falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

Just Let Me See Her

J O H N N Y

I gritted my teeth as the car bounced over another pothole. Every jolt sent a sharp pain through my leg, but I kept my mouth shut. Gibsie glanced at me, concern flickering in his eyes before he turned his attention back to the road.

"You sure this is a good idea, lad?" he asked for the third time since we left.

"No," I muttered, staring out the window. "But I'm going anyway."

I hadn't seen Grace since the rugby match in Dublin, and I hadn't heard her voice since the phone call that came when she was in hospital. The sound of her voice, raw and broken, had haunted me ever since. She hadn't said much—just enough for me to piece together the hell she'd been through. And it killed me that I hadn't been there. When I heard she'd been discharged, I knew I had to see her. I didn't care how much my body ached or how far out of my way it was. I needed to see her, to make sure she was okay with my own eyes.

"Alright, we're here," Gibsie said, pulling up outside Grace's house.

"Wait in the car," I told him as I grabbed my crutches and climbed out.

"You sure? Because if I have to come in there to rescue your scrawny ass, I'll never let you live it down." He chuckled.

"I'll manage," I said, hobbling toward the front door.

Before I could even knock, the door swung open, and Grace's mother stepped out. Her face twisted with anger the moment she saw me.

"You've got a nerve showing up here," she snapped, crossing her arms. "She doesn't need you dragging her down."

"Mrs. Lynch," I started, trying to keep my voice steady, "I just want to see Grace. I'll leave after that."

"Leave now," she shot back. "She doesn't need any more trouble in her life."

Before I could respond, Darren appeared in the doorway, his expression neutral. He was the image of his mother, and up until now I'd never known what he looked like. "Mam, go inside," he said firmly.

"I will not," she hissed. "This is my house, and I won't have—"

"Mam," Darren cut her off, his voice calm but unyielding. "Inside. Now."

She glared at him, then turned her anger back on me. "If anything happens to her because of you—"

"It won't," Darren interrupted again. "Go on, Mam."

With one last scathing look, she stormed back inside, slamming the door behind her.

"Sorry about that," Darren said, turning to me. His tone was polite, but his eyes were cold.

"Is she there?" I asked, gripping the crutches tighter.

"She's upstairs," Darren said after a long pause. "But she's been through a lot. Don't make it worse. And the social workers coming in a while so you'd want to be gone by then."

"I'm not here to make it worse," I said, meeting his gaze.

He studied me for a moment, then stepped aside. "Alright. Go on."

I hobbled inside, the familiar smell of old furniture and something faintly floral hitting me immediately. The house was eerily quiet, and every creak of my crutches felt too loud.

"She's in her room," Darren said, nodding toward the stairs. "You probably know where it is."

I looked at the staircase and grimaced.

"You need help?" Darren asked, his tone almost mocking.

"No," I muttered, gritting my teeth as I maneuvered up one step at a time. By the time I reached the top, my leg was screaming, but I didn't care.