggered out of the bar carting Gibsie, who was singing his own rendition of Aqua’s “Doctor Jones” at the top of his lungs.
I shook my head at the sight of him.
“Nobody,” I slurred as I walked over and took his weight from the lads. “And I mean nobody, would ever trust that you’re a doctor, Gibs.”
“Your future wife saved me from a bad fucking pussy today,” he slurred. “Buy a ring, lad.” Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he added, “Pussy whisperer’s a keeper.”
Frowning, I looked to Hughie who stared in confusion right back at me.
“How much did you drink, lad?” I asked Gibsie as I wrestled to keep him in one place.
He had a habit of scampering off when he was drunk.
“Enough,” Gibsie slurred before bursting back into the chorus of the song, stamping his feet on the footpath for emphasis.
“Yeah, yeah, fucker,” I coaxed as I half carried him to the taxi. “You’re a doctor.”
“With no standards,” he held up a finger and declared before falling into the back seat of the car.
