Page 8 of Redeeming 6

“You’re not?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t know, love.”

“Well, now you do,” I said flatly, moving for the door. “I’m nursing a broken heart, Mam, not your grandchild in my belly.”

“Aoife?” she called after me. “Wait, pet, we can talk about it if you want. I’m here for you, love.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tossed over my shoulder as I thundered up the staircase.

I can’t.

3

Turf War

JOEY

“What the fuck are you on?” Podge demanded, as he chased me around the pitch at the GAA Pavilion on Saturday afternoon with his hurley in hand. “I haven’t seen you this pumped since we won the county final in third year.”

“Nothing,” I panted, narrowly sidestepping him to hook the sliotar with my hurl and tap it back to him. Tony had closed up early, something that left me with my hands hanging, which had led me to text the lads to meet me for a puck around. “I haven’t been out since Christmas.”

“Then what the fuck did Santa put in your stocking?” Alec wheezed, chopping down hard on Podge’s hurl, and robbing the ball. “Speed?”

A reality check. “Nothing.”

Podge narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Then what the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged, breathing hard and fast. “I’m just done with the bullshit.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m done fucking around.”

“Meaning he’s too busy getting his hole off Sexy Legs to even think about getting high,” Alec snickered. “Jesus, her pussy must taste like ambrosia or whatever it is the gods eat— Ow, Jesus, fuck, don’t hit me with that.” Clutching the side of his head, he groaned, “Dammit, Joe, you’re lucky I’m wearing a helmet. You could have given me brain damage.”

“No, you’re lucky you’re wearing a helmet,” I shot back, still wielding the boss of my hurl precariously close to his throat. “Next time you even think about my girl’s pussy, I’ll take the head clean off your shoulders, ya hear?”

“Give it a rest, Al,” Podge snapped, dragging my attention back to him. “What does this mean, Joe?” His attention was riveted on my face. “When you say that you’re done fucking around, do you mean with Holland and his crew?”

I nodded stiffly. “I mean with all of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging in discomfort, I hooked the sliotar onto my boss and broke off on a solo run before deftly lobbing the ball over the bar of the far-end goal.

With sweat trickling down the back of my neck, I retrieved the sliotar from behind the back of the goal before sprinting off again, desperate to burn the tension out of my body. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone this long without anything in my system. But I was still here, still trying, still hanging in there.

For her.

“How long has it been?” Podge asked when I returned with the ball.

“How long what?” Alec piped up.

“A few weeks,” I replied, using the hem of my jersey to wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. “It’s nothing to sing home about, but it’s a start.”

I had this horrible anxious tremor rolling through me, one that no amount of exercise could settle. I knew why, of course. My body wasn’t craving exercise. It didn’t want food or water, and it wasn’t satisfied with a smoke. It wanted more.

I was fucking ravenous.

But with two weeks of hell put down to get where I was today, I was strong enough to let it starve just a little while longer. One more hour. And then another after that.

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