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“You can’t tell me what to do, Joe,” I growled, feeling a combination of drunk and dizzy. “You don’t own me.” “Well, that’s bad fucking luck on my account, because you sure as shit own me!” Drunk or not, his words hit me like a wrecking ball to the chest. Feeling the air whoosh from my lungs, I glared up at him, feeling a torrent of emotions crashing through me. “Why would you say that to me?” “Because it’s the truth.” “Since when?” “Since I was twelve.”
“Because I’ll look after the both of you.”
“I’ve loved your daughter for six years,” Joey finally broke his silence by saying. “I can easily love her for another eighteen.”
“I’ve always been a father!”
This line broke me
“And I’ve done a pretty fucking good job with the four I’ve raised. And yeah, I’m a mess, and yeah, I’m an addict, but I’m a good father! I’m a good fucking parent, Darren. I kept them alive. I kept them fed, and loved, and nurtured, and goddamn educated. I did that. Not you. Not him. Not Mam. Me. So, call me a junkie and whatever the hell else you want to call me, but don’t say that I’m too young to be a father!”
