Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

I JUST WANTED A BURGER

JOHNNY

"Where's Tara?"

We were gathered outside, eagerly waiting for Ma to bring Joey back from the rehab center. Shannon was clutching a homemade cake decorated with Joey's favorite chocolate sprinkles, while Ollie and Gibsie stood on either side of a banner they'd made that read Welcome Home, Joey in bold, lopsided letters. Streamers and balloons fluttered in the cool breeze, draped around the picnic table where Da sat, chatting animatedly with Nanny and Darren. He had brought his boyfriend along, who looked both amused and mildly alarmed by the chaos.

On my shoulders, Sean wobbled slightly, his tiny fist wrapped around the strings of a colorful bunch of balloons. The little lad's other hand yanked on my hair with an enthusiastic tug.

"A-ra!" he squealed happily, his chubby cheeks lighting up with a grin. "Seany love A-ra!"

"I saw her leave the house this morning," Shannon said, shifting her grip on the cake to stop the icing from smudging. "She went for her run. Tadhg was with her."

At that, everyone turned to stare at me.

"What?"

"You're her boyfriend."

"Yeah," I replied with a stiff smile, already sensing where this was going. "And?"

"You're always together," Ollie added, narrowing his eyes at me like he was solving a mystery. "You were sleeping in her bed this morning."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That lad was going to get me battered. I didn't mind Darren's daggers—let him glare all he liked—but the others? I could feel the collective effort to mentally bury me alive, I could practically feel Tadhg's death stare from the treehouse. Even Sean, my former ally, had joined the 'Johnny-shouldn't-be-alone-with-Tara' brigade. The little bollox cried or threw fits anytime I so much as hugged her in front of him, and he'd slap or punch my face away every time I leaned in for a kiss.

"It's the Lynch blood in him," Da had joked once, though it wasn't funny when your biggest rival was a toddler. The only one not giving me grief was Nanny, who was, as always, sound.

"She's, uh, at the shooting range," I blurted, latching onto the first excuse that came to mind. It wasn't exactly a lie. "Alternating between shooting you," I added, nodding at Darren, "and stabbing Joey. She even printed out a filthy batch of pictures of you to stick on the targets. Tadhg helped."

That earned a snort from Ollie, though Shannon looked less than amused.

Ever since finding out my girlfriend was The Mafia Princess, things had gotten... well, interesting. For once, I knew somethin' Da didn't, and though I couldn't rub it in his face unless I had a death wish. Still, it was class knowing I had the upper hand for once.

To most of the world, my girlfriend was the youngest Irish gold medalist at the World Athletics Championships. To the underworld, she was the real head of the Irish mob, and on her way to becoming one of the most powerful women there. That was enough to make her a target—a fact I found simultaneously terrifying and sexy. Not the killing bit, obviously, but the bit where she had enough influence to have the entire Bratva on her side.

Not all her money was dirty, either. The O'Learys owned a global telecommunications company and a private security firm, and Tara took a cut of the profits to fund her quiet generosity.

According to her siblings – who didn't have a fucking clue about her off-the-record dealings – she'd always made sure they had everything they needed.

When money was tight, she'd discreetly chip in to pay bills or stock the pantry. She also indulged their whims. Ollie's Lego collection now rivaled that of an actual toy store, Sean had a mountain of stuffed animals, and Tadhg had new hurling gear, a custom helmet, and a hurley with his name etched on it. Shannon, meanwhile, shamelessly raided Tara's wardrobe, despite already owning enough clothes to open a boutique.