JOEY
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the quiet bubble Molloy and I had been cocooned in while we came to terms with the squawking baby we co- created, was well and truly burst.
Barging into the hospital room, laden down with balloons, stuffed animals, and shopping bags came Trish and Casey, followed by a squeamish looking Tony.
“Aoife!” Trish and Casey both exclaimed, making a beeline for my girlfriend. “Oh, my poor baby.”
“Hi, Mam. Hi, Case.”
“Oh, look at your poor face. You look dead only to wash ya.” “Wow. Thanks, Mam.”
“Don’t mind your mam,” Casey was quick to interject. “You’re every inch the ridey you’ve always been. Minus the big belly.”
Having the good sense to get out of the way, I stepped around the girls and moved for Tony.
“I see your father’s still here,” Tony noted, eyes locked on the baby in my arms. “That’s a good start.”
“I’m still here,” I confirmed, readjusting my hold on my son. “Say hi to your grandfather, kid.”
“Better not be calling any grandson of mine after the car in Knight Rider,” Tony grumbled, eyes locked on the baby in my arms.
“Wash your ears out, Dad,” Molloy called back. “He said kid, not Kit.” “Kid?” Tony blanched. “Jesus, that’s worse.”
“That’s not his name,” I chuckled, holding him out for Tony to hold.
“Here.”
“Ah Jesus, boyo, don’t be giving him to me to hold,” Tony strangled out, eyes locked on my son, as he quickly removed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. “Look at the size of him.” Moving for the chair next to the bed, he sat down and blew out a shaky breath. “I haven’t held a baby since the twins were small.”
“Give him to me,” Trish cut in, making a beeline for us. “I want the first squeeze.”
“Don’t mind her,” Tony grumbled, gesturing me towards him with both hands. “Come here to me, boyo, and have a cuddle with Grandad.”
“Oh my god,” Casey crooned, leaning over Tony with a pink digital camera in her hands, as she snapped away like a mad woman. “He’s absolutely divine, you guys.”
“He’s like a small man already,” Trish cooed. “He’s huge, Aoife.”
“Yeah,” Molloy mumbled, closing her eyes. “I can still feel how huge he was.”
With all eyes on the baby, I returned to her side, “You good?” “Mm-hm.” She nodded, eyes still shut. “Just some tightening.”
Yeah, they told us that would happen.
She’d been given a shit ton of medicine to help her uterus contract.
“So, mister reformed bad boy,” Casey acknowledged, offering me a wink. “Still behaving yourself?” Waggling her brows, she added, “I hope you haven’t been sneaking any gas and air on the sly.”
“Casey!”
“Nah, I’m good,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Clean as a whistle.” “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Sure is.”
“So, have you two given this little man an actual name yet?” she asked. “Or are we going by kid for the foreseeable.”
Molloy looked to me, and I shrugged. “It’s your call, baby.”
“We have a name,” she said, licking her lips. “We have two, actually.” “Oh?” Trish’s eyes lit up. “Do tell.”
“Joe’s against it, but I want his middle name to be Joseph,” she told them. “And his last name will be Lynch.” Shivering, she added, “We’re not married, so it’s important to me that everyone knows our son has a father who claimed him.”
I swallowed down my protests, refusing point blank to argue with the girl that had been through eight hours of hell to give me a son. Instead, I nodded in support when she looked to me for reassurance.
“And his first name?” Trish pushed.
“Anthony,” Molloy said. “His name is Anthony Joseph Lynch.” Smiling, she added, “AJ for short.”
“But I’m Anthony,” Tony squeezed out, turning the color of his daughter’s Opal Corsa.
“Yeah, Dad.” Molloy rolled her eyes. “We know.”
“You’ve decided to name your son after the man who raised you,” Trish said proudly, giving her daughter a huge smile. “Oh, Aoife, that’s a lovely sentiment.”
“Actually, we decided to name our son after the man who raised the both of us,” I confirmed quietly. “Because, let’s face it, the only man I ever had to show me the way was your husband.”
Roughly clearing his throat, Tony looked down at AJ and sniffed. “I know exactly what that father of yours is trying to do, boyo,” he told my son, voice thick with emotion. “He’s trying to butter up old Grandad, isn’t he?” He pressed a kiss to my son’s forehead and smiled down at him. “Well, you can tell your father that it worked. Yes, you can. Tell your father that I expect his ass at the garage the minute your mother is home and back on her feet.”
My heart stopped in my chest. Molloy turned to gape at me.
“But tell that father of yours that he’s on his last life,” Tony continued to say, speaking to me through my son. “And tell your old fella that your grandad has a Burdizzo on hand if he gets any notions about giving you a brother or sister before he finishes his apprenticeship and puts a ring on your mother’s finger.”
“Burdizzo?” Casey frowned. “The hell is that?”
“It’s what they use on farms to sever a bull’s testicular cord,” I strangled out, thinking back to something Podge once told me. “You can tell your
grandfather that you’re going to be an only child.”
Tony smirked. “You can tell your father that’s a wise decision.”
“Oh my god, Dad,” Molloy grumbled, waving a hand around. “Just kiss and make up already. Everyone knows you’ve been miserable all summer without your little sidekick at the garage.”
