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“Honestly, I’m fine,” Katie replied, eyes bloodshot as she quickly slipped around us and hurried into her front garden. “I just n-need to go h-home.”
“Hey!” Closing the space between herself and Patrick Feely, Casey poked him in the chest and glowered up at him. “What the hell happened to her?”
Silent and stoic, Patrick looked from one of my besties to the other and shook his head. “Ask her,” was all he finally said.
“I’m asking you,” Casey growled, not giving an inch. “If you hurt her…”
“I don’t go around hurting girls,” he said, blue eyes darkening. “I don’t go around breaking hearts, either.”
“Katie, hold up,” I called out, moving to go after her only to halt in my tracks when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Molloy.”
Repressing a shiver, I swung around to see Joey crossing the road toward me, still clad in his work overalls, with the sleeves tied around his waist, and the white T-shirt he had on underneath smeared in engine oil. He had a baseball cap slung on backwards and his lunch box dangling between his hands.
I found myself looking at him—really looking at him—and I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.
He looked haunted.
Hollowed cheeks.
Dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes.
Several weeks’ worth of stubble on his face.
He looked lost in his world, not even seeing me, as he stared off into nothing.
I’d often heard the term functioning alcoholic thrown around in conversation, but my boyfriend was the definition of a functioning drug addict. It didn’t seem to matter what Joey took or how high he got, he continued to present himself and function at a level that kept everything ticking over. If it wasn’t so soul-crushingly depressing, it would be impressive.
“Go,” Casey whispered in my ear. “I’ll deal with Katie.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, meeting him halfway so that our friends were out of earshot. “It’s only four o’clock.” I folded my arms across my chest, desperately trying to soothe the ache beneath my rib cage. “You don’t finish work until six.”
My question seemed to take him aback, and his brow furrowed for a moment before the guilt kicked in, clouding his surprisingly clear eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
His eyes searched my face. “Yeah?”
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
It hurt too damn much.
“What’s up, Joe?” My gaze flicked to the track marks on his arms, and I flinched. “Why aren’t you at work?”
Wordlessly, he pulled out his phone and held it out for me. Frowning, I took his phone and unlocked the screen, opening a string of messages between Joey and none other than Johnny Kavanagh.
Kavanagh: Yeah, so strange thing happened today…
Lynchy: Why are you texting me?
Kavanagh: Because I took your brothers and they’re at my house.
Lynchy: Why?
Kavanagh: I don’t know.
