“There was a fight,” I blurted out of nowhere.
“A fight?” Dad’s frown matched my brother’s. “What fight?”
I looked to Kev to help me, but he came up with an empty shrug.
So much for twins being able to read each other’s mind.
My one was a dud.
Thinking on the spot, I quickly reeled off what I hoped was a generic, watered-down version of the truth. “It happened a while back. Remember that black eye I got after Christmas? Well, it didn’t happen from falling off Casey’s rollerblades like I told you guys.”
Mam rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”
“What happened to you?” Dad was quick to demand. “Did someone hit you?” His eyes narrowed. “Did Joey—“
“No, no, Jesus, no, Dad,” I quickly appeased. “Joey never laid a finger on me.” Well, none I didn’t beg him to. “Basically, Paul was saying a few shady things about me around the place.” Like slut. And whore. And cock tease. “And when Joey heard about it, he pulled him up on it.” Shrugging, I added, “For your benefit, apparently. You know, since I’m your daughter, and he has a lot of time for you ever since you took him on at the garage. That’s why Joey got arrested for fighting early in the new year. Remember?”
Dad nodded. “I do.”
“Yeah.” I blew out a shaky breath. “Well, anyway, I got the black eye from Paul when I tried to break up their fight. In his defense, it was an accident,” I begrudgingly admitted. “But once the rumor mill got wind of Joey sticking up for me, people started gossiping about us, putting two and two together and coming up with five.” I let out a breath. “Yep, that pretty much sums it all up.”
Kev snorted and then quickly buried the sound with a cough when I gave him a look that threatened violence. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Dad stared at me for a long moment before exhaling heavily. “Well, I hope Joey gave that bollox a good stuffing.”
“What was he saying about you, love?” Mam asked, concern etched on her face. “Would you like me to phone his mother, because I will. I’ll give her a good piece of my mind—“
“No, Mam, it’s grand,” I hurried to say. “Paul was just salty because I wouldn’t, well…” I shrugged, “Because I wouldn’t…”
“Have sex with him,” Kev offered dryly. “He was pissed because Aoife wouldn’t have sex with him after four years of stringing him along and treating him like an afterthought.”
“I didn’t string him along,” I snapped. “And it was three and a half years, not four.”
Kev cocked a brow. “Sure you didn’t.”
“Fine,” I reluctantly conceded. “Maybe there is a teeny tiny bit of truth to that statement, but that doesn’t mean that I have to—“
“Lay on your back and spread your legs for him?” Kev shook his head. “Because that’s what Paul thinks you’re doing for Lynchy.”
“More lies,” I bit out, glaring at my brother.
“Kevin,” Dad barked. “Don’t be saying those kinds of things in front of your sister.”
“What kinds of things?”
“You know,” Dad mumbled, flustered. “Sex type things. She’s too young for that sort of talk.”
“She’s the same age as me.”
“Still,” Dad huffed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s not right, son.”
“Was that it, Aoife?” Mam asked me. “Paul was making up stories about you?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“And there’s no truth to the rumors about Joey?”
“None at all,” I lied.
“Well, I never.” Dad looked to Mam and shook his head. “Fair play to young Joey, having my back like that.”
“Yeah,” Kev drawled, tone laced with sarcasm. “Let’s all raise a glass to the honorable Joey Lynch.”
“What a good lad.” Dad beamed at my mother. “Defending my daughter’s honor.”
Kev snorted again, and, this time, he didn’t even bother to hide it. “I’m off to bed.”
“Yeah,” I squeezed out, as the image of Joey’s head between my legs filled my mind. “My honor’s restored.”
BLUE EYES AND BLUE BALLS
MARCH 4TH 2004
JOEY
I ended up being almost a half an hour late for work on Thursday evening, the fourth time I’d been late in the past five weeks, because I was too weak to resist stealing an extra twenty-minutes under the sheets with Molloy.
Obviously, I couldn’t tell her father that, so when he asked about what kept me, I reeled off some bullshit about hurling.
Tony didn’t bat an eyelid when I fed him the line that I’d rehearsed all the way from his daughter’s bed to his garage.
It was similar to the line I fed him last time, and the time before that – and the time before that.
Tony never questioned me because he trusted me.
And I was the lying piece of shit going behind his back, and against his wishes, by messing around with his daughter.
For the past five fucking weeks.
Jesus, I was a piece of shit.
For the rest of the evening, we worked alongside each other in mostly companiable silence.
I didn’t have the stomach to pretend with him.
No, because lying to this particular man was something that could never sit well with me.
“Are you alright there, Joey, son?” Tony finally breached the silence when he found me out back having a smoke after I had finished up work.
“Yeah, Tony,” I muttered, kicking gravel with my boot, as I stood in the rain.
His eyes flicked to the butt in my hand and a look of resigned disappointment washed over his features. “I hope that’s a rollie you’re smoking, boyo, and nothing stronger.”
“Isn’t it always,” I lied, exhaling deeply.
“How are you supposed to hurl when you’re poisoning yourself with those things?”
The question wasn’t how I was supposed to play hurling; it was how was I supposed to survive if I didn’t.
“Ah, you know me, Tony.” Stubbing it out, I quickly slid the joint back into the pocket of my work trousers before my boss lost his shit on me. “You can’t kill a bad thing.”
He looked at me for a long moment and then shook his head. “Well, it’s almost nine. You better get on home, lad, before your mother sends out a search party for you. You’ve school in the morning.”
It didn’t matter what time I stayed out until.
Nobody was coming to search for me.
“Tony?”
“Yes, Joey, lad?”
“I just…” I blew out a breath, as I wrestled with my conscience, with the tsunami of guilt inside of me. Because I knew exactly where I would go when I left him, and it wasn’t home. No, I was heading straight for his daughter. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
He smiled. “For what?”
For everything. I shrugged. “Just thanks.”
“Anytime, boyo,” he replied, waving me off.
Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I smirked as I re-read the text Molloy had sent me earlier.