Redeeming 6: Boys of Tommen #4

JOEY

I WAS HAVING A VERY weird week, in which some of the females in my life were acting strange as hell.

Molloy, who had never been short of something to say a day in her life, had barely spoken more than a few sentences to me since yesterday, and her little side-kick, who had been just as blessed with the gift of the gab, had spoken even less.

When school finished, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough, mumbling some shit about having a hair appointment before burning off in her car with said sidekick in tow.

I wasn’t stupid.

Clearly, I had fucked up somewhere between yesterday morning when I left her outside the changing rooms for P.E and today, but I was struggling to pinpoint where exactly.

I kept my hands to myself during P.E yesterday and didn’t get myself expelled. Christ, I’d even slipped out of Construction early to snag her a packet of Rolos in the tuck shop. Sure, I had a smoke behind the shed with the lads at lunch today, same as always, but it was a cigarette and not a hit from Rambo Regan’s perfectly rolled joint, tempting as it had been. All in all, I thought that the first two school days of the week had been productive.

I didn’t even get detention.

However, the way Molloy had all but catapulted herself away from me the minute the final bell went yesterday, and then again today, and the two text messages I sent her that had gone unanswered, assured me that I had indeed fucked up along the way.

“I don’t know what to tell ya, Trish,” Tony snapped, stalking into the office with his mobile pressed to his ear. “I’ll have a word when I get home. Yeah, right. Bye, bye, bye.”

He ended the call and released a strained growl.

“Everything okay there, Tony?”

“I don’t know, Joey, lad, I really don’t,” he grumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “There must be something in the water today.”

“How’d you figure?” I asked over my shoulder, as I spooned sugar into two mugs of coffee.

“That wife of mine,” he said, brows furrowed, as he took the mug that I held out for him. “That’s the fourth time today that she’s phoned me up to give out. If it’s not the dog shitting on her flower bed, then it’s the tap leaking, or the socks I left on the bedroom floor, or that young one of ours slamming doors and giving her cheek.”

“Aoife?”

He nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “On the warpath since yesterday, apparently.”

I knew it.

I fucking knew she was in a bad mood.

“Doesn’t she have an evening shift at the pub on Tuesdays?”

He nodded. “According to Trish, she almost took the front door off its hinges when she left for work.”

“For real?”

“Do yourself a favor, Joey, lad,” he said. “And steer clear of my house for the evening. Sounds like both of the women who live there are on the warpath.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw.

“Good lad yourself,” he said, giving my shoulder an approving squeeze. “Best to keep a wide berth when one of my girls is brewing up a storm.”

Unease filled me, followed by a wave of concern.

Molloy didn’t keep shit from me.

That was not how she rolled.

When she had a problem, I was the first one to hear about it – especially since I was usually the problem.

“I’m going out back for a smoke,” I told her father, grabbing my phone off the counter before heading for the door.

“Don’t do it, son.”

“Do what?”

“Put yourself in the eye of the storm by phoning my young one,” he called after me with a chuckle. “By the sound of it, she won’t think twice about swallowing you whole.”

Jesus.

Still, like a glutton for punishment, I stepped out back, sparked up a cigarette, and dialed her number, ignoring the dozen or so messages I’d received from Shannon.

My sister could wait.

My girlfriend came first in this instance.

When it rang out, and went to voicemail, my unease spread.

Redialing, I held the phone to my ear and took a deep drag of my cigarette.

Five rings in and she finally answered. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her tone was clipped. “Your number came up.”

“What’s wrong?” I came right out and asked her. “You’re pissed.” No point in beating around the bush. “Tell me why.”

“Nothing.” She sighed down the line. “Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Taking another drag, I exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “I know something’s up, Molloy.”

“Joe.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing up.”

“Liar.”

There was a long pause and the sound of cutlery clattering filled my ears, before her voice came back on the line. “Listen, I need to go. I’m at work.”

“What time are you finished?”

“Half ten,” she said quietly.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“I have the car.”

