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“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 repeated 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, Aoife.”
“Love you, too, Joe.”
“Can I keep one of these?” he asked, holding up the long strip of sonogram images.
“Of course,” I replied, my 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.”
67
Put Your Hand in My Hand
JOEY
“Give me a song, Joe.”
“Hmm?”
“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.
