Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

EMOTIONS ARE FOR CHILDREN

TARA

I knew there was a bloody reason why I didn't like that bloody sport.

I fucking knew there was a reason why I didn't like rugby.

And that reason had a name: Jonathan Robert Kavanagh Jr.

That rugby-obsessed fucker.

Bloody number 13.

My fucking boyfriend.

It was six in the fucking morning when my little sister rang me from some hospital in Dublin, saying Jonathan had had to undergo emergency surgery. The bleeding idiot, because there was no other word to describe him right now, had collapsed on the fucking rugby pitch, passing out from the pain after being crushed under a mountain of big savages, otherwise known as rugby players.

I'd already lost count of the times I'd warned him about pushing his body too hard. The bandages I'd wrapped him in and the compression bands for his thigh were only temporary solutions. He was always in pain, no matter how much he tried to hide it from me, and today was the last bloody straw.

I was going to kill him—assuming the fucking morphine or whatever drugs they'd pumped into him after surgery hadn't already done it.

It was a three-hour drive from Elk's Terrace to the hospital, and I made it in half that. I flew way over the speed limit, ran God knows how many red lights, got more than my fair share of insults and horn blasts from pissed-off drivers. Honestly, it was a miracle I hadn't wrapped my motorbike around a lamppost.

I staggered through the hospital doors, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and bolted for the elevator, hammering the button for the second floor where Shannon had said the recovery room was. My heart pounded in my chest as I anxiously waited, the seconds feeling like hours. As soon as the elevator doors slid open, I was out, my eyes immediately locking onto Shannon and Gregory standing in the hallway. The moment she saw me, she rushed towards me, her red-rimmed eyes wide with relief.

"Tara!" she cried, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. "You came."

I hugged her back tightly, my mind racing, before glaring at Gregory. "Where the fuck is he?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. "And don't you dare try lying to me, Gerard."

He shifted uncomfortably under my glare, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Tara, you need to calm down a bit," he said cautiously, as if any sudden move might set me off. "Johnny's having a rough time right now. The last thing he needs is you tearing strips off him, okay?"

Calm down?

Calm down?

Was he fucking serious?

Jesus fucking Christ.

I could feel the fury bubbling inside me as I glared down the hallway. "He should've known better," I spat through clenched teeth. "Now tell me which one of these bloody doors is his room, or I swear, I'll go door to door looking for him."

He didn't argue after that. He silently pointed to a room at the far end of the corridor. Without another word, I stomped towards it, my footsteps heavy with anger, Shannon and Gregory trailing nervously behind me.

The moment I pushed through the door, all the pent-up anger exploded out of me. "YOU BLOODY IMBECILE!" I shouted, my voice reverberating off the walls as I marched towards the bed. "You bloody fucking idiot," I snapped, barely able to contain the emotions bubbling up inside me. "A thousand times—I told you a thousand fucking times, Jonathan, that you were pushing your body to the limit, that you were pushing yourself too far, but did you listen? Not a fucking chance!"

My whole body shook with a volatile mix of fury and fear—mostly fear. My hands clenched into fists as I struggled to keep my voice from cracking. "I nearly had a bleeding heart attack when Shannon called me! This is exactly why I can't stand this fucking sport," I spat, tears threatening to spill over as I gestured wildly. "You get so obsessed that you forget to take care of yourself, and then shite like this happens!"

But he just stared at me, his blue eyes unfocused and completely dazed. "Why are you staring at me like that? ANSWER ME, JONATHAN!"

The room fell silent for a moment, and then, in a voice thick with whatever drugs they had given him, he slurred, "Are you an angel?" He smiled lazily at me, his eyes half-lidded. "Am I dead? You're pretty."

I blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. But then his face twisted in confusion as if he was trying to piece together something important. "But... not as pretty as my angel," he mumbled, his brows furrowing as he struggled to focus. "She's prettier."

"I can't," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't be here." I blinked, and when my eyes opened, I was startled to find that his parents were also in the room. John was sitting in a chair, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly amused by the situation. Edel, however, looked between me and her son with raised eyebrows, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Panic surged through me, making my stomach churn. "I, uh, have to go," I stammered, my voice thick and unsteady. I swallowed hard, feeling the lump in my throat grow larger. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel sharply, ignoring the sound of my sister's voice calling after me as I bolted for the door. I needed to get out of there—now.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, the world tilted beneath me. I managed to take two shaky steps before my legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the floor. My heart pounded so violently that it felt like it might burst from my chest, and the blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. A strange, broken laugh escaped my lips—one that didn't sound like me at all. My body trembled uncontrollably as I stared down at the sterile tiles, my vision blurring. But still, the laughter came, as though my mind didn't know how to process the overload of emotions coursing through me.

Then, in an instant, everything changed. The laughter twisted into something darker—something more terrifying. The tidal wave of emotions I had been desperately holding back crashed over me, and to my horror, the laughter gave way to sobs. Gut-wrenching, terrified sobs that shook my entire body. I tried to choke them down, tried to force myself to stop, but it was no use. They kept coming, each one more powerful than the last.

I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the noise, desperate to keep it all inside, but it was no use. My shoulders shook violently with every sob, my breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. I was losing control, falling apart, right there in the middle of the hallway. And then, through the blur of tears, I felt it—two warm, gentle hands resting on my cheeks, brushing away the tears that wouldn't stop falling.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and found myself looking into a pair of big, brown eyes filled with sadness and compassion.

Edel.

"Oh, love," she murmured softly. "He's okay." Before I could even process what was happening, she pulled me into a fierce, motherly hug, her arms wrapped around me, as if she could hold me together through sheer force of will.

And for some unknown reason, something inside me crumbled and I clung to her—clung to her like a fucking lifeline, like she was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. "Go on, let it all out," she whispered against my hair, her voice full of understanding. "I'm here, love."

And so, I did.