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Once inside, I flicked the lock and sank down against my door, desperately trying to get my heart rate under control.
Today was Friday.
Friday was a safe day.
11A Fist in the Face: Preferable to a Pie
JOHNNY
My head was wrecked. My body was in bits. I couldn’t enjoy the win or truly celebrate with the team because I was sulking.
Sulking over something I couldn’t figure out.
Refusing the countless bottles of beer thrust in my face, I sat brooding on the couch in Hughie’s living room, with the Man of the Match trophy propped on the cushion beside me, my winner’s medal around my neck, biding my time until I could slip away, drive home, and drown myself in an ice bath.
It was my duty to be with my teammates after a big win like this. Being the captain, I was supposed to be leading the celebrations.
Dance music was blasting from the stereo in the corner, Gigi D’Agostino’s “I’ll Fly with You,” and I knew that stupid duh, duh do de duh foghorn chant would be stuck in my head all night. The house was littered with the team and people from school, all drinking, eating, and dancing around the place.
Instead of joining in on the banter, I was icing my thigh because putting the ice on my balls wouldn’t be socially acceptable, and shoving around a piece of steak Hughie’s ma, Sinead, had cooked me on my plate and thinking about a girl who couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough.
That showed it all right there.
Everyone else was drinking and enjoying themselves, while I refueled on protein and drove myself demented over a girl.
Was this what rejection felt like?
If so, it fucking sucked.
What possessed me to go over to Shannon, I’ll never know, but everyone was screaming around me, the crowd was in my face, I needed a reprieve, and I saw her standing there, all big eyes and lonesome, and something just shifted inside of me.
In the moment it made sense to just go over and talk to her. Because I didn’t want her to be on her own. Because I could hardly concentrate during the game, knowing she was watching me. Because when she turned around to leave, my legs moved of their own accord, desperate to intercept her.
I can give you a spin home when you want to go?
What the actual fuck? I might as well have shouted, Love me, fucking love me at the girl.
I felt like a bleeding eejit. What was I thinking, inviting her to the party? Worse, what was I thinking, expecting her to say yes? I was a glorified stranger to her.
Jesus Christ.
I was so disappointed in myself.
For the bones of two months, I’d been doing so well, so goddamn well, in my attempts to stay away from her. I couldn’t get her out of my head, but dammit, I was keeping my distance. One adrenaline-pumped victory and I blew it.
Worse than blowing it, I dragged her into a picture with me.
And she looked terrified…
“You alright, lad?” Feely asked, sinking down on the couch alongside me.
Grunting my response, I dragged the cushion from behind my back and set it down on my lap, covering the purpling spreading down my right thigh.
I was still in my kit, as were most of the team. They were still donning their jerseys because they wanted to show off—and rightly so. Five-in-a-row winners of the School Boy Shield was a new record for Tommen and some of the younger lads’ first taste of silverware.
I was still in my gear because I didn’t have the energy to tog off after the match. If it didn’t look so appealing to the scouts, I’d throw the towel in on the school team and save my body for Academy or club games.
“You know, Sinead would have a look at it for you, if you asked her,” Feely interrupted my thoughts by saying. “She’s a nurse, lad.”
