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“Yeah,” the big one chuckled, waving a tissue in front of him. “We come in peace.” “Shut up, Gibs,” Hughie muttered, shaking his head. “Jesus, lad.”
B*Witched’s “C’est la Vie” started to play, and I swear to God, this Gibsie boy all but levitated from the couch with excitement, dragging Claire along with him. “She clearly lives in that world with him,” I mused, feeling myself smile for the first time in weeks as I watched them.
“You’re honestly trying to tell me that those two aren’t in love?” “I never said they weren’t in love.” Chuckling, she added, “Only that they’re not together.”
While the rest of his friends had long since abandoned their girlfriends and dates, Gibsie hadn’t taken more than three steps away from Claire all night.
Our eyes met, green on green, and he winked at me from across the room. And just like that, I was ruined.
“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 every part of me loved every part of her. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
“Tell me you’re sorry.” I gave in without a fight, too weary and too damn in love to fight my feelings. “I’m sorry.” “How sorry?” “Very sorry.” “Good boy.”
“It’s you,” he repeated gruffly, fingers tightening on my waist. “I pick you. Every single time.”
“I’ll love you the right way this time,” he whispered, and his breath fanned my cheek. “If you’ll show me how.”
“I’m not your mother or your sister. I’m not another girl who needs something from you. I’m the girl who wholeheartedly wants you. I’m the girl who wholeheartedly loves you. The hurler. The mechanic. The boy. The protector. The asshole. The lover. The addict.”
“Do you think it’ll be okay?” she asked, voice small, eyes wide with barely contained fear. “Do you think I’ll fit in, Joey?” I don’t know, but I hope so. I really fucking hope so, Shan. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” I said instead, struggling to keep my emotions in check. “You don’t even realize how brave you are.”
“Meh. I’m an addict, you’re a bitch,” he mused, pulling me close. “No relationship is perfect.”
“Nope.” Grinning up at him, I added, “I’m more into the lean, mean, cocaine-snorting machine type.”
“I’m going to be a disaster,” I mumbled glumly. “I can barely cook French toast.” “Because you’re a spoilt princess who’s used to having everything done for her.” Mam laughed.
this is so me coded
“God loves a trier,” Casey agreed, eyes dancing with mischief. “But Aoife loves Joey.”
“I’ve loved your daughter for six years,” Joey finally broke his silence by saying. “I can easily love her for another eighteen.”
“How does it feel, old man?” I asked, returning to his graveside and undoing the fly on my jeans. “To finally burn in hell?”
“No wonder that daughter of ours didn’t want me helping her shower. She has that young fella’s name tattooed on her arse!”
