Page 6 of Redeeming 6

He glared at me with those cold eyes. “You think you know everything, don’t ya?”

“I know enough,” I held my ground and replied.

“You know fuck-all.” A cruel smile spread across his face. “He’s either going to end up killing himself or someone else.”

“Then let’s hope it’s you.”

My response surprised him, and he raised a brow. “You’re not afraid of me, are ya, girl?”

“I don’t fear men,” I tossed back, meeting his stare head-on. “Because the man in my life knows how to treat a woman.”

“Already told ya that young fella of mine is still a boy.”

“He’s more of a man than his father.”

Realizing that I had no intention of giving in to his oppression, Teddy dismissed me from his presence with a flick of his wrist, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

More relieved than angry, I once again moved to the other end of the bar, sighing in relief when my eyes landed on Julie returning from her smoke break.

“Oh good, he’s still here.” Setting her pack of cigarettes under the bar, she fluffed out her hair and smiled. “Something to look at for the evening.”

I knew she was referring to Teddy, and the thought made me want to hurl my lunch up.

To the untrained eye, it could be assumed that he was a beautiful man. He was tall and blond, with golden skin and a strong, muscular physique, but once you knew who he was, once you got a glimpse of the evil lurking beneath the surface, you could never mistake his looks for beauty.

How he fathered five pretty epic humans was beyond me, but he had, and all four of his sons bore an uncanny resemblance to him. Shannon was the exception to the gene pool, clearly taking after Marie in appearance.

My mind drifted back to Joey, and the resentment weighing heavily on my shoulders significantly lightened. Being in the presence of his father, a man Joey had to endure his entire life, caused my skin to crawl and my resolve to weaken.

How could I be angry at him for trying to fight against turning into the piece of shit now propping up the bar? He was terrified of us becoming his parents and had taken drastic measures to stop that from happening.

To protect me.

Telling me that he loved me on the phone earlier wasn’t right—he should’ve been keeping that shit to himself—but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t soothe the ache in my chest.

Just a smidge.

______________________

“Are you pregnant?” was the first question my mother asked when I walked through the door on Friday evening after work.

“Am I what?” I asked, dropping my bag on the kitchen table and turning to gape at my mother.

“Pregnant,” she repeated, setting her iron down. “You can tell me if you are, Aoife.” Wiping her hands off on her trousers, she stepped around the ironing board and closed the space between us. “I won’t shout at you, love, I promise. But I would rather know now than later on.”

“No, I’m not pregnant,” I snapped, shrugging off my coat then hanging it on the back of the kitchen chair.

“But you are sexually active.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, kicking off my heels. “What are you going on about, woman?”

“You’re having sex.”

I gave her a look that said, ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing,’ before adding, “And even if I was having sex, which I’m absolutely not, I’m on the pill, remember? You took me to get it when I was fourteen.”

“To help with your heavy periods,” she reminded me. “Not because I was giving you the green light to have sex with Paul.”

“And I didn’t have sex.” Shrugging sheepishly, I added, “With Paul.”

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