falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

Match Day

J O H N N Y

It was one of those sharp February mornings where the cold bites right through your skin, and the damp hangs in the air like a curse. The rugby pitch was slick with mud, and steam rose off the backs of the lads warming up, everyone cursing under their breath about the freezing weather. The stands weren't full, but a decent crowd had gathered despite the miserable conditions—parents, teachers, and the usual gang from Tommen College, bundled up in scarves and jackets.

I flexed my knee, rolling out my shoulder to loosen up. It was my first real match back since I tore my adductor, and to say I was on edge would be putting it lightly. I'd spent weeks rehabbing, doing physio, getting back to a place where I could play, but now that I was here, on the field, I couldn't help but feel that nervous tension crawling up my spine. The last thing I wanted was to screw up in my first game back.

We were playing a big one—Saint Declan's College, another Cork school we had a fierce rivalry with. They were always tough to beat, and today wasn't going to be any different. I spotted their team huddled up across the pitch, all full of bravado, and I couldn't help but smirk. They thought they had us rattled. Good luck with that.

I heard a familiar voice behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Johnny!" Coach Mulcahy barked, striding across the pitch toward us. "You've been off for a while, but I need you to lead from the front today. Don't let them push us around, yeah? Keep your head in the game, and for Christ's sake, don't lose your temper. You're no good to me in the sin bin, lad."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, but Coach gave me a look that let me know he wasn't in the mood for smart-arse answers.

"And watch yourself," he added, narrowing his eyes at me. "I don't need you blowing out in the first half."

"Got it," I said, forcing myself to focus. He was right. I needed to stay sharp, play my part, and not let the lads down.

We all jogged out to take our positions, mud splashing under our boots, and I couldn't help but glance toward the crowd. Part of me was wondering if Grace was there. I hadn't spoken to her properly in weeks, not since we'd had that... argument? Or more like her giving me shite for Bella. I hadn't seen her much, either, and it wasn't like I could ask around without half the year talking about it.

I wasn't sure why it was bugging me so much. It wasn't like we were together or anything. She was just Grace—always had been. But still, not talking to her, not having her around, it felt like something was missing, and I wasn't sure why that bothered me so much.

Just then, as we were lining up for the kickoff, one of the lads from Declan's started mouthing off. "You ready to get smashed, Kavanagh?" Some tool from their backline, puffed up like he was God's gift to rugby.

"Hope you packed a lunch," I shot back, smirking, "'cause you're going to be chasing me all day."

The lads around me sniggered, and I saw him bristle. Good. Keep him rattled.

But before the ref could blow the whistle, something caught my eye—on the sidelines, standing behind the Declan's lot, I saw a familiar face. Cian Starky, of all people. The prick wasn't even on the rugby team, but he was here, hanging around like the bad smell he was. The sight of him set my blood boiling, but I knew better than to react.

He wasn't worth it.

"Oi, Kavanagh," one of the lads muttered beside me, probably noticing the way I was staring. "You alright?"

"Fine," I grunted, tearing my eyes away from Starky.

As if to top it off, the whistle finally blew, and all thoughts of Cian Starky, Grace, or anything else went out the window. The game had begun, and there was no room in my head for anything else but rugby.

We kicked off, and the first few minutes were brutal. Declan's came at us hard, but we gave as good as we got. It was the kind of match I lived for—hard tackles, fast plays, and everything on the line. Every step I took, I felt that tension in my leg, but I pushed through it. The pain was there, but I couldn't let it stop me. Not today.

At halftime, we were up by a try, but it felt like we'd been battling for hours. The lads were knackered, everyone breathing heavily and covered in muck. We trudged back to the sidelines, grabbing water bottles and trying to catch our breath.

That's when I saw him again—Starky, standing with a group of lads, smirking like he had something to prove.

I clenched my jaw, trying to shake it off, but then Gerard noticed. "Cap," he said, nudging me. "Starky's looking for attention again. What's he even doing here?"

"Dunno," I muttered, wiping mud off my face. "Probably bored of being the biggest knobhead in school."

Gerard snorted. "Think he's got a thing for rugby?"

"Yeah, probably just to hang around and talk shite." I replied. Just then, Starky made eye contact with me, and I saw that familiar smirk crawl across his face. I could practically hear the words forming in his head—the same kind of taunts he'd thrown at me and Grace before.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself, but Hughie grabbed my arm. "Leave it," he warned. "He's not worth it, lad. Focus on the game."

I shrugged him off but didn't take another step. Hughie was right. The last thing I needed was to cause a scene, not with the game still in the balance.

But as I turned away, I heard Starky shout something over his shoulder. "Good luck with that adductor, Kavanagh. Maybe you'll be back on the bench before long, eh?"

I gritted my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing. "Keep talking, Starky," I muttered under my breath. "I'll break your fucking legs in half, you little shit."

He eventually shut up, and we continued the game.