falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

What If I dont Make It?

J O H N N Y

Every single part of my body hurt. My legs felt like they'd been run over by a truck, my chest ached with every breath, and my head was pounding like I'd had a three-day bender. But none of that mattered. What mattered was the twisting, gnawing fear in my gut—the fear that this was it.

What if I'd ruined everything?

The weight on my chest shifted. Grace stirred, her head lifting from where it had been resting against me. Her hair was a mess, sticking to her cheek in places, and she blinked up at me, looking dazed and concerned. Even like that, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"You're awake," she said, her voice soft but filled with relief. She sat up straighter, brushing her hair away from her face as she leaned closer. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shite," I croaked, my throat felt as dry as sandpaper. "But I've been worse."

Her lips curved into a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was worried, and I hated that I was the reason. "Do you need anything? Water? Pain...stuff?"

"Nah, I'm grand," I muttered, even though I definitely wasn't. "Can you grab the chart, though?"

"The chart?" she asked, frowning as she glanced toward the end of the bed where it hung on a clip.

"Yeah, the one with all the medical shite on it," I said, trying to sit up but failing miserably. "I want to see what they've written down."

Grace hesitated, looking torn. "Shouldn't you wait for the doctor to explain it? They'll be around soon."

"I don't need a doctor to explain it," I grumbled. "I just need to see it."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and for a second, I thought she was going to argue. Instead, she sighed and reached for the chart, bringing it over and holding it out to me.

"You're so bloody stubborn," she muttered.

"And you're so bloody kind," I countered, flashing her a crooked grin that made her roll her eyes but softened the lines of worry on her face.

I took the chart from her hands and squinted at the tiny writing, trying to make sense of it. My head was still swimming from the drugs, and I couldn't focus on half the words. But what I did manage to read was enough to make my stomach churn.

"Johnny," Grace said gently, putting her hand on my shoulder. "You're going to be okay."

I didn't respond, too caught up in the medical shite and the implications it carried.

"Johnny," she said again, firmer this time. "Stop. You'll drive yourself mad trying to figure it all out right now. The doctors will explain everything."

Her words, soft and steady, cut through the haze of fear clouding my mind. I looked up at her, the chart forgotten in my hands, and saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. The relief didn't last long, the gnawing pit in my stomach returning with a vengeance. "How long am I out?" I bit out, needing to know.

She glanced at her watch. "It's almost twelve, so close to six hours."

"No." I shook my head, letting out a frustrated growl. "How long am I out?"

She tilted her head, confusion flashing across her face. "I don''t get what you're saying."

"How long am I out on injury?" I hissed, running my hand over my face as devastation took over my chest.

"Johnny, it doesn't matter—" she said, but I cut her off.

"It matters to me," I snapped, my voice cracking. "You don't understand, Gracie. Rugby's all I've got."

Her expression softened, and she reached for my hand, her fingers curling around mine. "That's not true. You have way more than that."

I shook my head, my throat tight. "I need to know, Grace."

"I don't know," she said, her voice steady but kind. "But whatever happens, you're still you. Rugby or no rugby, you'll be alright."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she squeezed my hand, her eyes fierce. "Can you do me a favour?" I asked.

She nodded, "What is it?"

"Can you go find my Da?" I asked, trying to wrangle my emotions.

"What about your Mam?" she countered, heading to the door.

"No, just my Da" I warned her, "Only my Da." I didn't want anyone but my father in this room, and I most definitely didn't want Grace to see the state I was about to be in. I was barely holding it together.

"Bye Kav" She gave me a small smile as she opened the door.

I swallowed deeply before strangling out the words, "Bye Gracie."

***

When my father came into the hospital room half an hour later, he was completely alone. "Morning stud" he said with a smirk on his face, closing the door behind him.

"Da" I choked out, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Johnny," he sighed. "Let it all out, son."

And it was right there that I cried like a fucking pussy 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.
     
"Da, it's gone." I shook my head and resisted the urge to roar. "The summer campaign...The u20's...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. If you do not make it this summer then you do not make it this summer," he repeated. "You are still Johnny Kavanagh. You are still an honor student. You are still a good man. And you are still my best decision."
     
For the millionth time in my life, I found myself looking up at the man that raised me and thinking: will I ever be as strong as you? I watched my father as he pulled over a chair and set it down in front of me. "Now," he said as he sat down and loosened his tie. "Let's get real, son."
     
Oh shit.
     
"Real?" I croaked out.
     
Dad nodded. "Say you don't make it onto the u20's in June –
     
"Da, I can't–" I sighed, rubbing my face.
     
"Hear me out," he said calmly.
     
Glumly, I nodded.
     
"Say you don't make it in June," Dad continued to say, voicing my worst nightmare out loud. "It's devastating. Your mother and I understand. You might not think we do, but we brought you into this world, and every single, painful moment in your life that you endure, and every obstacle you stumble over, we're there, Johnny. We're right behind you, feeling everything. Your pain and frustration and fears. It's all mirrored back to us. Your achievements are ours and your heartache is ours. Because you are all we have, Johnny. Just you. That's it."
     
Now I felt worse than when I woke up. "Da..."
     
"When you're older and you have children of your own, a son of your own, you'll understand what I mean," he added, calm as ever. "But for now, you're going to have to take my word for it."
     
I nodded, feeling like a piece of shit and knowing full well what was coming next.
     
"What you did, Johnny?" Dad said. "The danger you put yourself in?" He shook his head and exhaled a shaky breath. "There are no words to comprehend how devastated we were to get that phone call last night." He leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands together. "To know that our boy was risking his health and his future like that, and that he had been for months."
     
My shoulders slumped in shame. "I'm sorry, Da."
     
"I don't need an apology," Dad replied without a hint of anger in his tone. "I need you to understand, that you have to think about a future that might not involve rugby."