Redeeming 6: Boys of Tommen #4

AOIFE

LATE NIGHT VISITS and secret rendezvous became the norm for us, and as the days turned into weeks, and the winter made way for spring, the mile-high wall that Joey had spent a lifetime erecting around his heart continued to lower.

It wasn’t that his home life had become any easier; the opposite would be a closer comparison. The fights with his dad had significantly worsened, resulting in deeper mood swings and darker bruises, but his eyes remained clear and his head focused.

Most of the time, that intense focus seemed to remain honed in on me, and I wasn’t complaining. He spent every second of his spare time with me and having him close settled my anxiety.

Because when he was with me, I could keep him safe.

When he was with me, he was sober and unharmed.

“What the hell are you doing?” my brother demanded when he walked into the living room on Sunday night.

Mam and Dad had gone out for a drink, and Joey and I were thrown down on the couch, watching You’re A Star on RTE, and arguing over who we thought should win the singing competition.

I was rooting for the siblings from Westmeath, while Joey was rooting for an aneurysm to put him out of his misery, or so he continued to tell me.

Secretly, I think he liked the siblings, too.

“What?” I stared at Kev in confusion before looking down at myself. Dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, with my legs sprawled over my boyfriend’s lap, I couldn’t be accused of being too revealing. “What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” Kev groaned, pointing at the plate of food balancing on my lap. “It’s what you’re eating.” He shook his head in disgust. “Nachos and chocolate spread?” He gaped at me in horror from across the living room. “Oh my god, are you mixing the chocolate with mayonnaise?”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” I replied, tossing back another mouthful of deliciousness. “So…good.”

“You are sick.” He looked to Joey. “Are you responsible for this?”

“Nothing your sister does surprises me anymore, lad,” Joey mused, stretching his legs out on the coffee table.

“So, you don’t think what she’s doing is beyond sick?”

“Hey.” Joey shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever she wants to put in her mouth is fine by me.”

“You would say that,” Kev replied, repressing a shudder.

I snorted. “Spare me the cynicism, Kev. I’m eating nachos, not sucking his dick.”

“Again, fine by me,” Joey interjected with a smirk.

“You two are sick,” Kev muttered, turning on his heels, and stalking out of the room. “Sick, I tell you.”

“Put it there.” I raised my bare foot in the air, and Joey scowled at me for a long moment before relenting and indulging me with a high-five to the sole of my foot.

“So, you’ll never credit what happened while I was at the pitch with the kids yesterday.”

“Ooh, gossip.” I grinned wickedly. “Tell me.”

“Shannon went out with friends for the day.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Apparently, she went off yesterday afternoon and didn’t come back until late. Spent the day with Claire and Lizzie.”

“I’m guessing this rarely happens?”

“Try never,” he replied, snatching up the remote and flicking through the channels. “The old man went batshit when she came home last night. Apparently, she’d only arrived back when I walked in the door from work.”

“Which explains this,” I whispered sadly, fingers grazing the fresh bruising on his neck.

“Don’t worry,” he was quick to placate. “I handled it. Shannon’s grand.”

“I wasn’t worried.” About her, at least.

“She has friends, Molloy,” he said then, sounding as close to content as ever I’d heard him. “An actual social life. She’s not hiding behind her bedroom door, listening to music and burying her nose in books. She’s going out.”

“So, Tommen is suiting her.” I smiled. “All of that worrying was for nothing.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, gaze flicking briefly to me, before returning to the match on TV that he had so smoothly switched on. “It’s still early days.”

“Or could it be possible that your baby sister is growing claws?”

“Christ, I hope so.”

“Yeah.” Me, too. “You have to remember that she’s almost sixteen now, Joe,” I reminded him. “With hormones, and feelings, and a mind of her own.” I ruffled his hair and smiled. “It was bound to happen at some stage.”

“I was worried it wouldn’t,” he admitted gruffly.

“All flowers bloom, Joe, even the late ones,” I told him. “And sometimes, it’s the late blooming flower that makes the biggest impact.”