Keeping 13: Boys of Tommen #2

‘Lose the pants.’

Three words I’d heard more in the last few months than I cared to remember. Sliding off the bed, I kicked off my shoes and then undid the fly of my grey school trousers before pushing them down.

‘The underwear, too.’

Jaw ticking, I did as I was told and stepped out of my jocks until I stood in the middle of the room, bollocks naked.

‘Wonderful, Johnny,’ Dr. Quirke said, shifting her glasses higher on her nose. ‘Now, climb back onto the bed please, and lay on your back.’

With my dignity checked at the door, I swallowed down a groan and flopped down on the bed.

For a moment, I debated covering my face until it was over, but quickly thought better of it. If they were messing around down there, I needed to see what was happening, dammit.

‘Very nice,’ the good doctor stated and I supposed it wasn’t a bad complement to get, but it was a compliment given to me by a sixty-year-old woman while she was cupping my balls in her glove covered hands, so I kind of took issue with it. ‘Both sets of stitches have dissolved and everything seems to be healing beautifully.’

Beautifully?

I snorted, because how the fuck could I not? Given my current circumstances, it was either laugh or fucking cry. I had an old lady feeling my ball sac, and another two equally ancient female nurses standing over me, smiling at me in encouragement. One of them was actually giving me a thumbs up.

Jesus.

I was in the bleeding twilight zone.

When the doctor instructed me to roll onto my side and pull my legs up, I did close my eyes, knowing full well what was coming, and also knowing that there was a good chance I’d never find my dignity again.

‘Everything is looking positive,’ Dr. Quirke said when I was fully dressed and sitting in the chair opposite her. ‘But I have to ask –’ Pulling off her glasses, she twirled them around aimlessly. ‘Why would you risk yourself like you did, Johnny?’

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know.’ I’d been afraid of losing my spot – of being dismissed. I’d seen it happen to countless players since joining The Academy at fifteen. I knew what happened to the boys that didn’t quite cut it and I saw what happened to the lads that did make it but were cut due to injury. It sucked and I worked my arse off to never be one of those. It was why I had tried to play injured. I was desperate to impress, to stay relevant and on the top of their minds. The thought of some younger, uninjured, fresh-groined fucker coming in and stealing my spot was something that kept me up late at night. ‘I didn’t think,’ I finally replied. ‘I just did it.’

‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘I’m recommending another seven days of using one crutch, rather than two, and refrain from driving for at least another week.

‘And training?’ I asked, knowing it was a long shot. ‘What’s the deal?’

‘Hmm.’ Dropping her gaze to the notes on her desk, Dr. Quirke flicked through a few pages, clicking her tongue every few minutes. ‘The physiotherapy sessions you’ve been attending,’ she mused, studying one specific page in my file. ‘You’ve had a full week’s worth, yes? How have they been going?’

‘Unproductive,’ I bit out, jaw tensing. ‘I can do more, I’m ready for more, but they’re not pushing me.’

‘And you’ve been swimming every other day?’ she continued, ignoring my response. ‘In the hydrotherapy pool?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, drumming my fingers against the armrest. ‘But I need more.’

‘You need to take your recovery slowly,’ she corrected. ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’ Picking up a pen, she scribbled something down on my notes. ‘Pain relief?’

‘Unnecessary,’ I ground out. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I see,’ she replied even though she clearly didn’t see a damn thing. ‘And you’ve been doing your stretches and home exercises? You’ve been following the guidelines?’

Frustrated, I blew out a harsh breath and tried a different approach. ‘Listen, doc, I’m going to level with you here. I have an important international campaign in the summer – one I need to be fit for. I’m doing everything you’re asking of me. I’ve done the physio. I’ve done the resting. I’ve done the bleeding everything, so I just need you to cut me some slack. I’m fit, I’m strong –’ resting my elbows on the table, I leaned forward and implored her with my eyes to take pity on me, ‘and I can’t wait another month to get back out on the pitch.’

‘You do realize how tremendously strenuous the surgery you’ve had has been on your lower body?’ she asked, blinking back at me through her black rimmed glasses. ‘Your body needs time to recover. Your muscles and tendons need time –’

‘Then give me another two weeks and let me back out,’ I interrupted. ‘I can do that. I can wait another fortnight, but you’ve got to help me out here. I need to get back on the pitch, Doc –’

‘Johnny, you’re not listening,’ the doctor cut in, tone sharp. ‘You’re recovering from two surgeries, in two separate areas of your anatomy. You need to have patience.’

‘I don’t have the time to have patience,’ I shot back, jaw clenched. ‘What part of that doesn’t anyone get?’

‘I understand that you’re keen to get back to playing, but you need to take caution –’

‘He knows, Doctor,’ my father, who was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, called out. ‘Patience is a virtue.’ Dragging his gaze from a stack of paperwork he was sifting through, he turned his gaze on me. ‘Isn’t that right, Johnny?’

I glared at my father, using my eyes to communicate how little I cared about virtues. I was in a pissy mood with him and in no form for his early morning banter. He knew this and was still goading me. Lovely.

‘Keep up with the program,’ Dr. Quirke said, smiling knowingly at me. ‘And you’ll be back on the pitch in no time.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ I growled. ‘Because I have no time.’Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

‘Four more weeks,’ she mused. ‘That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘Nothing except my future,’ I grumbled, feeling thoroughly defeated.

