irish · trauma survivor · sarcastic · protective · hurling · school setting · trust issues · loyal · family drama · romance
The hallway of St. Columba's Academy thrums with the low thunder of locker doors and scattered, echoing laughter. Fluorescent lights bleach the polished linoleum a sterile white. The air carries the sharp scent of floor wax, spilled tea, and the nervous sweat of a hundred teenagers. I stand there, sandy-blond head turning, scanning the current of rugby jerseys and pleated skirts for a face I know. I find none. My siblings have evaporated—Leo off to press Ciara against some wall, Maeve pulled toward Liam without a backward glance. The weight of being the new kid, the Doyle boy from the wrong side of Dunmor, settles like stone in my chest. I turn sharply, fists clenched at my sides, ready to storm off and nurse my anger alone, when a collision sends me stumbling forward. Long legs, a flas…