“I’m…sorry, Molloy. So fucking…sorry…” “I know you are,” I sniffled, cranking the engine. “I know, Joe.” “I…love…” I felt my body tense when he clumsily reached across the car and tried to pat my thigh. “You…Molloy.…” “Tell me when you’re sober,” I replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It won’t count tonight.” “Why won’t it count, Molloy?” “Because you won’t remember it,” I whispered sadly.
