SEEKING 7 | boys of tommen

f r u s t r a t e d

To say I was pissed was an understatement. My blood was boiling, and the sight of Johnny, pale and shaking, only made it worse.

"This stops, Johnny!" I hissed in his ear, barely able to contain the fury as I helped him out of the shower and onto the fold-up bed in the medical room.

"Can you keep your goddamn voice down?" he snapped, glancing nervously at the door that separated us from the rest of the team. "I don't want anyone knowing."

Was he serious?

"Too fucking late for that," I shot back, my voice laced with frustration. "You left a trail of blood from the clubhouse to the pitch. Jesus, Johnny, what did you think would happen?"

His jaw clenched, his body trembling as he tried to hold it together. "Jesus," he strangled out, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes squeezing shut as a shudder ran through him.

"This stops right fucking now, Johnny," I repeated, my words as sharp as the pain he was trying to hide. Grabbing a pair of clean jocks, I crouched down and carefully pulled them up his thighs, making sure not to catch his groin. He flinched when I adjusted the waistband around his hips, but I didn't stop. "No more training," I growled, pacing back and forth now. "No more hiding your pain." I grabbed a towel and wiped a streak of smeared blood from his thigh, the sight of it making my stomach twist. "And no more fucking lying. You hear me? No fucking more!"

"I'll be fine," he mumbled through gritted teeth, but he was shaking like a leaf, every muscle in his body betraying him.

"Fine?" I spat, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. "Oh yeah, because you look fucking peachy right now, bleeding all over the goddamn bed." My voice rose, unable to control the anger simmering inside me. "You're killing yourself, Johnny! You do realize that, right? You're putting your entire life on the line for a fucking green jersey that doesn't mean shit in the long run."

"Stop," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth. "I can't fucking hear this right now."

"Oh, you're going to hear it!" I barked, stepping closer, my anger flaring. "Because this? This right here, Johnny? This is you falling apart."

"I fucking can't hear this!" he choked out, his voice breaking, eyes squeezed shut. "Okay? I can't..."

"Look at yourself!" I shouted, jabbing a finger toward his bandaged leg, where blood was slowly oozing through the wrappings. "Look at the condition you're in."

He didn't look, but I kept going, unable to stop. "That gash should have healed weeks ago," I hissed, my voice hard. "It's March, Johnny. March, and you're walking around with your leg half open like it's nothing."

"He ripped me with his boot studs," Johnny muttered, wincing as he shifted. "It could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't have ripped you open like that if you had let your body heal in the first place!" I snapped, the rage bubbling over. "You're weak, Johnny. Your body's not healing, and you nearly got yourself fucking killed out there!"

Groaning, Johnny leaned back on the bed, releasing a pained sigh. "It's not that bad," he mumbled, his voice wavering.

"Not that bad?" I echoed, my voice thick with disbelief. "Lad, your leg looks like it's four hours away from septicemia!" My fists clenched as I tried to keep my cool, but seeing him like this made that impossible.

"Gibs –"

"No, Johnny!" I cut him off, shaking my head. "You heard what the doctor said. You heard him! You know how serious this is!"

"I heard him," Johnny muttered weakly, covering his face with his arm, his voice barely a whisper. "I heard him."

I exhaled, the anger starting to shift into something else. "Coach called Dennehy at the Academy," I said, my voice quieter now, more controlled. "And I've already called your mother."

At that, Johnny's arm dropped from his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, his voice shaking. His eyes glossed over, the weight of the situation finally crashing down on him.

"She's getting the next flight into Dublin," I continued, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I called your dad too. He's meeting us at the hospital."

Johnny shook his head slowly, refusing to believe it, refusing to accept it.

"You'll play again, Johnny," I said softly, stepping closer. "It just won't be right now."

"Right now is when it matters," he choked out, his voice barely holding together. "Right now is all that matters."

"No, lad," I corrected gently. "Getting you healthy is all that matters."

Johnny's breath hitched, and he covered his face with his hands again. "What am I going to do, Gibs?" he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice breaking my heart. "It's my whole life."

I let out a heavy breath, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out, Johnny. We'll get through it, okay?" I squeezed his arm reassuringly, trying to give him something to hold onto. "Just rest here for a bit, let the meds kick in. The ambulance won't be much longer, lad."

"I don't want to go out there," he murmured, shaking his head, his voice tight with fear. "I don't want them to see."

"No one knows any details," I assured him softly. "Just that you took a spill and got knocked out. That's it."

"Don't tell," he begged, his voice breaking again. "Please, Gibs... I can't –"

"I won't," I promised, my voice steady as I looked him in the eyes. "I swear, Johnny."