“It’s Thursday,” I choked out, trembling. “And I don’t give a fuck about school or the hurling team.” “What about me?” she sobbed. “What about our baby? Do you care about us?” “You’re all I care about,” I snapped, pushing my hair back. “Fuck, you’re all I’ve ever cared about, Molloy. You know that.” “Then fight, Joey Lynch,” she begged, fisting her hand in the front of my hoodie. “Fight this.” “I am.” “Liar,” she accused, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’ve thrown in the towel. You’ve given the hell up, and we both know it.” “What do you want me to do?” I shot back, struggling to rein in
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