“Fine. I’ll walk over to the pub and drive you home.”

“You finish at nine.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Joe, I need a night to myself, okay,” she said, tone strained. “I’ve, ah, well, I just do, okay?”

“Are you mad at me?” I asked, hating the helpless feeling eating me alive. “Did I do something to upset you?” I swallowed down a growl before asking, “Are you pissed that I didn’t do something when Ricey knocked you over in P.E yesterday? Because I wanted to, Molloy. I was fully prepared to kick the shit out of him for putting his hands on you.”

“Are you kidding? No, I’m so proud of you for not reacting. It was only a push, no big deal, and I swear you didn’t do anything, okay?” she hurried to soothe. “I love you, Joe. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m just dealing with something and I need a night to myself.”

“I love you,” I heard myself admit, tone gruff. “Do ya hear me? I love you, Molloy.”

“I know you do, Joe,” she replied, tone thick with emotion. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah.” I bowed my head. “Okay.”

“Bye, stud.”

“Bye, queen.”

“That’s the start of it,” Tony chuckled, joining me out back. “Keep pandering to that young one of mine, and you’ll be in big trouble, boyo.”

I’m already in trouble.

“Yeah, well, it’s a quiet life I’m after, Tony,” I replied with a shrug, as I took another drag of my smoke and scrolled through my phone, counting at least twenty-five call-me text messages from Shannon. “The hell is wrong now?”

“What’s that?”

“My sister,” I explained, dialing her number, feeling a different sort of panic rise up inside of me. “She’s after blowing up my phone with messages.”

“Is she alright?”

“Shannon,” I demanded when she finally answered. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Did something happen at school?”

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach assured me it had.

My blood pressure was rising at a rapid pace and I had to take a second before I could speak again.

“If one of those posh fuckers did something to you, I will—”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. Calm down. I missed my bus and the next one’s not until quarter to ten tonight,” she explained down the line, sounding eerily calm for someone who had blown up my phone.

Was she hurt?

She didn’t sound it.

Was she lying?

It was close to impossible to tell.

“It’s already dark and I don’t want to walk in case,” she paused, and the sound of rustling filled my ears, before she spoke again, “Are you with Aoife? Can you guys come pick me up? I’m really stuck, Joe. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate.”

“I’m working until nine,” I heard myself say, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “And Aoife works until half ten on Tuesdays.” Not that I was about to ask the girl who asked me for space to collect my sister. “Did you try Mam?”

“She’s working the late shift, and I’m not calling Dad.”

“No, Jesus, don’t call him,” I agreed, shaking my head. “Look hang up and give me a few minutes. I’ll call around a few of the lads, and see if anyone can pick you up.” Surely Podge or Alec would drop her home for me. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

“No, don’t do that,” she was quick to say. “The school stays open late. I can wait here until my bus comes – oh no, no, no, that’s okay.”

I frowned. “Huh?”

”You don’t have to do that,” she said – obviously not speaking to me.

“Do what?” Curiosity piqued, I eyed Tony, who wasn’t even pretending to not listen to the conversation. In fact, he had stepped closer. “Shan, what’s going on? Who are you talking to?”

“Oh, ah, just this guy from school.”

“Guy?” Tony’s brows shot up at the same time as mine. “What guy?”

“Just a guy I know,” she replied, all coy and shit. “Honestly, it’s fine. You don’t have to drive me home.”

‘Drive her home?’ Tony mouthed, pointing at the phone. ‘She’s a baby.’

‘I know,’ I mouthed, before turning my attention back to my sister. “Hold up, who’s driving you home, Shannon? Why are you talking to guys old enough to drive you home?”

‘Tell her she’s fifteen,’ Tony mouthed with a thumb’s up.

“You’re fifteen,” I heard myself say, feeling like a fucking hypocrite. If he knew the half of what I wanted to do to his daughter when she was fifteen, he would be shitting rocks.

