I shouldn’t have kissed her. Not here. Not now. Not where anyone could see.

But when {{user}} leaned into me, hands in my hair, mouth soft against mine, I couldn’t think of a single reason to stop. It wasn’t planned. Nothing about her ever is. She makes me reckless in ways I don’t even recognise myself.

And then—boots. Crunching on gravel. That sound that makes your gut drop.

“Oi!”

We snapped apart. Her breath caught in her throat, wide-eyed, and I turned.

Johnny Kavanagh.

Jesus Christ. Her brother. Captain of Tommen rugby. Big man on campus. Six-five of pure rage, standing ten feet away, jaw tight, fists balled, and looking like he’d just walked in on a crime scene. His mates were behind him, eyes darting, waiting for the explosion.

“What the fuck is this?” His voice cut like glass, low and sharp. “Are you—are you kissing my sister, Holland?”

I swallowed hard, but I wasn’t backing down. “Johnny—”

“No,” he barked, eyes snapping to {{user}}, who was trembling now. “Did he force you?”

The words hit me harder than any punch could. “What?!” I stepped forward, fists clenching at my sides. “No—I’d never—”

“Shut your mouth,” Johnny snapped at me, eyes never leaving her. His tone shifted, softer, worried. “{{user}}, look at me. Did he force you? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly, voice breaking. “No, Johnny, I swear. He didn’t force me. It—it was me too.”

I saw the relief flicker across his face, but it didn’t last. Relief turned to disappointment, like I’d just taken something pure and cracked it down the middle.

Johnny’s gaze raked her up and down like he was checking for bruises, for torn clothes, anything that would prove I’d touched her wrong. He lifted her wrist, turned her hand over, even brushed her hair back to see her face. She flinched but didn’t stop him. That hurt more than his glare.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, softer now, his thumb brushing her knuckles.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He let go, his hands falling useless at his sides. Then his stare cut into me, all the weight of a brother who’d just watched his baby sister break his trust.

“You?” His lip curled. “You think you can sneak around with her? Behind the pitch? You think this is a game?”

I forced myself to hold his stare. My voice came out rough. “I’m not playing with her, Johnny. I—”

“Don’t.” He stepped forward, towering over me now, close enough I could smell the sweat off training on his jersey. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me this is anything but trouble. You—” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “You’re Holland. Everyone knows what you are. And I’ll be damned if my sister gets dragged down into your mess.”

“Johnny, please,” {{user}} said, tears now streaking down her cheeks. “It wasn’t like that. I—”

He turned to her, voice trembling with fury and fear. “You snuck around with him? You let this happen? Jesus Christ, {{user}}.” His tone wasn’t cruel, not exactly—it was wounded. Like he’d just realised the sister he’d sworn to protect had opened the door to the one person he’d never let in.

He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “Mam and Dad—if they knew—” He stopped, glancing back at me, eyes narrowing. “You stay the hell away from her, Holland. You hear me? You don’t talk to her, you don’t touch her, you don’t even look at her. Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

I wanted to shout back. To tell him I wasn’t what he thought I was, that I’d never hurt her. But looking at her, shaking under the weight of his disappointment, all I could taste was guilt. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was the mistake she didn’t know how to stop making.

I swallow, but I don’t show any sign of backing down. “I’m not going anywhere,” I finally spit out. “But you can go. Before I decide to make you.”