Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

MAYBE SOMEDAY

JOEY

"Why is Shane Holland glaring at us?" Aoife asked, her voice filled with concern as she glanced over my shoulder. "You promised me you wouldn't talk to him anymore, Joe."

To a certain extent, she was right. I had promised my girlfriend that I wouldn't talk to Holland again, but the situation at home was spiraling out of control. Every inch of my body ached, and he was the only one who could offer any semblance of relief. Still, I had kept my promise for the past three days—no contact, no weed, no shady deals. Just a few cigarettes with Alec and Podge to help me keep my cool.

"Queen, I swear I haven't spoken to him. You can ask Alec, Podge, or even your father. I've ignored all his calls and texts."

"It's making me nervous that he looks at you like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She moved closer, her body trembling slightly. "He looks like he wants to kill you, Joe."

I frowned. The last thing I wanted was for Aoife to feel this way because of me. Holland's fucking grudge was with me, not her. Seeing the pain in her beautiful eyes every time I showed up with a new bruise was enough to tear me apart inside.

I turned to see Shane Holland leaning against his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, looking as if it had been through a fucking meat grinder.

"Want me to go talk to him? I don't want you to feel unsafe because he's just standing there."

Aoife's eyes darted between me and Shane. "Just talking, Joe. Nothing else," she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You go there, tell him to fuck off, and then come back to me, okay?"

I nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I promise."

That bastard was begging for a beating for making my girlfriend feel unsafe. Without a moment's hesitation, I marched straight up to him and shoved him hard against the side of his vehicle.

"Woah, kid," Holland said, raising his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into a sneer. "Careful there, Lynch, or I'll be forced to beat you up."

"The fuck you looking at my girlfriend like that for? And why the hell aren't you answering my calls or texts?"

"You've been blacklisted."

"And what the fuck does that mean?"

"It means," he snapped, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, "I'm not allowed to sell you anything. Not unless I want my legs broken and my business burned to the ground. You were a good customer, Lynch, but you're not worth the risk."

"I'll find another dealer."

I needed that shit Holland gave me. He was the only one who could provide something to numb my body and mind from the hell I had back home—Da's fists, Mam's screams, and the hopeless faces of my Shan, Tadgh, Ollie and Sean.

"You're blacklisted all over Cork, lad. What fucking part of that don't you fucking understand?"

"Holland, I'm desperate," I admitted, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "Give me something."

"My face," he spat, pointing angrily at the bruises and cuts, "was just a fucking warning."

"What happened to you?"

Not that I fucking cared about the bastard but usually Shane Holland was the one who usually dished out the beatings, not the one who took them.

"The O'Leary brothers fucking happened. Remember that bag of heroin and oxy I sold you a few days ago? Well, that fucking same night, those crazy motherfuckers paid me a visit. They cleaned me out of my supplies and beat the shit out of me. All because of you, Lynch."