‘Well, I think we’re about done here.’ Clasping her hands together, she gave me a bright smile. ‘I’ll see you next week for your follow up appointment.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ I drawled sarcastically before turning to Dad. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Thank you again for seeing us earlier than normal, doctor,’ Dad added, tucking his paperwork into his briefcase. ‘It’s his first day back after Easter and he’s hellbent on getting to school.’ Dad’s tone was laced with humor. ‘Apparently, his mother raised an overachiever.’

‘That’s no problem, Mr. Kavanagh,’ she replied, smiling knowingly. ‘And Johnny’s always a pleasure, but I’m sure he has some pressing engagements to attend to at school.’

‘I’m sure he has,’ Dad agreed with a smirk.

Jesus Christ…

Standing stiffly, I moved for the door, just about done with the whole bleeding lot of them, when the doctor called out, ‘Oh, before I forget – ejaculation should be fine now, Jonathan.’

The fuck?

I swung around and gaped at her. ‘Come again?’

The doctor smirked at me – she actually fucking smirked at me – before clearing her throat several times.

Was she laughing at me?

She looked like she wanted to.

‘The pain you were experiencing shouldn’t be an issue anymore,’ she said instead, giving me a reassuring smile. ‘You’re good to go.’

‘Uh…’ I scratched my head, feeling unsure of how to deal with the curveball of humiliation I had just been thrown. ‘That’s, uh…thanks?’

‘Do you hear that, son?’ Dad laughed, slapping a hand on my shoulder. ‘The doctor says you can pull on your balls again.’

Fuck.

My.

Life.

‘Do you have everything you need?’ Dad asked, less than an hour later, when he pulled the car as close to the front entrance of Tommen as physically possible. ‘Your books? Your phone? Your wallet? Your –’

‘My balls?’ I offered sarcastically. ‘Jesus, Da, I expected this overbearing shite from Ma, but you?’ I shook my head and unfastened my seatbelt. ‘It’s getting old real fast.’

‘I’m overbearing for taking you to your check-up and driving you to school?’ His tone was laced with humor. ‘Wow, that’s a new one.’

‘No, she’s overbearing,’ I shot back. ‘You’re just plain whipped for going along with her.’

‘She’s my wife,’ he mused. ‘Your mother can whip me in whatever way she wants –’

‘Just stop!’ I strangled out, horrified. ‘You know full well what I’m talking about,’ I snapped, shoving the car door open. ‘I want my life back. Do you hear me? I want you and Ma to get off my back and give me some fucking breathing space.’

Dad grinned. ‘Ah, to be young and hormonal again.’

‘I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ I hissed. ‘I’m being serious here.’

‘This is about Shannon Lynch,’ Dad said, sobering his features. ‘Because your mother and I agree that it’s better for you to steer clear of her family.’

Of course it was about Shannon Lynch. Everything in my life seemed to be centered around the girl lately. I couldn’t get her out of my head, and I couldn’t see her because my parents had gotten the fucked-up idea in their heads that they could tell me what to do.

Aside from a few measly text messages sent from my mother’s phone when her back was turned, and several more unanswered calls, I hadn’t spoken to Shannon since last week, seven days to be exact, and I was going out of my mind.

I felt like a bastard just leaving her there and not coming back, but I couldn’t exactly walk the fifteen miles from my house to hers. I couldn’t drive either, and I had lost my Gibsie privileges for making him take me over there in the first place.

In other words, I had been stuck in my house for the past week, losing my goddamn mind and drowning in concern. The only time I’d been out of the house was for physio and swimming, but that hadn’t been productive because I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the girl I left behind.

‘Because you’re making decisions for me that aren’t your place to make,’ I argued, dragging myself back to the present.

‘We never said you couldn’t see the girl,’ he said calmly. ‘You’re just not allowed to see her over there.’

‘It’s a joke,’ I spat, feeling as furious now as I did last week when they sat me down to lay down the law. ‘Her mother might be a headcase, but you and Ma are a close second.’

‘We’re trying to protect our son,’ he stated calmly. ‘We have your best interests at heart, and your best interests involve keeping a wide berth of that family.’ Smirking, he added, ‘I’m also trying to keep your mother out of a prison cell.’

I grimaced at the memory of that horrific fucking turn of events in the Lynch’s front garden last week and how Mam had come this close to battering Mrs. Lynch. Shannon’s mother threw around some shitty threats and called me a few choice names. That was all it took for Mam to morph into Floyd bleeding Mayweather.

‘You know how Mam gets when it comes to you,’ Dad added. ‘She’s a firecracker, son. Trust me.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t need anyone to protect me,’ I grumbled.

‘I think you do.’

‘You’re wrong.’

‘Maybe I am,’ he offered, driving me crazy with his devil’s advocate approach to every fucking conversation. ‘But the risk is worth the reward in this circumstance.’

The risk, in this instance, was my outrage. ‘And the reward is?’

‘You staying out of trouble.’

Jesus Christ…

Pissed off, I climbed out of the car and grabbed my school bag. ‘I can make my own decisions.’ Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I retrieved my crutch. ‘And I will.’