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“Let him tell them,” was all Joey replied, as he crouched down and quietly loaded up all of his tools into his bag. ”It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter,” I argued, stalking towards the beautiful eejit. “You love working at the garage.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated, keeping his head down, as he filled his bag and zipped it shut. “I’m sorry for causing trouble for you,” he added, as he stood up and threw the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”
“No, no, you’re not walking out of here,” I warned, hurrying to barricade my bedroom door and keep him in here with me. “We can sort this out.”
“What’s to sort, Molloy?” he said flatly. “I hit my boss’s son. I think it’s pretty clear that I’m done here.”
“No, you’re not done here. You’re not even close to being done, here. So, just cool your jets and let me think about this,” I ordered, shoving his chest, and feeling a swell of excitement when he let me walk him backwards. Because let’s face it, after the display he’d just put on, there was no way anyone could make this boy do anything he didn’t want to do.
Walking Joey over to my bed, I pushed on his shoulders, and watched as he obligingly sank down on the mattress.
“Why’d you do that, Joe?” I croaked out, standing in front of him. I was physically shaking from head to toe as my earlier adrenalin deserted me.
"Because he hurt you," he replied, looking up at me with the most lonesome expression I’d ever seen. In this moment, Joey Lynch looked like the quintessential lost boy. “Because he put his hands on you."
"But he’s my brother, Joe,” I heard myself explain softly. We were only messing. It was play fighting.”
Joey looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, and the rare vulnerability caused me to do something incredibly reckless.
“I don’t…” He blew out a sharp breath. “I fucked up.”
Nudging his legs open, I stepped closer. “Yeah, you kind of did, Joe.” I reached out and ruffled his blond hair, and then, unable to stop myself, I cupped his face between both hands, and I looked down at him. “Picking fights with my brother, of all people,” I admonished softly, thumbs grazing over his cheekbones. “Spud packs a bigger punch with his tail.”
“I thought he was…” Shaking his head, Joey let his head fall forward to rest against my stomach. “I just saw you on the ground and he was… and I just…” The move was incredibly intimate, and I sucked in a sharp breath from the contact. “Fuck.”
“I’m okay,” I coaxed, unable or just plain unwilling to stand back and not comfort him. With trembling hands, I held his face to my stomach, and whispered, “You’re okay.”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either, so I remained right there in my bedroom, with his cheek pressed to my belly and my hands stroking his hair.
Finally, after what felt like an age, I felt the tension slowly leave his shoulders, and then his arms came around my waist. “He hurt you,” he croaked out. “You don’t hit girls.”
NEW SCHOOL YEAR, SAME OLD ME
SEPTEMBER 1ST 2003
JOEY
Facedown on a mattress that smelled of piss and freshly spilled tears, I remained completely rigid as awareness claimed me from the sweet escape of sleep.
With my brain foggy and uncooperative, I forced myself to retrace last night's events, trying to link my current surroundings with reality, but came up empty.
"Dada," a familiar voice sniffled, and just like that, I knew where I was.
Like you could be anywhere else.
A small, sticky hand landed on my cheek. "Dada."
Repressing the urge to shudder and scream, I slowly uncoiled my muscles, twisted onto my back, and cracked one swollen eyelid open just as my baby brother climbed on top of me.
Big brown eyes stared down at me. "Dada."
"Jesus Christ," I groaned, grimacing in resignation when his soaking wet pajama bottoms landed on my bare stomach. "Piss through your nappy again, Seany-boo?"
Nodding solemnly, Sean leaned close and pressed his chubby little hand against my cheek. "Dada, ow-ow." Lonesome brown eyes studied my face. "Ow-ow."
"No, Sean," another voice barked. In a tone laced with venom and fury, Tadhg sat up from his makeshift bed on my bedroom floor, and hissed, "For the last fucking time, he’s Joey, not Dada. Joey! Your actual Dada beat the shit out of your fake one last night."
