SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Sore ribs, big secrets

Maeve's Point of View

The wind was sharper than I expected.

I stepped up onto the porch and raised my hand to knock – then paused.

For the first time all morning, I looked at the coat I was wearing.
Not my coat.
Johnny's.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I must have grabbed it on my way out, still half-dazed, not paying attention.
I resisted the urge to groan, tugging it tighter around me like that would somehow make it less humiliating.

Too late now.

I rang the doorbell.
Footsteps pounded toward the door, and it swung open so fast I barely had time to process the sight in front of me.

Gibsie.

Barefoot, pyjama pants hanging low on his hips, an apron over his bare chest.
An apron that, upon closer inspection, said Kiss the Chef in blocky letters, with what looked like a hand-drawn moustache scribbled underneath.

He blinked.
Then his eyes landed on my face.

"Jesus Christ." His jaw dropped. "What the hell happened to you?"

I forced myself not to react. "I tripped."

He let out a low whistle. "Off what, a moving train?"

I rolled my eyes. "Over a shoe."

Gibsie squinted at me like he was weighing the probability of that being true. "Happens to the best of us."

"Are you going to let me in or just psychoanalyze my injuries from the doorstep?"

"Oh, right." He stepped aside dramatically. "Enter, O Battered One."

I brushed past him, shaking my head.

"Johnny," Gibsie called over his shoulder. "Sunshine's here, and she's looking like an extra from Rocky."

"Don't call her that." Johnny's voice interjected from the kitchen.

Gibsie grinned at me like he'd won something.

I ignored him, stepping into the kitchen, where Joey was at the stove, flipping something in a pan.
Johnny sat at the table, a mug of tea in front of him, arms folded over his chest.

His eyes landed on me immediately.
They dropped to my cheek, to my split lip, to the shadows under my eyes.

I met his gaze head-on. "What?"

"What happened?"

"I tripped."

Johnny exhaled through his nose, taking a slow sip of tea before setting his mug down.

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Over what?"

I clenched my jaw. "A shoe."

"A shoe." He repeated flatly.

"Yes."

His gaze didn't waver.
I held it anyway.

"She hit her face on the edge of a table."

Joey's voice was calm.
Steady.

Johnny's jaw tensed.

He turned to Joey, staring at him like he was waiting for him to crack.
Joey didn't.

He just flipped whatever was in the pan and said. "It's what happened."

Johnny exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before turning back to me.
I didn't look away.
I couldn't.

Because if I did, he'd see it.
He'd see how badly I needed him to believe it.

He studied me for another second, then just shook his head.
Gibsie – completely oblivious to the entire exchange – leaned against the counter. "Brutal. But at least it's not a stupid injury."

Joey sighed. "Gibsie, get the plates."

Gibsie perked up immediately, grabbing the stack from the counter. "By the way, you're lucky Joey took over cooking. I was about to serve my finest dish – charcoal."

I exhaled, moving toward the table, pretending my ribs didn't scream with every step.

"Jesus Christ." Johnny muttered, rubbing his temples.

I flicked a glance at him.
His hands were curled around his mug.
His fingers were twitching.

I looked away.

Joey set the pan down, gesturing at the table. "Eat before it gets cold."

Gibsie wasted no time diving in.

I grabbed a plate and sat down.

Johnny didn't move for a second.
Then he sighed, reaching for his fork.
And just like that, the world kept spinning.

He didn't look at me again after that.

I kept my eyes on my plate, eating slowly.

Joey passed me the butter without asking.
Johnny poured more tea.

No one said anything about the way my hand trembled slightly when I reached for the mug.

"No offence." Gibsie said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "But this is the best meal I've ever had that didn't involve chips, grease, or a questionable food van outside a nightclub."

"You're welcome." Joey replied.

"You know what this could use, though?" Gibsie tapped his fork against his plate. "A fruit garnish. Something fancy. Like, I don't know a single raspberry. Make it posh."

"Go to hell." Joey said.

I cracked a faint smile without meaning to.

"You alright?" Gibsie asked suddenly, and I looked up.
He was talking to me.

"Yeah." I said quickly. "Fine."

"You're not eating much."

"My ribs are bruised." I said without thinking. "It hurts to move too much."

I cursed myself the second the words left my mouth.
But it was too late.

Johnny's entire posture changed.
Ribs.

His gaze snapped to mine again.
Not to my face this time – lower.

Like he was trying to picture what else I was hiding under my clothes.

But then Joey jumped in again, calm and controlled. "From the fall."

"Right." I added quickly. "Same thing. Shoe, table. You know."

Gibsie nodded sagely. "I once almost cracked my collarbone tripping over a rugby ball in my own bedroom. True story."

"I was there." Johnny muttered. "You tripped because you tried to do a dramatic forward roll in your boxers."

"Semantics."

"Eejit." Johnny mumbled.

"Don't be jealous of my flair." Gibsie sniffed, poking his fork at Johnny's plate. "Anyway, Maeve, if you want a nickname, I've been workshopping new ones."

I groaned. "No."

"Hear me out."

"No."

"Storm Cloud?"

"No."

"Thunder Muffin?"

"Jesus Christ." Joey muttered.

Gibsie grinned. "That's a no, then. Alright, we'll keep brainstorming. I've got a shortlist."

"Burn it."

"Rude."

I took a sip of tea to hide the way my lip still ached when I smiled.