“Too little, too late.”
“Aoife, please?” He sighed heavily. “Come on.”
“No. You’ve heard what people are saying about me,” I replied flatly, stopping outside of my classroom door. “You’ve seen how they’ve been treating me. You cultivated that, Kev. You orchestrated this whole damn thing. So, shove your apology up your ass, because it doesn’t fix anything for me.”
“What you said yesterday about Joey? You were right,” he admitted, scrubbing his jaw with his hand. “I don’t like him. He does threaten me. I did do it to hurt him.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.
“But I didn’t take into account what my actions would do to you,” he added, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t think, period.”
“What you did can’t be fixed with an apology,” I replied, unwilling to bend. “You can’t detonate a bomb on someone’s life and then say oops when everything is blown to hell.”
“How’s the uncle-to-be?” Paul said, when he stepped out of our classroom. Slinging an arm around my brother’s shoulder, he smiled cruelly at me, while addressing my brother. “Alright, Kev?”
Looking embarrassed, my brother shrugged awkwardly before muttering, “Alright, Ricey?”
“Oh, bog off, Paul,” I growled, just about done with his bullshit. “I’m trying to have a private conversation with my brother.”
“Private?” He sneered at me like I was a piece of shit on his shoe. “There’s not a whole pile private about you, now is there, Aoife?”
Glaring up at him, I gave him the finger. “Screw you.”
“I told you that he’d ruin you,” he pushed cruelly. “And now look at the state you’re in.” His gaze trailed over me, lingering on my stomach before he shook his head. “You’re already getting fat.”
“Ricey,” my brother tried to defend. “Leave her alone.” It was a pitiful attempt, and once put under the pressure of Paul’s stare, he crumbled, shoulders slumping.
“What do you care, lad?” Paul laughed. “You said it yourself; your sister’s a fucking slut.”
I cast a glare to my brother, who had the good grace to bow his head in shame.
“You think I care about your opinion, Paul?” I shot back, determined to defend myself against this asshole’s taunting. “The best thing I ever did was get away from you.”
“No, that was the best thing you ever did for me,” he sneered. “It was the worst thing you ever did for yourself, because now all you’ll ever be is the mother of that junkie scumbag’s little bastard.”
“Say it again.”
The breath left my body in a dizzy rush when a familiar menacing voice filled my ears.
My shoulders sagged and I honestly felt like I was about to collapse from the surge of relief that rocketed through my body.
“Say it again, asshole,” Joey repeated, coming up to stand behind me.
Tossing his hurley and helmet on the floor, he let his schoolbag fall off his shoulder, and hooked one strong arm around my waist before backing me up against his hard chest. “I dare ya.”
Shivering when his hand smoothed over the small swell of my stomach, I felt like crying when his thumb gently moved up and down.
“This is the part where you run,” I told my asshole ex. “Fast.”
My brother opened his mouth to speak, but Joey got there first. “You should listen to your sister.”
It was almost comical how quickly both boys took off, bolting off in opposite directions.
“Yeah, you should run,” I called after my brother, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort, as I leaned against my boyfriend’s chest. “You little bitch.”
“I’m so fucking sorry I’m late,” Joey muttered when they were out of earshot. “I overslept.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” I replied, turning in his arms. “I didn’t think you were going to show – what the hell happened to your face?”
My mouth fell open and I gaped at the horrific bruising and swelling on the left side of his face.
“Jesus Christ, Joe.” I reached up to touch him. “Your cheek.”
“Yeah, I think it’s broken,” he muttered, gently batting my hand away, as he reached for his bag and hurley. “Don’t touch it, okay? It’s tender as fuck.”
“Broken?” I swallowed the lump in my throat as my heart cracked clean open.
He took another beating from his father.
Another broken bone.
Another chip of his heart that would never be pieced back together.
“He did this to you.” My voice cracked. “Because of me? Because of the baby?”
“No, not because of the baby,” he replied in a soft tone. “Because he’s a prick.” He opened the classroom door and gestured to me to go first. “This isn’t on you.”
“And what time do you call this?” Mr. Dineen demanded when we walked into class.
“Sorry we’re late, sir,” I declared before the teacher could go in on my boyfriend like he usually would. “We’re having a bit of a crisis.”
“A crisis?”
“Morning sickness,” some asshole fake-coughed from the back of the class, evoking a chorus of wolf-whistles and ooohs.
“Right, well, I’ll let you off just this once,” our teacher replied, cheeks reddening, as he gestured for us to take our seats.
Hurrying to the back of the class, I took my seat in the back row and watched as Joey waited at Mr. Dineen’s desk for him to sign his red book.
On his way back to our desk, his movements were stiff and rigid and I knew all too well that the marks on his face weren’t the only ones his father put on his body.
My heart cracked at the thought.
“Joe,” I whispered, when he carefully lowered himself onto the seat beside mine.
“It’s all good, Molloy.” He tossed his hurley and helmet on floor at his feet, before turning to give me his full attention. “I’m fine.” His green eyes were warm and full of affection when he leaned in close and whispered, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah?” He slipped his hand under the desk and squeezed my thigh. “Well, you look good, baby.”
How he could be so good to me, so considerate and caring of my feelings, when he was going through hell, was beyond me.
“I love you,” I whispered, covering his hand with mine. “So much.”
“I know.” Blowing out a pained breath, he entwined his fingers with mine. “I know, Molloy.”
“It’s bad enough that you’re both late to my class, but you have the nerve to have a full-blown conversation,” Mr. Dineen barked, glowering at us. “Joseph, would you care to tell the class what you two are whispering about? In your native tongue, if you will, since I have spent the past six years attempting to teach you the language.”
“Ceart go leor, a mhúinteoir,” my boyfriend replied with a nonchalant shrug as he replied in As Gaeilge. “Bhí mé ag rá le mo leannán go bhfuil grá agam di.”