“Well, it looks like I’ve a new little sidekick to keep me occupied,” Tony mused, fighting off Trish, who was trying to coax the baby out of his arms.
“You feel like going to the bathroom yet?” I asked, turning my attention back to Molloy. They’d removed her catheter a while ago and encouraged her to get out of bed and use the bathroom, but Molloy hadn’t budged an inch.
“Joe?”
“Yeah?”
Wide-eyed, she gestured for me to come closer so that she could whisper in my ear. “I’m scared to move.” Shivering, she cupped my cheek, and whispered, “It feels like everything is going to fall out of me.”
My heart cracked.
“That won’t happen,” I tried to reassure her, tucking her under my arm. “You’ve just given birth, baby. It’s going to feel all kinds of fucked up, but I promise nothing bad going to happen to you.”
“I’m covered in blood,” she whispered, hand trembling, as she buried her face in my neck. “I’m disgusting.”
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I corrected gruffly before turning my attention to her parents. “Aoife needs a shower. Can you watch the baby?”
“I can take you, Aoife love —”
“No, I’ll take her,” I cut Trish off and said when I felt her daughter’s body stiffen in protest. “I’ve got this.”
“My legs feel like concrete,” Molloy mumbled as she gingerly climbed out of bed. “Nobody look, okay?”
“Okay,” all three of her visitors dutifully chorused.
“Joe, the bed,” she choked out when she was standing, eyes locked on the dried blood on the sheets.
“It’s grand.”
“But there’s blood everywhere.” “It’s okay.”
“It’s on my nightie and my legs – ugh, Joe, it’s even on my socks.”
“Molloy, I promise you it’s grand,” I coaxed, hooking one arm around her waist, while taking her elbow with the other. “Every other woman in this hospital is in the same boat. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? They see this kind of thing a dozen times a day here.”
“But you saw it, Joe,” she mumbled, lip wobbling.
“You think I care about that?” I shook my head. “I’m in fucking awe of you, baby. What you just did? Giving me a son? Christ, Molloy I’m punching so high right now it’s ridiculous.”
“Really?” “Really, really.”
“Oh, lovely.” Sniffling, she nodded and leaned into my side. “I’m wearing a nappy.”
She had those disposable knickers and socks on, and I felt so fucking guilty for doing this to her, because I was under no illusions as to who was responsible for this girl.
Me.
“That’s it. Nice and slow.” Taking it one step at a time, I helped her into the adjoining bathroom. “There’s no rush, baby.”
“Thanks, Joe,” she said when we were safely inside the bathroom and away from prying eyes. “You can go out now.”
Yeah, I wasn’t going anywhere. Not when she looked like she was two seconds away from passing out on the floor. She’d been giving two units of blood and an iron transfusion for Christ’s sake. She wasn’t fit to be going anywhere on her own, much less showering alone.
“No, Molloy, stop, okay?” I coaxed, recapturing her arm when she tried to stand on her own. “Let me help you.”
“No.” Her lip wobbled again, and I watched as she tried to blink her tears away, as I helped her into the shower. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this,” she cried, using her free hand to gesture to her stomach and legs. “It’s disgusting.”
“It’s not disgusting,” I corrected gruffly. When she made no move to, I reached for the hem of the bloodstained nightdress she’d been wearing during labor.
“No.” She shook her head and twisted her body away. “Joe, no. I don’t look like me anymore.”
Fuck, that hurt.
Her vulnerability was soul shredding. I was desperate to soothe her.
To make it right.
Her stomach was bruised and deflated, with deep purple stretch marks from where her body had housed and carried my son.
“You’re so beautiful,” I told her, voice cracking when my stupid fucking emotions threatened to get the better of me.
“No.” Sniffling, she shook her head, refuting my words.
“Yes,” I corrected gruffly, catching ahold of her chin with my hand. “Yes.”
Green eyes stared up at me, so full of pain and vulnerability. “I missed you so bad.” Clutching the back of my neck, she pulled my face down to hers. “I feel like I died this summer without you and I’m only coming back to life now.”
“Yeah.” Resting my brow against hers, I absorbed the moment, the feelings, the weight of my conscience, the future laid out before us. “I know the feeling.”
It was her.
It always had been. It always would be.
The girl from the wall.
“I’m going to take care of you,” I told her. “Because I love you.” She shivered violently when I pressed a kiss to her head. “Because I think you’re sexy as fuck.” Carefully reaching for the hem of her disposable underwear, I
guided them off. “Because you’re my queen.” Disposing of everything she was wearing, I switched on the shower and held onto her trembling frame as she stood under the hot spray of water, not giving a damn that I was getting wet in the process. My entire focus was on the girl still looking at me like I hung the moon. “And because everything I have, everything I am, I owe to you.”
“Aoife, love? How are you getting on in there?” Trish called out, moments before barreling into the bathroom.
“Mam, get out,” Molloy hissed, giving her mother her back. “God!” “What’s that on your arse?”
“Nothing.”
“Is that a tattoo?” “No.”
“Is that Joey’s name?” “Mam, get out!”
“Oh, Jesus, Tony.” “What’s wrong, Trish?”
“No wonder that daughter of ours didn’t want me helping her shower. She has that young fella’s name tattooed on her arse!”
