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Kevin Day was twenty the last time Andrew had seen him; stiff-backed, hair cropped, hand bound in a canvas brace. The winter banquet had been hosted at Breckenridge that year, the Evermore Ravens on the other side of the room from the Foxes.
Kevin Day had been standing with the other coaches, though, not the players. And Kilduáin is a very long way from Breckenridge.
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All events carry but one.
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Bookmark Notes:
I don’t have to know you. All I have to believe is that you won’t hurt me. You don’t fool me, Andrew Minyard.
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Bookmark Notes:
Something so extraordinary is in here (beautiful exploration of both Kevin & Andrew as a duo but also separately)
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Bookmark Notes:
THE Irish and ocean fic