Binding 13

"And Gerard?" My mother always used Gibsie's first name. "How's he doing?"

"He's the same as always," I replied, heaping stew into a bowl before moving to the island. "Is Da back from Dublin yet?"

My father was a barrister, a fairly prolific one at that, and spent a huge portion of his time rotating between Cork and his HQ in Dublin. It all depended on the client he was defending and the seriousness of the case. But it basically went like this; the bigger the crime, the bigger the commute.

My parents' work commitments and schedules meant that I spent a lot of time on my own when they were traveling, and that was exactly how I liked it.

Up until I was about fourteen, they would have our neighbor, Maura Reilly, come stay with me, but that was mostly just to drive me to school and training. I was mature enough to stay on my own and fairly self-sufficient.

Maura still stopped by when my mother was away on business, but that was more to clean up and cook a batch of meals.

After so many years living this way, not to mention endless freedom, I didn’t think I would cope with having them around me 24/7.

"He won't be back from Dublin until the middle of March at the earliest," Mam replied, coming to join me at the island. "I flew into Dublin this morning and had lunch with him before driving down," she explained before taking the stool opposite mine.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked between mouthfuls of stew. "You could've stayed above with him for a few days."

"Why'd you think?" Mam rested her elbows on the counter and smiled. "Because I wanted to see my baby."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a baby, Ma."

"You're my baby," she countered. "And you always will be. I don’t care if you grow to seven feet tall. You'll still be my little Joh

Jaysus.

What could you do with a woman like that?

Shaking my head, I gave up on my spoon and lifted the bowl to my mouth, draining the last drop of soup at the bottom before slapping the bowl down and sighing in contentment.

No one cooked like my mother.

Not the chefs at the academy or the takeout restaurants in town.

The woman had birthed me and she had a direct line to my stomach.

"I see your ma

"Can't help myself, Ma," I shot back with a wink. "I'm a growing boy."

Moving for seconds, I filled my bowl and just stood over the stove to eat.

There was no point in sitting down when I had plans on cleaning out the pot.

"How did your checkup go last week?" she asked. "Is Dr. Murphy happy with how you're healing?"

Wouldn’t know, because I didn’t go…

I grunted a blasé response, too busy inhaling my food.

"What about the doctors at The Academy?" she pushed. "I know they weren't keen on you returning so soon?"

Again, I grunted my response because getting into this with my mother was a discussion I could do without tonight.

If I lied, she'd see through me.

If I told her the truth, she'd panic.

Either way this discussion went, my mother would insist on seeing my injury – aka: my cock and balls.

And either way this discussion went, I would lose my shit and tell her no.

Then she would overreact and get on the phone to my father and cry about how I wouldn’t show her my 'private parts' and how he needed to come home to deal with me because I was probably dying from 'gangrene of the penis' or some other horrific and overdramatic illness.

Distraction and avoidance was key to a tear-free Mam and a trauma-free me.

"Delighted you're home, Ma, but I'm going to head up to my room and start on my homework," I decided on saying instead. "Fifth year is kicking my ass. I'm actually thinking about getting some grinds for Irish." I added that last bit in for extra affect. I didn’t need grinds for anything. I hadn't scored less than a B on any test or exam since third year.

In fact, I could be the one giving the fucking grinds. I sure as hell spent enough time helping the lads in my business and accounting classes.

But my distraction worked, steering my mother's concerns away from my ailments and onto my education.

"Oh, pet, that's okay," she quickly a

"Yeah, that might be a good idea," I agreed with a solemn nod. Stretching my arms over my head, I forced a yawn.

"You look shattered, love," my mother assessed, her brown eyes laced with empathy. "Why don’t you get an early night and I'll write you a note for your homework?"

"Thanks, Ma, I'm wrecked."

I walked over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then hightailed it out of the kitchen before she had a chance to remember her earlier question.

"Oh, and before I forget," she called out, stopping me in my tracks. "I booked your car into the garage for a service. The closest date I could get was Monday fortnight, so I'll give you a lift to school and we can pick your car up afterwards."

"Ah, shite," I grumbled, turning in the doorway to face her.

"What?"

"I've sessions booked with the P.T in The Academy every evening for the next month." Exhaling a frustrated breath, I rubbed my forehead. "I need my car, Ma." I looked at her with a hopeful expression before adding, "Unless you want to drop me off and pick me up at the clinic – or loan me the jeep?"

"Missing one session won't kill you," Mam replied in a level tone.

No, it probably wouldn’t – if I hadn't missed tonight's session over Sha

"Besides," Mam continued. "I fly back out to London the day after that, and I wanted to spend as much time with you as I can before I go."

Yeah, I knew she'd say that.

The woman was all about spending time with me.

Dammit.

"The league final's coming up," I argued, even though I knew it was pointless. "It's important for the school. I need to be match-fit."

"And you're not match-fit now?"

"Of course, I am."

"Then what's with the limp?"

My mouth fell open. "What?"

"Your leg," she replied. "You're not putting your weight on it."

Sha

Ma glared at me. "Watch your language, Johnathon!"

"Well, I don’t have a bleeding limp, Ma," I shot back defensively.

"Why are you getting so touchy about it?" she countered evenly. "Is it your testicles, love? Because you can tell me if something's wrong with them."

I opened my mouth to respond, but quickly closed it.

There was no point in arguing with this woman. I wasn’t going to win, and if I kept pushing, she'd do that sneaky fucking thing mothers did when they made you reveal things without asking.

Jesus Christ.

"Goodnight, Ma," I bit out and turned to leave.

"One more thing?" Mam called after me.

Inhaling a calming breath, I turned back to her. "Yes?"

"Who's this?" she asked, lips twitching as she tapped her finger on the newspaper lying open on the counter.

I frowned. "Who's who?"

With a huge smile on her face, she picked up the newspaper and held it up to show me. "This," Ma asked, full on gri

"Local or national?"

"National."