SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

The meaning of life

Johnny's Point of View

The inside of the clubhouse was too warm.
Too loud.
Too full of voices I didn't want to hear and eyes I couldn't look at.

The medics had wanted me in the ambulance.
On a stretcher.
Hooked up.
Strapped down.

I'd said no.
More like growled it between clenched teeth until Gibsie stepped in and told them we'd handle it.
And by "handle it," he meant drag me into the showers, half-conscious, and practically prop me up like a goddamn corpse in a horror movie.

Now I was sitting on a foldout medical bed, my body trembling, a towel hanging off my waist, and a blood-soaked compression wrap barely clinging to my thigh.
The room stank of antiseptic, mud, and adrenaline.

"This stops, Johnny." Gibsie hissed in my ear as he helped me shuffle back onto the thin mattress.

"Can you keep your goddamn voice down?" I rasped, blinking sweat from my eyes. "I don't want anyone knowing."

"Too fucking late for that." He snapped. "You left a trail of blood from the try line to the showers. I could've followed it blindfolded like Hansel and fuckin' Gretel."

The door swung open. I barely had time to brace before Hughie and Feely barged in, both white as ghosts and wide-eyed.

"Johnny." Hughie breathed, eyes immediately locking onto the mess that was my leg. "What the fuck?"

Feely didn't speak at all. He just stared. At the gash. The blood. The way I was half-slumped like a marionette with the strings cut.

"Out." I said, barely more than a whisper. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Shove that." Feely snapped. "You collapsed. In front of everyone. We thought you were concussed. And now Gibsie tells us this?" He pointed at my thigh. "That it never healed right?"

Hughie looked between us, eyes slowly going red. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want you worrying,. I said weakly.

"Too late." Hughie shot back. "I've been worrying for weeks, lad. I saw the limp. The winces. You think we didn't notice?"

Feely's jaw clenched. "You were hiding this from Coach. From everyone."

"I had to." I looked down, shame burning in my chest. "The U20s, the summer tour. I couldn't risk getting dropped. They'd never let me back in."

"You risked your life." Hughie spat. "You collapsed, Johnny."

"Because one of their pricks clipped my leg!" I snapped, louder than I meant to. "It could've happened to anyone!"

"No." Feely said coldly. "It happened because you were already broken."

I flinched.

Because he was right.

Gibsie had started pacing again, grabbing a towel. "You're getting worse, Johnny. The doctor said that if you'd kept pushing it much longer, we'd be talking sepsis. Or a ruptured tendon. Or permanent damage."

I shut my eyes. "I heard him."

"And yet here you are." He snapped. "Still arguing. Still acting like it's not that bad."

"Because if I stop now." I whispered. "It's all over."

"No, it's not." Hughie said, stepping closer. "You get better. You heal. You fight back. That's what you do."

"I don't have time to heal." I bit out. "Not with the Academy watching. Not with trials coming up. If I sit out now, I'm done. You know that."

Gibsie dropped the towel. "Coach called Dennehy. And I called your Ma."

My head whipped around. "What?"

"She's on the next flight to Dublin. Your Da's already waiting at the hospital."

The room tilted. Or maybe I did.

"No." I croaked. "No, no, no—Gibs, why would you do that?"

"Because you're not making decisions anymore." He said, voice flat. "You lost that right when you started lying to every single one of us about how bad this got."

I dropped my head into my hands.
My whole body was shaking.

"Johnny." Hughie's voice was quiet now. "We're not mad, okay? We're not here to tear you down."

"We just want you to be alright." Feely added, tone softer. "We need you in one piece. Not bleeding out in a changing room because you thought hiding it made you stronger."

Silence followed.

Then I whispered. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You rest." Gibsie said. "You listen to the doctors. You go to the hospital. You stop acting like rugby is the only thing that gives your life meaning."

I swallowed hard. "But it is."

"No, it's not." Hughie said immediately.

"It's not the only thing." Feely echoed. "It might be the biggest right now. But it's not everything. And you sure as hell won't have it if you keep going like this."

I didn't respond.
Because I knew they were right.

And it broke something in me to admit it.

"We'll figure it out." Gibsie said finally. "One thing at a time. But you're not going back out there. Not today. Not until you can run without collapsing."

I looked down at my leg, stitched and raw and screaming, and realised that I couldn't hide it anymore.

"I don't want them to see." I murmured. "I don't want her to see."

"No one will see anything." Gibsie promised. "We'll get you out the side entrance."

"Please don't tell anyone." I whispered. "About the surgery. About any of it."

They all looked at each other.

Then nodded.

"We won't." Hughie said.

Then I let Gibsie hoist me up, one arm around my back, the other bracing under my shoulder, and for the first time in weeks I let someone else carry the weight.