Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

DADDY'S FAVOURITE LITTLE GIRL

TARA

"Where are we going?" Darren asked after a few long minutes of silence, his voice breaking through the tension that filled the car.

"The cemetery," I muttered under my breath, staring straight ahead, not daring to meet his gaze. My hands were clenched in my lap, the skin stretched tight over my knuckles, each breath feeling heavier than the last.

"The ceme—?"

"Just drive, Darren."

The day had been a complete shite show. Or what was left of it after my lovely chat with Logan. Conrad, Darragh, and I had paid Shane Holland a little visit to make sure he knew to stay the hell away from my brother. What had started as a "friendly" reminder turned into a bloody spectacle. Darragh flushed Shane's entire stash of drugs down the jacks, Conrad raided his safe like the expert he was, and me? I took Conrad's old hurley and gave Shane a proper hammering—not enough to break bones, but just enough to ensure he'd remember who the hell we were the next time he even thought about my brother.

Then, we took a small detour to Mark Allen's place. That bastard thought he could just pack up and move to Cork and everything would be grand. We gave him a proper "welcome cake" to the neighbourhood—though not the kind you'd want. The base of the cake was Conrad tying him to a chair and gagging him in his own living room, with several layers of Darragh battering him in the stomach with a rolling pin, and a nice topping of me telling him he had three months to go to the Gardaí and confess how twisted he was in the fucking head, or else certain photos would find their way to his wife and his da.

"We've arrived," Darren said, his voice pulling me out of the dark haze that had settled over me.

I blinked, realizing we were parked at the entrance of the cemetery. Sighing heavily, I pushed open the car door and stepped out, the slam echoing louder than I intended.

We walked in silence, Darren trailing slightly behind me. The path was quiet, lined with rows of headstones. Families with flowers passed by, others knelt by the graves, murmuring prayers, lost in their grief.

Then, I saw it.

The sight of it made my legs feel like lead, but I forced myself forward, each step heavier than the last until I stood at the foot of the grave. The headstone was simple, unassuming. But to me, it carried my everything.

A sudden gasp sliced through the quiet, followed by a harsh, almost panicked voice. "What kind of sick joke is this, Tara?" He demanded, his voice rising, the shock clear in his eyes as he stared at the headstone. His face was twisted with confusion and disbelief, his eyes darting between me and the grave.

"It's not a joke," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. My gaze stayed fixed on the headstone. "It's real. The grave you're looking at... it's my son's."

"Your son?" Darren half-whispered, half-shouted. "You had a son? Jaysus, Tara, how old were ya?" His face paled as realization began to sink in, and his eyes flickered between me and the dates carved into the stone. "How could you be so irresponsible?"

"Don't you dare," I snarled, finally snapping my head towards him, eyes blazing. "I won't let you talk like that in front of my son's grave, Darren."

He looked back at the headstone, his eyes squinting as he took in the date. "2000?" he muttered, crouching down in front of the grave, running his fingers along the letters. "A year older than Sean..." He trailed off, the pieces falling into place. I could see the horror in his expression as he did the math. His face drained of color, and he turned back to me, his voice hushed. "You were... God, you'd just turned fourteen?"