Page 6 of Revived
Sullivan Byrne
ByrneFamilyGroupChat:
Kieran: Good luck tonight, Flynn.
Jakob: Got the game on at the bar.
Clara: We’re cheering for you Uncle Flynn.
Clara: *picture of Rhett and Maeve in Flynn’s jersey*
Mac: Thinking of coming down for a game soon.
Rowan: Same. You got this, Flynn.
Declan: I want to come too. Brothers trip?
Kieran: I’m in.
Sullivan: He plays in Jersey soon. Just go tothat game.
Phoenix: Damn, so subtle Sul.
Lee: Ooookayyyy. Maybe you guys don’t go…
Rowan: No, we’re coming. Sullivan can pick up an extra shift if he’s so hellbent on not seeing us.
Flynn: Thanks. About to go out now. Love you all. Sul we’ll talk about it tonight. I’ll come over after.
The heels of my hands dig into my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. They stress me the fuck out on a good day, and having the Jersey Byrnes in Temple Valley can lead to nothing good. But I push all that aside as we lounge on Knox’s couch watching as Flynn crashes into a player on the opposite team and steals the puck. Xavier got home a couple of days ago, and I go back on shift in the morning. We’ve all decided to spend our last night hanging out watching the game together before I go back to work, and Knox goes to Georgia for spring training.
Knox pitches for the Virginia Reapers, and he’s going for his second World Series win in a row. We have a little bit until the actual season starts, but his plane takes off at ten tomorrow morning to ship him down to Georgia for the next month. He’s one of the best in the league at what he does, but that’s not what gets him in front of the cameras more often than not. No, supposedly it’s his pretty face. I wouldn’t know because he looks like an ugly mug to me, but girls throw themselves at him as soon as he pushes his blonde hair out of his medium blue eyes and gives them that all American smile. So we’llbe split up for the next month, and group facetime, texts, and calls will have to hold us over.
Elle’s curled up between Knox and Dom, her eyes fighting to stay open as she watches Flynn shoot the puck to his right winger so he can take it in for a potential goal. She’s tucked herself into a little ball between two of our best friends, and I watch her blinks become heavier as the seconds pass. She was gone pretty early today and dragged herself in here ten minutes before the game started in a pair of spandex shorts and someone’s old hoodie from high school or college.
The television steals my attention as Flynn gets checked into the boards… hard. His body crumbles to the ground in a heap, and I push to my feet. I’m pretty sure I stop breathing altogether, just waiting for him to get up.
“Come on… get up… get the hell up, Flynn…”
I’m murmuring to myself, but you couldn’t pay me to care right now. Flynn’s linemate skates over, and a few seconds later, he’s helping to pull him up. He skates gingerly to the bench, but he doesn’t go out, and he’s up. I empty all the oxygen in my lungs in relief, and everyone seems to collectively let out a noisy sigh.
I feel her hand rubbing the side of my arm in comfort. “He’s fine, Sul. Look, he looks like he’s even going out next shift. He’s good.”
I shake off the panic that was gripping my heart in a vise and smile down at her. She’s right. He’s okay.
I sit back down to continue watching the game, and Elle sits to my left. She’s not touching me. Not crossing any friends’ only boundaries, but the comfort is there, and the fire licks through my veins all the same. My phone rings out throughout the space as we all watch Flynn skate back out for his next shift, seemingly unharmed.
I answer the phone with dread because I know most of them will be together by now, but I’ll never ignore this number.
“Yes, Mom.” I answer my oldest sister-in-law’s call.
“Drop the sass, Sullivan.” She has her mom voice on full display, and I can tell by the way her voice comes through the line that I am in fact on speakerphone, which further proves my point that she isn’t alone.
“Sorry. What’s up?” I try for indifference as I watch my brother play while listening to her.
“Did anyone call you? That was a hard hit. Do you think he’s okay? Should he drive home by himself? What if he hit his head?” A small smile pulls at the corners of my lips. She’s such a mama bear.
“No one called me. They won’t unless he has to be pulled into the back. He’s playing fine now, so I think he’s good. He took a harder hit than that when we were eight and Mac convinced him to jump off the trampoline into the pool… He missed the pool…” I’m trying my hardest to convince her that he’s fine, because if I don’t, I’ll have them all beating down our doors in the next few hours for sure.
