And without another word, he walked off in the direction of the carpark towards the school bus.
I stood there for another solid five minutes trying to talk myself down from the ledge I was threatening to jump from.
It didn’t work.
Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.
Nothing except finding him.
Trembling from head to toe, I took the plunge and hurried inside the building and down the concrete floored corridor, not stopping until I was standing outside a white door with the word Visitors engraved on it.
Inhaling a huge, steadying breath, I pushed the door inwards and stepped inside the empty dressing room, only to be immediately assaulted by the stench of Deep Heat.
It was so potent that it caused my eyes to water.
Steam was wafting from an archway that I presumed led to the shower area.
Most changing rooms had the same layout: big room, white brick walls, wooden benches lining either side of the room, and showers situated at the back.
He's in the shower, you idiot.
What are you doing?
Get out.
Get out now!
Embarrassed, I swung around and bolted for the door, only to halt in my tracks when Johnny called out my name.
"Shannon?"
Mortified, I swung around to face him.
"Hi," I strangled, forcing myself to breathe even though it felt like my heart accelerated in my chest at the sight of him.
Johnny had a towel slung over his shoulder, was gripping a metal crutch with his hand, and wore a pained expression on his face. He was once again wearing a pair of Calvin Klein's.
Tonight's were black.
"Hi," Johnny replied, distracting me from my dangerous thoughts. "What are you doing in here?"
"I wanted to check on you," I blurted out, desperately trying not to stare at the way his stomach muscles contracted when he made his way over to the bench, putting all his weight on the crutch. "I was worried."
He was limping again, blatantly obvious now, and I was instantly alert.
Alert and concerned.
"I am worried," I muttered.
"One of those assholes from Royce ripped me with his boot," Johnny grumbled.
He sat down gingerly, rested the crutch beside him, and placed the towel over his right thigh.
"Ripped you?" I choked out, horrified.
Oh, god.
Exhaling heavily, Johnny leaned back and rested his head against the tiled wall at his back. "Assholes."
"You didn’t get up, Johnny," I whispered, chewing on my lip. My gaze flicked to his thigh. "For a long time."
"Passed out from the pain," he reluctantly admitted.
"They're sending you to the hospital?" I offered, forcing myself to stay where I was and not run to him like I desperately wanted to. "For tests?"
"It's protocol given the circumstances." Exhaling heavily, he leaned back and rested his head against the tiled wall at his back. "It's a fucking joke."
Liar.
I know you're going to have surgery.
"How bad is it, Johnny?" I forced myself to ask.
He snapped his gaze on me, blue eyes full of heat. "I'm okay, Shannon."
More lies.
I could hear how much pain he was in from the way he was gritting his words as he spoke.
He was hurting.
And he was scared.
"Are you sure?" I pressed.
He looked at me, blue eyes full of heat. "Are you?"
"I don’t know." I shrugged helplessly. "I'm so scared for you."
Johnny arched a brow at my response and I flushed beetroot red.
"I should leave you be." I clasped my hands together and swallowed deeply. "I'll uh, go wait on the bus."
I turned around and hurried for the door.
"Can you stay with me?"
My feet stopped and my heart sped up.
I turned back to look at him. "Huh?"
"Please," Johnny croaked out. "I don’t want to be on my own."
My heart constricted tightly in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I can go and get Gibsie?" I offered weakly.
Johnny shook his head. "I only want you."
I knew I should leave.
I should walk out of this room and take my seat on the bus.
It would be the right thing to do.
The sensible thing.
But I wouldn’t.
Because I couldn’t leave him.
Clumsily, I moved towards him, not stopping until I was sitting down beside him.
My brain was untrusting and wary, but my heart wasn’t, and my body was more than happy to overcompensate for both.
I was physically attracted to him, emotionally connected, and mentally terrified.
It made for an awful battlefield of anguish inside of me.
Concern for this boy was rampant inside of me.
I didn’t understand it, and in this moment, I didn’t care.
The relief I felt when I stepped through that door and saw him alive and breathing was still overwhelming me. I knew he was terrified over his prospects of playing rugby, but all I could think about was that he was in one piece.
It was that overwhelming relief and concern flushing through my veins that provoked my next move.
"It's okay," I promised, taking his big hand in mine. "You're going to be okay."
Johnny stiffened, but didn’t pull his hand from mine.
I didn’t let go either.
I just pulled his hand onto my lap and held on tightly.
"I'm in pain, Shannon," he confessed, dropping his head. "I'm so fucking scared."
"I know you are," I whispered, shifting closer, fingers twitching with the urge I had inside of me to check the damage he was hiding beneath that towel. "Have they given you anything for the pain?"
Johnny exhaled a ragged breath. "Yeah, the doc gave me a shot of something – a muscle relaxant, I think."
"Is it helping?"
He shook his head.
"I bet you wish you hadn't wasted those ibuprofen on me now, huh?" I joked, trying to distract him from the obvious discomfort he was in. "They would've come in handy right about now."
"A tranquilizer would be helpful," he shot back glumly, his big shoulders sagging.
"Let me see you," I instructed softly.
Keeping my right hand wrapped around his, I used my left to reach over and turn his chin.
"Those fuckers," I grumbled, eyeing the purple bruising on the side of his cheek, and that cut above his brow that was once again clotting. "Your poor face."
Johnny chuckled then.
"What's funny?" I asked, thrilled to hear that sound come out of him.
"It's weird to hear you say fucker," he explained with a weary smile.
"I'm quite partial to cursing, you know," I told him, desperately trying to distract him from his pain.
"No, you're not," he replied gruffly, too clever for his own good. "You're just saying that to distract me."
"Is it working?"
He nodded stiffly. "Don’t stop."
Racking my brain for something to say, I let my gaze roam over him, absorbing every groove and hard edge until settling on the hand wrapped in mine.
His hand was big and masculine, his knuckles an odd shape from what I presumed was years' worth of rough housing. His fingers were long, his nails were cut short, and he had a long scar running across the back of his left hand.
I raised a brow at that.
Grazing my fingertips over the jagged line on the back of his hand, I asked, "What happened here?"
"Boot studs," he explained, staring down at our joined hands. "Illegal hand stamp in a ruck during a club semi-final two years ago, resulting in seven stiches and a tetanus."
I winced. "Ouch."
He expelled a harsh breath. "Yeah."
"Have you more?"
"I've a few," he replied, eyeing me curiously.
"Can I see?"
Johnny watched me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "If you want to."
"I do," I replied, wanting to keep his mind occupied while he waited for the ambulance to come.
"I've broken this more times than I remember," Johnny told me, pointing to his nose. "The worst time was last summer." He grimaced before adding, "They had to file the bone and re-break it to set in back in place."
My eyes widened. "Back into place?"
"Yeah." He smirked. "I was walking around the place with my nose touching my cheek."
"God," I groaned, stomach turning. "That's barbaric."
"That's rugby," he laughed and then grunted loudly, flinching in pain.