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Moving to stand beside him, I slipped my hand into his, desperate to show him the support he needed.
“That’s enough, Joey,” Mrs. Lynch whispered. “I don’t want to—“
“Hear the truth?” He balked. “Well, you’re going to.“
“Fight,” his mother corrected. “I don’t want to fight.”
“What’s going on?” a soft voice said from the doorway, and I swung my gaze around to see Shannon standing there. “Is everything okay, Joe?”
“Everything’s grand, Shan,” he was quick to placate. “I was just—“
“About to show me your room,” I blurted out, unable to spend another second with his mother, but even more unwilling to run like I’d promised I wouldn’t.
Joey swung his surprised gaze on me. “I was?”
His mother watched him as he watched me, and I felt this swelling resentment build up inside of me on his behalf.
“Yeah.” Nodding, I squeezed his hand and smiled, letting his mother know that her words had fallen on deaf ears. I would only ever leave this boy if I was dragged from him kicking and screaming. “You were.”
* * *
I madea point of dutifully ignoring the decaying plaster on the walls, and the general dilapidated condition of their home, as I followed Joey up the staircase and straight into his bedroom.
The minute the door was closed, I watched as he twisted a key in the lock
“Don’t ask,” was all he muttered, when he dragged a chest of drawers across the room and set it in front of the locked door.
“I won’t,” I whispered, watching as he kept his back to me, with his head bowed, and his hands resting on the chest of drawers.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Be real here, Molloy.” He hissed out a pained breath, giving me his back. “My life is a fucking mess.”
Yeah, it was.
I couldn’t deny it.
Everything about this home and the people inside of it screamedmessy.
Still, I chose to remain right here, playing with fire and willing to get burned. “Talk to me,” I instructed calmy. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“I’m mad,” he bit out, keeping his back to me. “I’m pissed the fuck off, Molloy.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“For making you bring me here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Because you’re afraid you’ll blow up?”
