Nova

I’ve loved her since we were about the size of spuds in the back garden.

Since nappies and naps on the same blanket while our parents—Mam and Da, Claire and Gerard—talked shite over mugs of tea. We’d crawl around together, pinch each other’s biscuits, and fall asleep on each other’s shoulders before we could say our own names. There’s never been a day in my life where she wasn’t right there. My shadow. My sunshine. My everything.

And Jesus, she’s still there.

Wrecking my head, steal­ing my jumpers, causing chaos in my chest like it’s a feckin’ sport.

We’re all out on Inch Beach—me, nova, Connor, Caoimhe, Cara, Peter, Paddy, Liam, the whole usual gang. Bonfire crackling nearby, tunes going on someone’s speaker, wind battering our faces but not enough to stop us from laughing like lunatics.

She’s out in the water now, up to her waist, wearing that daft grin that always means trouble. Her hair’s slicked back from the sea, cheeks flushed, eyes like lightning.

“Rory!” she calls. “Rory, help!”

At first I think she’s messing—she’s always messing—but then she flails a bit, ducks under, and my heart drops out of my feckin’ chest.

I don’t think. I don’t breathe.

I just *run*.

My legs carry me before my brain catches up. I hear the others shouting but it’s all white noise. The ache in my chest isn’t panic—it’s *her*. It’s always been her.

I throw myself into the water, runners and all, arms going straight for her waist. I yank her up and back, heart hammering like a bleeding bodhrán, and then—

She laughs.

Like, full belly laugh. Gasping and howling and swatting at me like I’m the mad one.

“You absolute wagon!” I shout, still clutching her. “You scared the fucking life out of me!”

She’s wheezing, clutching my arms. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“You’re bleedin’ cracked in the head,” I mutter, stepping back but still holding onto her wrist. My pulse is racing and she’s standing there, water dripping down her legs, smile brighter than the sun. I swear I could collapse. She’s always like this—laughing in the middle of danger, smiling like she hasn’t torn a hole in my soul.

“You’re mad,” I say again, but softer now. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed pink, eyes locked on mine like she can hear every thought in my head.

Because if she could?

She’d know I want to kiss her so bad my ribs are about to snap. She’d know I ache for her in ways I can’t say. She’d know that she’s it for me. Always has been.

“Still saved me though,” she teases.

“Course I did,” I mutter. “Always will.”

She goes quiet at that. It hangs in the air between us—like fog, or something holy.

And fuck it, I want to say it. Want to shout it.

That I love her. That I’m bleeding ruined over her. That she’s every heartbeat I’ve got left.

But I don’t.

Neither does she.

———

Later, while everyone’s busy roasting marshmallows and throwing bits of driftwood into the flames, I watch her from across the circle. She’s laughing again, telling some story to Caoimhe and Cara, face lit by firelight, hands moving dramatically.

“Go tell her,” Liam whispers next to me.

I snort. “Tell her what?”

Liam gives me a look. “You’re mad about her. It’s bloody written across your forehead, lad.”

“Yeah well,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets, “she’s never said it either.”

“That’s cause you’re both eejits,” Liam says.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’re both terrified of ruining this thing we’ve had since birth. Maybe we think if we say it out loud, it’ll shatter like glass.

But standing there watching her, the ache is louder than ever. It’s like being homesick for something that’s right in front of me. Something I’ve always had but never really *held.*

She’s my best friend. My only girl. The one who’s known me longer than I’ve known myself.

And every time I look at her, I think—*Just feckin’ say it, Rory.*

But then she turns, and smiles at me like that, like the world begins and ends in my direction…

“You’re staring Kavanagh!” She yells across the fire. Jesus, I was absolutely gone for her. “Am I really, anyways I need to talk to you!” I yell back.

1 | Rory Kavanagh

If Only She Knew

1 | Rory Kavanagh

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