Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

LEGALLY BLONDE AND ELTON JOHN WERE NOT MEANT TO MAKE YOU CRY

TARA

"I want her back on that fucking track, Fintan, and I won't take no for an answer!"

John's voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument as it echoed around the small office. The intensity in his tone made the plastic chair I was sitting on feel even more uncomfortable. I shifted, wishing for the hundredth time that it had at least some padding. This wasn't the kind of conversation you wanted to be having while squirming around like a child.

"She can't run, John," Fintan replied, casting a quick glance my way. "Doctor's orders," he added with a slight shrug, as if that explained everything.

"I was there too," John snapped, his patience worn thin. He shot up from the chair beside me, the legs scraping loudly against the tiled floor as he planted his hands firmly on the table, making it creak. "But if you don't get her back into running, she won't make the U20s. Do you understand? She's got one shot at this."

Lucy, who had been quietly observing from across the table, turned her gaze on me. Her eyes held a mix of concern and disappointment. She knew what had happened. We both did.

"Tell me you haven't done it again," she whispered, her voice soft but pleading. "You promised me, Tara."

I didn't swear, did I?

I avoided her gaze, my stomach twisting. "Well, I did," I muttered bitterly, the frustration evident in my tone. "I've got a lot of shite going on at home, okay? Spare me the lecture, Coach." My voice cracked, but I tried to hold it steady.

Fintan, sitting across from us, was growing increasingly confused by the cryptic conversation unfolding in front of him. "What's all this about?" he finally asked, his eyes darting between the three of us. "What's going on?"

John turned and shot me a look over his shoulder, asking for silent permission. I hesitated for a moment before giving him a small nod. If I wanted to fix this mess, if I wanted to get back on that track and pull my life together, the truth had to come out.

"Turn off your phone," he instructed, walking over to the blinds, pulling them shut, and then locking the office door with a resounding click. The room felt smaller, more claustrophobic. "You too, Lucy. Phones off, now." He pulled two sheets of paper from his folder, placing them in front of them. "And sign this."

"A non-disclosure agreement? What the hell is this about?"

"I can't tell you unless you sign."

Fintan and Lucy exchanged glances before reluctantly picking up their pens. The room was silent as they signed the papers and slid them back across the table to John. He grinned, but there was no joy in it, only grim satisfaction.

With a deep breath, he sat down next to me again. "Tara has undiagnosed borderline personality disorder, which has led to dissociative identity disorder, along with severe drug and alcohol abuse since she was five."

I felt my entire body tense up, my throat tightening as if the walls were closing in. "She turned up at my house drunk last night."

Lucy's eyes widened, her gaze flicking to me in shock. "Undiagnosed?" she whispered. "Why?"

"There are no medical records for Tara at any hospital in Cork. I've made sure of that. So, technically, it's unofficial, but it's been confirmed by a trusted doctor. Tara's been abused, but not by Teddy Lynch—the hospital incident was a one-off."

"A one-off?" Fintan echoed, disbelief coloring his voice. "He nearly fucking killed her, John."

I wanted to crawl into a hole, to disappear into the cracks of the floor. It felt like being ripped apart without anesthesia, dissecting every dark, twisted part of my life, every wrong choice I'd make, laying it bare for everyone to see. My hands clenched into fists in my lap and I could feel the bile rising in my throat; I felt like I was on the edge of collapsing.