JOEY

MOLLOY TURNED the heater on full blast in her car on the way to the Kavanagh’s house and I was glad.

I was so fucking cold; I couldn’t get warm. It was in my bones.

When she retrieved a hoodie from the backseat and instructed me to put it

on, I did as she asked without argument.

Molloy’s favorite band, The Cranberries’ song When You’re Gone was drifting from the car stereo, but I couldn’t focus on the lyrics.

Because I wanted to talk to her.

Wanted to find the words she needed from me, but they didn’t exist in my brain anymore.

I felt very little these days, but every single I emotion I did feel was evoked from, directed at, and aimed towards her.

I loved her and no number of drugs could change that. Neither could the depression that was eating me from the inside out. Because it had to be depression, right? Wanting to die wasn’t something an eighteen-year-old fantasized about.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Molloy asked, breaking the silence that had built up between us.

My brain was too hazy, my heart too checked out, to understand or interpret her words. Instead, I reached into the pocket of my overalls and extracted my wallet. “I have your money,” I told her, splitting my wage packet in half. “Here.”

“That’s not my money, Joe,” she replied sadly, refusing to take the cash just like last week. “That’s your money.”

“No,” I muttered, tossing the cash into the glove compartment of her car before I could do something reckless with it. “It’s the baby’s money.”

Because we both knew that I would.

If I didn’t get it away from me, I wouldn’t have it to give her. I couldn’t trust myself anymore.

I wasn’t safe or reliable.

“I’m not your mother,” she told me, keeping her attention trained on the road ahead of us, as she drove down a narrow country lane. “I don’t want you for your money.”

“I’m sorry about the missing the scan,” I heard myself tell her for what had to be the hundredth time. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

“I know, Joe,” she replied with a small sniffle, still avoiding looking at me. “I know.”

“I love you,” I added, knees bopping restlessly, as I chewed on my nails. “More than life.”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with emotion. “I love you, too.”

How she could say that and mean it was something I’d never understand. How she could continue to love me?

I wasn’t worthy.

“I’m going to get myself sorted out,” I strangled out, reaching across the console to place my trembling hand on her jean-clad thigh. “I’ll fix this, Molloy. Soon. I promise.”

“Okay, Joe,” she replied, tone laced with sorrow, as she covered my hand with hers. “Whatever you say.”

Anxiety and panic gnawed at my gut. “You believe me, don’t ya?”

Molloy was quiet for a long time before she glanced sideways at me and said, “I believe in you.”

 

 

WHEN WE PARKED up outside Kavanagh’s house and climbed out of the car, we were ambushed by an army of dogs and children and one guilty-as-fuck looking rugby player.

“Joe!” Ollie and Tadhg both called out before running off in the opposite direction with two demented looking golden retrievers.

“Hi,” Kavanagh said, rounding the car with my brothers hot on his heels. “I’m ah…” Words trailing off, he reached up and scratched the back of his head, expression sheepish. “Sorry about this.”

“Sorry for snatching his siblings?” Molloy teased, leaning a hip against the bonnet of her car, as she reached down and patted the head of an ancient looking Labrador. “Strange behavior, rugby boy. Very strange indeed.”

“O-ee,” Sean squealed in delight when he rounded the corner of the house and noticed me. “O-ee,” he cried out, arms outstretched, as he ran straight for

me. “O-ee.”

“How’s my baby?” I coaxed, lifting him into my arms. “Hm? Did ya go for a spin with Johnny?”

Nodding solemnly, Sean pressed his slobbery hand to my cheek and then buried his face in my neck. “Me loves O-ee.”

“Good job, kid,” I whispered in his ear, as he wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and squeezed. “I love you, too.”

“O-ee.”

Turning my attention to where my girlfriend was having an animated conversation with my sister’s boyfriend, I asked, “What happened?”

“They were alone,” he replied, gaze flicking from Sean to me. “He was alone.”

“She wasn’t there?” Molloy asked him before I could.

“In bed, apparently,” Kavanagh told her, and I watched as something passed between them. An understanding of sorts.

“Fuck,” I muttered, feeling my anxiety rise, right along with the aching in my stomach. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“It’s all good, Joe,” my girlfriend was quick to soothe, coming to stand beside me. “Looks like the boys had a ball at the manor.”

“Joey Lynch,” a woman called out, and it took me a moment to place the voice as Kavanagh’s mother. She soon appeared at the front door, accompanied by a towering man. “We meet again.”

“So it seems,” I responded, eyeing her cautiously as she drew closer.

“You’ve got three little versions of yourself,” she said, not pausing until she was right in my personal space. “Such a lovely family.”

I was at a loss for words, so I stayed silent, my gaze fixed on the man beside her. He might have been too elegantly dressed to be a Garda, but his presence was heavy with authority.

And wealth.

And influence.

“John Kavanagh,” he introduced himself with a warm smile and a hand extended. “Johnny’s dad.”

I didn’t take his hand, but my girlfriend stepped in.

“Aoife Molloy,” she said, taking his hand with a firm grip when it became clear I wasn’t going to. With one of her trademark smiles, she flicked her hair back and looked up at both Kavanaghs. “Joey’s girlfriend.”