His parents.
It always came back to his parents.
“There’s nothing to break, Joe,” I replied, stroking his hair. “You are not him, and I am not her.”
“Please listen to me. I don’t want you to give him my name,” he admitted quietly. “Not my first name and definitely not my last name. I don’t want that kid to have a single thing passed down to him that came from me.”
“Joey, come on, we don’t even know if it’s a boy.”
“It’s a boy,” he mumbled, pulling back to look at me. "Regardless, you need to make that baby a Molloy. Don’t give him my name."
“Joey.” My heart sped up. “You’re this baby’s father, and I’m proud of that.” I reached up to stroke his bruised cheek. “I’m proud of you. I have never been ashamed of who you are or where you come from, and neither will our baby.”
Emotion flickered in his green eyes. "What if I turn into him?"
"You won’t."
"But what if I do? What if I already am?"
"That's impossible."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I know him and I know you." I stroked his cheek. “He’s a bully and you’re a man. There’s no comparison. You are polar opposites. You and Teddy are not the same person, Joe," I whispered. "You're not even close."
“I’ll never hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.” He snatched my hand up and held it to his bruised cheek. “I will never put a finger on you, Aoife Molloy. Never. Not on you, or our kid.”
“I know,” I repeated, leaning in close to press my forehead to his.
“I’ll do right by you,” he vowed gruffly. “I swear I will.”
“You don’t need to convince me, Joe.” I leaned in and pressed my lips to his before whispering, “I’ve been sold on you since I was twelve years old.”
He looked at me for the longest time before blowing out a pained breath. “I love you, Aoif.”
“Love you, too, Joe.”
“Can I keep one of these?” he asked, holding up the long strip of sonogram images.
“Of course,” I replied, heart-bucking wildly in my chest, as I watched him carefully tear one off the strip and place it in his wallet. “It’s your baby, Joe.”
“Yeah.” Nodding to himself, he placed the sonogram in the picture slot in his wallet and smiled. “He is.”
PUT YOUR HAND IN MY HAND
JOEY
“Give me a song, Joe.”
“Hm?”
“A song.”
It was a little after ten o clock, we were holed up in her room keeping a low profile from Tony, who was banging around downstairs like a bear with a sore head, and Molloy had somehow managed to rope me into watching another horror movie from her collection. Tonight’s chosen number was Final Destination 2.
Completely fucking reeling from the events of the last twenty-four hours, I was doing everything I could to take the pressure off my girlfriend.
To make her feel like she wasn’t in this alone.
Because she might be the one currently housing our baby, but the responsibility of parenthood was coming for both of us.
Just thinking about it caused my heart to catapult around in my chest.
The fuck was I going to do?
I had a girl and a baby to look after.
But I still had Shannon and the boys.
And Mam.
Jesus Christ.
“What do you mean give you a song?” I asked, slotting another pillow behind me to take the pressure off my back and ease the pain coursing through my flesh. “I don’t sing, baby.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she replied, nestling between my legs, with her back to my chest. “Give me a song for us.”
“For us,” I repeated, mulling it over, as I hooked an arm around her middle and drew her body closer to mine.
“Yeah, for us.”
“I don’t have a song.”
“Well, find one because I need a song.”
“Fine.” Dropping my hand to rest on her stomach, I said, “Madonna.”
“Like a virgin?”
“Papa don’t preach.”
She snorted. “Nice.”
I smirked. “Thanks.”
“For real, though.” Breaking free from my hold, she twisted around until she was straddling my lap. “Give me something real.”
“You’re putting me on the spot here.”
“So?” Leaning in close, she nuzzled my nose with hers. “You’re excellent under pressure.”
Sighing heavily, I loosely clasped her waist. “Molloy.”
“Please…”
“Fine.” Shaking my head, I racked my brain for something – anything – to appease the girl, before finally coming up with, “Divine Inspiration’s The Way.”
“From the rave in Kerry?” Recognition flashed in her green eyes, and she beamed at me. “You remember that?”
“That surprises you?”
“No, I just…” Shaking her head, she scrunched her nose up before admitting, “It’s just that you were pretty buzzed that night.”
I was worse than buzzed that night.
I was out of my fucking mind.
“I can still remember the way you looked when you were dancing in that field, with your yellow wellies and tiny denim shorts,” I heard myself say, remembering the moment clearly. The clearest of my memories involved nights with her. The only nights I ever wanted to remember were the ones I spent with her. “You had that little bra top thingy on, your tits were spilling out,” I continued to tell her, needing her to know that she was forever on my mind. “The cheeks of your ass were on full display, and I swear to Christ, I was driven half mental from watching you.”
“Really?”
“Really, really,” I confirmed, mirroring her smile.
“And you danced,” she teased, snaking a hand out to playfully pinched my good cheek. “The boy who refuses to dance was throwing shapes like a raver.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I shot back. “It was safer to join the madness. You had that neon body paint all over you –”
“Oh my god, the body paint!” she squealed out a laugh. “So had you.”
Yeah, because she caked me in it. “And every time the strobe lights flashed around us, you lit up like a firework.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, Molloy.” Releasing a contented breath, I reached a hand up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was high that night, but you sent me soaring.”
“Smooth.”
“Not smooth, just honest.”
“That was an epic summer, Joe. Wrapped up in you.” Her eyes lingered on mine for a long moment before she released a wistful sigh. “I guess all that’s behind me now, huh?”
“No, Molloy.” My heart gunned in my chest, twisting and morphing between sorrow and guilt. “We’ll do it again.”
“Yeah,” she replied, but it was a half-hearted mumble. “With a baby on my hip.”
“We’ll do it again,” I repeated, catching her chin with my hand and forcing her to look at me.