He had one hand balled into a fist at his side, while the other hand hung limply around his brother’s waist.
Protecting him even in sleep.
“Hi, Sean,” I whisper-croaked, trying to conjure up a smile for him, not an easy feat considering even my lips ached.
“E-fa,” he whispered back, and then shyly clambered back to the safety of his big brother’s arms. “O-ee.” Wrapping his small arm around Joey’s neck, he snuggled closer, and buried his face in the curve of his brother’s neck. “O-ee.”
“You’re grand, I promise,” Joey mumbled, eyes still closed, as he tightened his arm around the little guy, and my heart squeezed tight at the sight. “Just close your eyes, Seany-boo.”
“O-ee, poos.”
Those two words had Joey practically vaulting off the bed, with his baby brother tucked under his arm.
“Fuck my life,” he muttered, stalking over to his door and one-handedly dragging the chest of drawers out of his way before unlocking and yanking the bedroom door open. “You can wipe your own ass this time,” he warned the little guy in his arms, as he disappeared into the landing. “But good job for telling me, kid.”
Frozen in place, the throbbing in my head assured me that I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
A few minutes later, Joey strolled back into his room, this time clutching a can of coke instead of a sibling.
“Morning.” His eyes danced with amusement as he closed his bedroom door behind him. “How’s the head?”
“Morning,” I croaked out hoarsely, as I made a feeble attempt to drag myself into a sitting position. “And terrible.” I blew out a pained breath and clutched my temple. “I think I’m on the way out.”
Closing the space between us, he sank down on the edge of the bed. “Nah, you’ll live,” he chuckled, thrusting the ice-cold can into my hands. “Drink.”
“I can’t,” I groaned, and then physically gagged at the concept of putting another drop of liquid inside my poor stomach. “Seriously, I think I’m dying here.”
“You’re not dying, but you are in trouble.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Why? What did I do?”
“Smoking.” He gave me a hard look. “Not cool, Molloy.”
“Yeah, okay,” I snorted. “Like you can talk.”
“I’m serious.” His green eyes were full of sincerity and concern. “I know why you did it, and it worked, but don’t ever do it again, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” I moaned. “I have no plans to.”
“Good.” Shaking his head, he reached over and cracked the can open and gently pushed it towards my face. “Now, drink up or you’ll feel worse.”
Reluctantly, I took a small sip from the can, and when it didn’t kill me, I took a bigger one.
Suddenly realizing just how parched I was, I quickly gulped down half the can, my eyes never leaving his as I drank.
Nodding his approval, Joey reached into the pocket of his grey sweatpants and withdrew a small packet of paracetamol, and from the other pocket, he produced a packet of salt and vinegar crips.
“Trust me,” he was quick to coax when I eyed him warily. “It’ll work.”
“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, I popped two painkillers and quickly drained the rest of the can before reaching for the crisps. “I thought we were going back to my place?” I mused, unable to piece the events of last night together through the hazy fog in my mind, as I munched on the crisps.
“So did I,” he agreed. “But you insisted that I take you back to my place.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Huh.” Swallowing down a mouthful of salt and vinegar goodness, I titled my head to the side and considered his cure, feeling my stomach settle second by second. “Sugar, salt, and paracetamol? I have to say, this is a pretty strange hair of the dog, Joe, but it’s a good one.”
“Family recipe,” was his wry response. “Perks of growing up with an alcoholic for a father, and a mother with a penchant for benzos.”
“And a messy drunk for a girlfriend,” I offered, wincing when my eyes landed on the notable sick bucket next to my side of the bed. “I’m guessing that was for me, right?”
Joey smirked and I dropped my head in my hands.
“Oh god,” I groaned. “You had to clean up my puke."
“It was the champagne,” he replied with a chuckle. “Or so you told me in between spraying us both in chunks in that Feely lad’s car on the way home.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.” He inclined his head to his t-shirt that I was sporting. “I had to put you in the shower when we got back here.”
“Oh, my sweet baby Jesus,” I wailed, mortified. “Stop laughing, Joe. It’s not funny. It’s horrifying.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he laughed, pulling my hands away from my face. “It’s not like you haven’t returned the favor a time or ten for me.” Shrugging, he added, “It was my turn to look after you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you’re my boyfriend.”
“So? You’re my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriends are supposed to be sexy.”
“Molloy, I can assure you that you are insanely sexy.”
“I am?”
“Absolutely,” he replied and then choked out another laugh. “Especially when you have champagne bubbles coming out of your nose.”
“Oh, fuck right off,” I snapped, grabbing a pillow from behind my back and smacking him over the head with it.
“I did the best I could with your hair,” he added. “But I’ve never washed hair as long as yours before, so if I screwed up, don’t hold it against me.”
My heart squeezed. “You washed my hair?”
“I sort of had to,” he replied. “You sprayed your ponytail with chunks, too.”
“Oh god.” I pulled my damp hair over my shoulder and took a sniff, instantly recognizing the shampoo scent as the one he used. “That’s quite possibly the most romantically disgusting thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Come on,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll make you a cuppa.”
“Isn’t that against your rules?” I reminded him, throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed. “I mean, don’t you prefer us to stay in your room when we’re here?”
“Yeah, well, that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before last night,” he replied gruffly. “Before I opened my ears and actually listened for a change.”
“So, boys can listen,” I mused, readjusting the waistband of his boxers he clearly dressed me in last night. “I thought that was just a myth.”
“I heard you, Aoif.” Reaching for my hand, he pulled me close. “And I meant what I said about trusting you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “This is my world. It’s fucking horrible, but I’m willing to show you, if you’re willing to stay.”