Home > Books > Saving 6 (Boys of Tommen, #3)(117)

Saving 6 (Boys of Tommen, #3)(117)

Author:Chloe Walsh

“Know what?”

She looked so sad when she said, “That my son has an ongoing battle with addiction.”

My heart plummeted.

“He used to,” I corrected, thinking about how good of a handle Joey had gotten on things since his slip back in September. “He’s okay now, though.”

“You don’t really believe that,” she replied softly. “Someone like my son, with the kind of habit that has been going on for as many years as it has, can’t make it go away overnight, and as powerful as first love may seem, it will never be strong enough to overcome his demons. He will never want you more than he wants his next fix, Aoife. That’s the sad truth of my son’s life.”

Instantly, my back was up. “You’re wrong.”

“I wish with all of my heart that I was,” she said. “But I know I’m not. It’s only one flick of the switch away at any given time. And if I could give you one piece of advice, it would be to run for cover before my son explodes like his father and you’re swallowed up in the riptide.”

Stunned, I gaped at the woman in front of me and just shook my head.

How could she think about her son like that?

How could she have so little faith in him?

“You know, I’m really trying hard to think of something diplomatic to say to you, but I’m coming up empty.” I shook my head, unable to hide my disgust. “How can you say that about your own flesh and blood? You’re supposed to be his mother.”

“I am his mother,” she agreed, weary. “And that’s how I know that he will break you.” A shiver racked through her slender frame. “He will chip away at your heart, gnawing and gouging at it, tearing away at it strip by strip, until there is nothing left. Until you are nothing. He will break you because that’s all he knows. It’s all he’s ever known.”

“He loves you,” I bit out, feeling my eyes burn with tears of devastation for the boy who kept me company at night. “So much, and you speak so badly about him.”

“I love my son, Aoife. I do.” Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she took another deep drag from her cigarette. “I have six children and make no mistake when I tell you that I love each one of them equally. But there’s only one of my children that frightens me. Only one of my children is the walking reincarnation of his father.”

Horrified, I shook my head. “Why are you telling me this?”

She looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Because nobody told me.”

“I managed to unclog the toilet,” Joey said then, re-joining us. “But you’re going to need to get someone to take a look at that cistern, and the piping behind the bowl, Mam,” he continued, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “That leak is worse than ever and it’s starting to rot away at the floorboards beneath the lino in the bathroom.”

Grabbing a bottle of generic branded washing up liquid from the windowsill over the sink, he soaped up his hands, oblivious to his mother’s words of warning.

“If we don’t get a handle on it, it’s only a matter of time before the floorboards give way.” Shaking his hands, he reached for a tea towel. “I could try and replace the piping at the back, but it would be a patch-up job at best.”

“Thanks, Joey, I’ll get your father to have a look at it later this evening,” his mother replied.

“Why?” Joey shot back defensively. “He doesn’t know shit about plumbing. I’ve already told you what the problem is. Once I get paid on Friday, I can get the parts for you.”

“And I’ve told you that I appreciate your help, and your father will sort it when he comes home.”

“When he comes home?” Joey sneered, tossing the tea towel down. “You mean when he’s pissed off his head and falling through the door, looking for a warm body to either fuck or fight with?”

Moving to stand beside him, I slipped my hand into his, desperate to show him the support he needed.

“That’s enough, Joey,” Mrs. Lynch whispered. “I don’t want to—“

“Hear the truth?” He balked. “Well, you’re going to.“

“Fight,” his mother corrected. “I don’t want to fight.”

“What’s going on?” a soft voice said from the doorway, and I swung my gaze around to see Shannon standing there. “Is everything okay, Joe?”

“Everything’s grand, Shan,” he was quick to placate. “I was just—“

“About to show me your room,” I blurted out, unable to spend another second with his mother, but even more unwilling to run like I’d promised I wouldn’t.

Joey swung his surprised gaze on me. “I was?”

His mother watched him as he watched me, and I felt this swelling resentment build up inside of me on his behalf.

“Yeah.” Nodding, I squeezed his hand and smiled, letting his mother know that her words had fallen on deaf ears. I would only ever leave this boy if I was dragged from him kicking and screaming. “You were.”

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I made a point of dutifully ignoring the decaying plaster on the walls, and the general dilapidated condition of their home, as I followed Joey up the staircase and straight into his bedroom.

The minute the door was closed, I watched as he twisted a key in the lock

“Don’t ask,” was all he muttered, when he dragged a chest of drawers across the room and set it in front of the locked door.

“I won’t,” I whispered, watching as he kept his back to me, with his head bowed, and his hands resting on the chest of drawers.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Be real here, Molloy.” He hissed out a pained breath, giving me his back. “My life is a fucking mess.”

Yeah, it was.

I couldn’t deny it.

Everything about this home and the people inside of it screamed messy.

Still, I chose to remain right here, playing with fire and willing to get burned. “Talk to me,” I instructed calmy. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m mad,” he bit out, keeping his back to me. “I’m pissed the fuck off, Molloy.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“For making you bring me here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid you’ll blow up?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I replied calmly. “Then you be mad for as long as you need.”

Because I’m not going anywhere.

Quietly, I took in my surroundings, eyes wandering around the meticulously clean bedroom that housed a wardrobe, nightstand, chest of drawers, and a metal bunk bed with a double on the bottom and single on top.

Forcing myself to ignore several make-shift bunks scattered around his bedroom floor, I let my gaze land on the big-ass stereo in the corner of the room, and I honed in on it.

Flicking through a bunch of CDs, I waited until he was ready to talk it out.

After another five minutes, he was.