Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

PLEASING A STORM

TARA

I loved him.

I wasn't just in love with him.

I, Tara Maeve Lynch, loved Jonathan Kavanagh Jr.

The realization crashed over me like a wave, exhilarating and terrifying. I had tried to delay it, to push it aside, to convince myself that this wasn't real, but now it was inevitable.

We were inevitable.

It was a repetitive cycle—without a clear beginning or end.

The thought of taking another step toward him, of fully embracing what we could be, was frightening. It meant opening a door to Hell, to consequences that Jonathan didn't need in his life. His future—his dream of becoming a professional rugby player, the life he envisioned, perhaps even a family of his own—shouldn't be tainted by the complications of a broken girl like me.

A girl who was slowly sinking beneath the weight of her own sorrow, who was bleeding emotionally with each passing day.

A girl who had given away pieces of herself that she could never take back.

A girl who couldn't offer him the family he deserved.

A girl who could never bring him true happiness.

I was a liability.

Jonathan's voice broke through my thoughts, his tone desperate and defiant as raindrops plastered his disheveled hair against his forehead. "I can't just let you go," he said, his hands reaching out to cradle my face. "Give us a chance. I'll fight for you, for us."

I closed my eyes, allowing the warmth of his touch to seep into my soul, trying to memorize every sensation. The way his hands felt against my skin, the way his touch seemed to imprint itself on me—these were moments I wanted to remember, to hold on to.

"I can't be the reason you miss out on what's meant for you, Jonathan."

"No, I can't accept that," Jonathan choked out, his voice raw with emotion. "I will not accept that. You can't decide what's meant for me. You can't make that choice for me."

I took a step back, each fiber of my being screaming at me to stay. "I can," I whispered, my voice trembling. "And I will."

Turning away from him, I began the long walk back to the mechanical gate of his house.My heart felt like it was being torn apart, piece by piece, with every step that carried me further from him. I couldn't bear to look back. I knew that if I did, I would see those ocean-blue eyes that had once brimmed with warmth and affection—eyes that had made me feel seen—would never look at me the same way again. Not after this.

I had lied to him.

I remembered every detail of that night, every single moment. The night that had changed everything for me. It was the night I hadn't had nightmares, the night when the monsters that usually lurked in the shadows of my mind, tormenting me, had been chased away by the light in his ocean-blue eyes.

I remembered everything about him: his cologne, the sound of his laughter, and the way his dimples deepened when he smiled, making my heart flutter in a way it hadn't in years. I remembered how his arms had wrapped around my waist, pulling me close and making me feel secure, like I belonged there.

That night, I gave him something I hadn't given to anyone else—my heart.

It wasn't the way I had given my body to countless faceless men on other nights—nights that were drenched in debauchery, fueled by alcohol and drugs that numbed the pain. On those nights, I had let them use me however they wanted, whether it was just one of them or a group. I had let them use me until I was numb, until I didn't have to feel anything anymore. I didn't remember the details, and I didn't want to. Remembering would mean acknowledging the truth of what I had allowed to happen—what I had endured but never truly wanted.