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Hero Dads and Fireman’s Carry
GIBSIE
Feeling faint, I hung limply over Peter Biggs’s shoulder, knowing there was a huge chance he was carrying me to my death, but not having the ability to run away either way. Not only was the man rescuing me my godfather, but he was my girlfriend’s father. The same girlfriend whose virginity was smeared all over my dick.
Don’t look, lad.
Don’t look.
“Are you going to kill me, Pete?”
“I haven’t decided yet, Gibs.”
“Okay, well, if you decide you are, can you give me a ten-second head start to get away?”
“You’ll be lucky if you get five.”
“I can work with five.”
“If your father was alive to see this, he would have a field day.”
“Gerard!” Claire cried out when her father set me down on the back lawn. “You’re alive!” Making a beeline for me, she dropped to her knees next to me and peppered my cheek with kisses. “It’s a miracle… Oh, your poor head.” Her kisses were swiftly refocused on the huge lump that had sprouted out of my forehead. “My poor baby.”
The look our mothers were giving us as they stood side by side with their arms crossed assured me that I would need another miracle to make it out of here in one piece.
“Bet you wish I killed you first,” Peter muttered under his breath before walking back inside.
“Inside, Claire Biggs,” Sinead ordered before storming into the house.
“Right now, Gerard Gibson,” Mam added before stalking after her.
Ah shit.
_______________
“First and foremost, how are you feeling Gerard?” Sinead asked as she peeled the ice pack off my forehead and winced. “Oh dear, that definitely needs more ice. Let’s just keep that on for another while.”
Yeah, I bet it did. I’d almost decapitated myself off the roof of the tree house and was sporting a horn-shaped bump for my troubles.
While the fact that I currently looked like one of my girlfriend’s unicorn stuffed animals was disturbing, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the two women in front of me.
“Drink up, Gerard,” my partner in crime said. Readjusting the blanket our mothers had wrapped around my shoulders after my rescue, Claire pushed the glass of 7up I was holding to my lips. “Sugar is good for shock.”
“So, which one of you brainboxes decided it was a good idea to take off your clothes and fiddle around in the tree house in the month of November?” Mam demanded, hands on her hips. “Well. Come on. Fess up.”
I pointed at Claire as inconspicuously as I could at the same time that she not so secretly pointed at me.
My mouth fell open. “It was your idea.”
“No.” Claire eyeballed me. “The tree house was your idea.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “But the whole ladder in the bush idea was all you!”
“Ew, say ‘tree,’ Gerard.”
“Tree.”
“Ladder in the tree?” Sinead questioned.
