“It’s already holding you back,” he said, handing me one of the mugs, before diving into one of his frequent ‘you have so much potential,’ pep talks.
Sinking down on a chair at the table opposite him, I took a sip from my mug and tuned his voice out, making sure to nod and agree at the right cues, having heard every fucking word before, but knowing deep down inside that Tony wasn’t the enemy.
Every word he spurted was a familiar one that had been echoed before.
From him.
From Nanny Murphy.
From my principal at BCS.
From my coaches and trainers.
Blah fucking blah, blah, blah…
“Hi, Dad,” a female voice called out from the office doorway, causing Tony to pause mid-lecture, and my heart to jack knife in my chest.
My eyes landed on the familiar, leggy blonde, standing in the doorway, sporting the same uniform I had worn earlier today, and I bit back a groan.
For fuck’s sake…
This girl.
Yeah, this girl was a pain in my hole.
“Aoife.” Tony’s eyes lit up. “What are you doing here?”
“I was studying at the library with Paul,” his daughter replied, cheeks flushed, as she dropped her school bag on the floor, and walked towards her dad. “We have midterm exams next week. I lost track of time, and you said I wasn’t to walk home in the dark.” Smiling angelically at her old man, she batted her big green eyes and asked, “Any chance of spin home?”
“Lost track of time at the library?” Tony cocked a disbelieving brow. “At half-seven on Valentine’s night? Do you think I came down in the last shower?”
I snorted, also finding her excuse fucking laughable.
Her green eyes narrowed in warning at me, and I shrugged.
Like I gave a shit if she got into it with her old man or not.
She should’ve come up with a better lie.
That one was pathetic.
“Midterm exams?” Tony looked to me. “Joey, son, you’re in the same year as my twins. Did you hear anything at school about midterm exams?”
“Not a word,” I replied, vaguely recalling hearing something about upcoming exams, but enjoying her discomfort too much to hand her the shovel she clearly needed to dig herself out of this hole.
“Like he’d even know,” Molloy shot back with a growl. “Don’t mind a word he says, Dad. Joey Lynch spends more time in the office with the principal than he does in class with—“
“You and Paul?” I offered.
Tony’s brows rose. “Is that Paul the boyfriend?”
“More like Paul the prick,” I scoffed.
“Wow, Joey.” Her eyes narrowed on me once more. “I’m surprised you took your head out of your ass long enough to learn your classmates’ names.”
“We’re on the same hurling team.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah, and?”
“And that’s how I know his name,” I drawled, leaning back in my seat. “No heads-up-asses required. And Paul Rice is a prick.”
Tony laughed and quickly backpedaled. “Hold up, isn’t that the lad you were suspended for fighting with last week?”
“That’s the one,” I confirmed.
“Because you hit him for no reason,” Molloy growled, quick to defend her boyfriend.
“That’s what you think,” I shot back.
“Ugh. Whatever,” she snapped. “Can I have a spin or not, Dad? I need to get home. I’ve a ton of homework to get finished.”
“Why didn’t you get it done at the library?” I mocked, enjoying riling her up a little more than I should. “While you were doing all of that important studying with Paul.”
“Why don’t you shut your mouth?” she countered huffily. “And mind your own business.”
“And more importantly, why didn’t this Paul young fella walk you home?” Tony interjected, tone serious now. “What kind of a young fella leaves his girlfriend in town on her own at night?”
“His mam collected him for training,” she explained with a shrug.
Tony looked to me. “Training?”
I shook my head. “There’s no hurling training tonight.”
“Tai chi,” she correctly hotly. “Not everything revolves around hurling.”
“Tai chi?” Tony frowned. “I thought that had something to do with house decorating.”
“That’s feng shui, Dad.”
I choked back a laugh.
Molloy glared at me.
“And his mother didn’t give you a lift home?”
She shrugged, flustered. “I didn’t ask her for one.”
Her father glowered. “And he didn’t ask her for you?”
“See,” I drawled, giving her father a knowing look. “Prick.”
“Dad,” she snapped, dutifully ignoring me now. “Can I have a spin or not?”
“Not.”
“What? Dad, I need to get home. I told you; I have a ton of homework.”
“Sorry, love, but I have a Corolla that needs a full servicing before I close up. I’ll be here another few hours at least.”
“Dad.”
“Daughter.”
“Father!”
“Fruit of my loins.”
“Fine,” she huffed dramatically, reaching for her schoolbag. “Don’t bother driving your defenseless teenage daughter home in the dark of the night. I’ll take my chances and walk.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” her father commanded. “Sit down. You can get your homework done while I’m finishing up and I’ll take you home then.”
“I’m not staying here until you close,” she shot back, affronted at the thought. “It’s only a couple of miles of a walk. Twenty minutes, tops. Besides, it’s cold in here, and boring, and I need—“
“To do your homework,” her father filled in for her, “Yeah, I think you’ve said that already. Well, you’re not walking on your own.”
“Well, I’m not staying,” she shot back defiantly, her blonde ponytail swinging over her shoulder, as she hoisted her bag up, and headed for the door. “I’ll be fine.”
“Jesus Christ,” Tony grumbled, shaking his head. “Joey, son, do me a favor and make sure that head-strong daughter of mine gets home in one piece. You can knock off afterwards.”
“I don’t need a chaperone,” Molloy argued, looking horrified, but her father cut her off.
“Either he walks you home, or you wait here for me to finish up work. Your choice.”
Balking, she seemed to ponder her choices before locking her eyes on mine. “Well, are you going to walk me home or not?”
For fuck’s sake…
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
I was supposed to be learning how to replace the spark plugs in Danny Reilly’s old Corolla, but, instead, I was walking a furious teenage girl home against her will.
How I got roped into this shit, I would never understand.
If Tony knew me, really fucking knew me, he’d quickly realize that his daughter was hell of a lot better off on her own than with me.
I was a bad bet; my mother had as good as told me so on several occasions.
With my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie, I walked alongside Aoife Molloy, listening to her rant on about sexism, differential treatment because she was a girl, the double standards of us being the same age and her father having no problem with me walking back alone, not to mention a whole host of other bullshit since we left her father at the garage.
In all honesty, her dramatic raving should be driving me nuts by now.
Instead, I was mildly amused by her.
“It’s a disgrace,” she hissed, power walking down the footpath in her high-heeled school shoes, her bare thighs on show beneath the scrap of grey fabric she called a skirt. “He’s being totally unreasonable—“
“Can I just stop you right there,” I interjected, holding a hand up.
“Yeah,” she said, turning to look at me with an expectant look. “Why?”
“No reason,” I replied. “I just wanted you to stop talking.”
“You know, Joey, you can be such an asshole sometimes.” Frustrated, she shook her head and marched on ahead of me. “Such an asshole.”
Fine by me.
I didn’t up my pace and chase her like I suspected she was used to fellas doing.