It was the kind of scene that made Johnny Kavanagh’s jaw clench tight.

Less than twenty feet away from him sat his sunshine — his best friend, the girl he’d known since they were kids — laughing across a booth at Damien Cleary like he was actually interesting.

Johnny stood at the counter, half a pint untouched in his hand, eyes fixed. Around him, his lads — Gibsie, Hughie, and Feely — exchanged looks.

“She’s laughing,” Johnny muttered, jaw ticking.

Gibsie followed his gaze. “You gonna keep sulking or should we do something about it?”

Johnny didn’t reply.

He just moved.

They crossed the bar like a small, strategic storm. By the time Damien noticed them, it was too late — Johnny and Gibsie slid into the booth beside her, practically boxing her in, while Hughie and Patrick took up the other side, flanking Damien like it was a rugby lineout.

She blinked up, startled but not entirely surprised. “Johnny?”

“Heya, sweetheart,” Gibsie said smoothly, stealing a chip from her plate. “Didn’t know you were entertaining.”

Damien’s face soured. “What’s this?”

Johnny didn’t even glance at him. His eyes were on her — the way she was biting her lip, the way her hand froze halfway to her drink.

“You alright?” Johnny asked her gently, ignoring Damien completely.

She nodded. Too quickly.

Damien scowled, looking around at the sudden company. “She chose me, Johnny.”

Finally, Johnny turned his head. Calm. Sharp. Dangerous.

“Did she?”