Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

TEAM TARA

JOHNNY

"Da, have you seen—what the fuck are they wearing?"

"Oh, this?" Da glanced down at his shirt, the oversized letters on the bright fabric glaringly obvious. He met my eyes with a perfectly deadpan expression. "Gibsie made these."

Before I could answer, my gaze wandered across the room. Athletes were gathered in clusters at their respective tables, their chatter and laughter blending with the clinking of cutlery and the occasional scrape of a chair. A few stood patiently in the buffet line, their plates piled high with eggs, toast, and fruit.

"Mr. Worldwide!" a loud, unmistakable voice called from behind me. I pinched the bridge of my nose, already bracing myself.

Erin.

"Best friend fucker," Darragh muttered as he clapped me on the back, striding past to sit beside my da. Erin followed with all the subtlety of a hurricane, plopping herself down next to her boyfriend. Her breakfast tray was stacked precariously high with coffee, orange juice, yogurt, muesli, scrambled eggs, and enough bacon to feed an army.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "What the fuck are you doing with all that food?"

"Eating it," she replied, like I'd asked the dumbest question imaginable. "What the feck are you doing standing there with no food?"

"I'm looking for my girlfriend," I said, dragging out a chair and dropping into it. "Has anyone seen her?"

"She's with Fintan and Lucy at the stadium," Da replied. "She's a bit nervous, but she'll be grand. She'll knock it out of the park."

"Sad because Mammy didn't give you breakfast?" Darragh teased, his grin wide as he shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth. "You poor eejit. I feel sorry for ya."

"Why?"

"Because Tara has a no-shagging policy when she's competing. So, if I'm not mistaken, that means no fun for you till the end of August."

"Burn!" Erin cackled, throwing up a hand for her boyfriend to high-five. "Don't worry," she added with a wink, "we'll mind her for ya."

Before I could retort, my da stood abruptly. "Okay, kids, enough of the slagging," he said, fixing a stern gaze on us. "We're here to support Tara, yeah? She's nervous, and she's going for the gold—"

"She's gonna make that track her bitch," Darragh said solemnly.

"—and we all want that, but if she doesn't win, and she doesn't want to talk to you, give her space. Got it?"

The three of us nodded, suitably chastened.

"Good." His tone softened as he smiled. "Meet me at the stadium in an hour. And for fuck's sake, be on time."

"Bye, Daddy Kav," Erin and Darragh chorused in unison, grinning like mischievous schoolchildren.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Not you two as well."

"Your da's a ride, Kavanagh," Darragh declared, leaning back in his chair.

"Edel's a lucky woman," Erin agreed, nodding sagely. "Or maybe John is. Both of them are. God must've been in a rare good mood when he made those two."

"Right, that's enough of that," I said, leaning back with a scowl. "Stop talking about my parents, will ye? Shouldn't you be back in London, anyway?"

"As if," Darragh scoffed, his expression offended at the mere suggestion. "Our best friend is about to conquer Europe and the world, and you think we're gonna stay in London? Cop on. We'll be in the fucking front row."