“I know what age I am, Joey,” Shannon snapped and I cocked a brow, hearing the rare spark of fire in her voice. “Look, relax. I’ll wait here until my bus comes.”

Like fuck she would.

I wasn’t born yesterday.

And if she’s anything like you, it won’t be the front seat she’ll be climbing into.

Jesus.

“Put him on the phone,” I ordered, shuddering.

“What?” Shannon asked. “Who?”

“The lad who’s just a guy you know with a car.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him.”

“Why do you want to talk to him?”

I gave Tony a knowing look and said, “Because I want to talk to the fucker offering to take my baby sister home in his car, that’s why.”

He nodded his approval.

“Hey, this is Johnny,” a male voice with a thick Dublin accent, came down the line a moment later.

‘That’s no boy,’ Tony mouthed accusingly, gaping at the phone, ‘That’s a fucking man’s voice.’

‘I know,’ I mouthed back, ‘shut up and let me think.’

Tony held his hands up in submission.

“Johnny,” I said coolly, making an effort to use my most threatening tone of voice. “I hear you know Shannon.”

“Yeah, I know your sister,” he replied, tone impeccably polite.

“So, is it just Johnny from Tommen, or do ya have a last name?”

“Kavanagh.”

“The rugby player?” Tony and I both asked in unison.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

‘Well shit,’ my boss mouthed, eyes wide with excitement, ‘the lad from The Academy?’

If this hotshot fucker had taken time out of his rigid schedule to drive her home, then my baby sister had made more than just waves at Tommen.

She’d summoned a goddamn tsunami.

“I saw your last game with the U18s,” I heard myself say. “You were class.”

“Thanks, it was a strong performance all round,” he replied – again, with the polite bullshit.

“You’re heading for the u20’s tour with the Irish squad in May, aren’t ya?”

“Probably.”

‘Ask him for a few tickets,’ Tony mouthed, nudging my arm.

‘I can’t do that,’ I mouthed back, glaring at him.

‘Do it.’

‘No.’

‘Ask him.’

‘No.’

‘Do it for your boss.’

‘No.’

‘Fine. Do it for your future father-in-law.’

I gaped at him.

He grinned back.

“Ah… is there any chance of a few tickets?” I closed my eyes when the words came out of my mouth, feeling like an asshole for asking. “My girlfriend’s father is a big fan.”

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, like it was something he was asked on the daily. “Home games only, though, and the tickets don’t go on sale to the public until May. Shouldn’t be a problem, though.”

‘Well?’

I nodded.

‘Get fucking in there!’ Beaming at me, Tony held both thumbs up. ‘I always knew you were worth the trouble.’

Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention back to my phone call. “You do realize she’s fifteen, right?” I said, tone serious. “My sister Shannon? She’s only fifteen. So, I hope you don’t have any notions because she’s a good girl.”

“I’m well aware, and no, I don’t,” came his cool response and for the first time, I heard a crack in his polite bullshit exterior. Clearly, I’d hit a nerve. “We’re, uh…”

“Friends?” I offered, amused.

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding flustered. “We’re friends.”

I smirked. “Just friends?”

“Obviously.”

“What kind of a license do you have?”

“A full license.”

“Is your car safe?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you again?”

“Seventeen.”

“So, you’re a lot older than her.”

“I know that,” he replied before adding, “I get it.”

“I hope you do, because there’s a big difference between a fifteen-year-old girl like her and a seventeen-year-old lad in a position like yours.”

“Yeah,” he bit out, still not backing down or rescinding his offer. “I’m aware of the difference.”

“Alright, mister rugby, she’s all yours,” I said with a shrug. “Don’t get her killed in that car of yours, ya hear?” And for the love of Christ, don’t hurt her.

“I won’t,” I heard him say before the line went dead.

“Well, thanks a fucking bunch for that, Tony,” I said, sliding my phone into my pocket. “The lad offers to drive my sister home, and I end up bumming tickets for a game.”

My boss chuckled. “Ah, sure if he ends up coming through with the tickets, you know I’ll take ya with me.”