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Silence.
“Chill, Joe.” His silence spoke volumes and I rolled my eyes. “I’m eight months pregnant. He’s not looking to steal me away.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that prick.”
“Well, that prick came bearing the most amazing news.”
“Which is?”
I sucked in a deep breath before blurting out, “Shane Holland is in prison.”
Another long stretch of silence followed.
“Did you hear me, Joe?” I repeated when he didn’t respond. “The drug squad caught him up in a massive drug bust. According to Paul’s dad, he’s looking at some serious time.”
“Can you, ah…” I heard him exhale shakily before adding, “Can you say that again?”
Not leaving anything out, I told him word for word about the conversation I had with Paul at the Dinniman. “Of course, I wasn’t entirely sure if he was being truthful,” I added when I finished. “So, I did a little snooping of my own and it’s all true, Joe. He’s gone.”
“Fuck.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“How do I feel?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I mean, I know you had this weird bond with Shane.”
“Aoife, I feel like the weight of the world has just been lifted off my shoulders,” he interrupted me to say. “I was dreading having to deal with him.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I agreed. “Every time I had to pass him on the street since you left, he would wink or leer, or make some snide comment about how he couldn’t wait for his best customer to come back to town.”
“He didn’t threaten you, did he?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I replied honestly. “He was just being Shane. His usual asshole self.”
“I can’t believe he’s actually in prison.”
“Well, now you have one more thing to look forward to when you come home in three weeks,” I told him with a smile. “A Shane-less Ballylaggin.”
More silence.
It unsettled me.
“Joe?”
“Listen to me,” he said, tone thick and gravelly. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay, but there’s talk of them keeping me here a little longer.”
My heart sank into my ass. “How much longer?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?” My breath hitched in my throat. “But you’re supposed to get out on the twenty-second of August, right? Fourteen weeks, Joe. That’s what they said. The first two weeks for detox and then the twelve-week treatment plan afterward. I’ve been marking it off on the calendar. That’s what they said.”
“I know, baby.” He groaned, sounding pained. “But Darren went meddling in shit he has no business meddling in, and apparently, I can’t sign myself out. I have to be discharged, and the doctor heading up my treatment thinks staying longer is a good idea.”
“But if you stay, that means you won’t be home in time—”
“I’ll be home before you have the baby,” he cut me off and said. “I will be there for you.”
