Chapter 18 You wouldn’t understand
You wouldn’t understand
Paddy
When we pull up outside Morgan’s house, I look away from her empty driveway and down at her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?” she asks calmly.
With my mind still reeling, I reply, “Fine, curly fries.”
Her thumb twitches, making us both look. “Do you really mean that? I mean, after everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t blame you for not being okay.”
I blow out a breath, a light sweat on my brow after the drive. It’s the first time I’ve driven with someone in the car since the accident. “Yeah, I mean it.”
When my lips part to explain why I reacted the way I did tonight, she stops me, reading my mind. “You don’t need to apologise to me by the way. Rory got what was coming to him.”
My lip tugs when I look her way.
Her eyes drop to my lips, and it’s for this reason alone that I run the very tip of my tongue over the bottom one. “I still wish I’d gotten there sooner.”
Morgan balks unexpectedly. “Which night are you talking about?” It’s not supposed to be funny, but she grins at me anyway, cheeks now slightly pink.
“Both.” I turn to her in my seat, breathing in her sweet honey smell. It’s calming. “Morgan. Back then was bad, but reading your text saying you were alone… I don’t know, I’ve never felt so scared.”
She sighs. “I could tell.” Looking out the window towards her house, she tucks her hair behind her ear, a soft hum pushing past her lips.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her lips pull into a thin line. “Paddy O’Keefe was scared for me. I feel special.”
My heart lurches. Satisfaction sweeps over me. Yeah, I was scared she would be hurt by that creep. I didn’t have to think twice. I just knew I had to get her out of there. “You are special. I deal with shit every day and have never felt like that.”
Her cheeks redden further. “Like what?”
I love that she’s confident to ask me. Meeting her gaze, I take a steadying breath. “Like I would kill if anyone hurt you.”
She goes to laugh but stops herself. “That seems extreme,” she replies tenderly, eyes raking over me.
“That’s how you make me feel,” I confess, eyes still locked firmly on hers.
She holds my gaze. “Well, that’s good to know.” Opening her door, Morgan suddenly climbs out.
It’s neither the time nor the place to pull her back into my car and kiss her like I want to, so I’m quick to climb out too. “Good to know?” I repeat, my confusion at her swift exit spreading on my face, eyes narrowing slightly as I shut my door.
Morgan gestures for me to follow her towards her house, with a flick of her chin. “If I could go back and tell the girls at school that Paddy O’Keefe would murder for me, I would in a heartbeat, you know.”
I tilt my head, smirking. “I think your use of my full name is starting to grow on me.” Then I walk to her side, wanting to take her hand in mine. Better yet, I want to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in to me.
A light from inside her house comes on, pulling both our attention.
“That’s odd,” she remarks.
“I know, but I like the way you say it.”
She hits my arm playfully. “Not me saying your name.” Then she rolls her eyes. “I mean my dad’s car. It’s not there.”
My gaze flicks to a car pulling onto her road. “This him?” I ask, already guessing it will be.
We both stand still, watching the car come to a stop on her driveway. “Yeah. I wonder where he’s been.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I suggest, tone flat. Because I wonder if he’ll tell her the truth: that he followed her to the pub tonight. How many times has he done that, I wonder?
She huffs under her breath. “It would make a change from arguing with him I suppose.”
We take a few steps along her path. “Have things got any better?”
“I guess,” Morgan says, shrugging her shoulders. Her eyes turn downcast.
Bill gets out of his car. He stares, eyes narrowed, first on me, then on Morgan. I see them get smaller before he sucks in a lung-full of air and closes his car door.
Can he pick up on my impending explosion? I hope he can, because I know he saw me noticing him before I dragged Rory out of the pub.
“Will you be alright?” I ask Morgan, my eyes still firmly locked on her father.
The sound of him stepping closer grows louder.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m going to try Holly again before calling it a night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, watching me glaring at her old man.
He stands stock still, blinking fast, voice rough with emotion. “Morgan, are you okay?”
She studies him before replying, “Fine, Dad. Paddy brought me home after Holly was a no show.” Her explanation to where she’s been seems like a force of habit.
I want to tell her that he already knows, but I keep my mouth shut.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says genuinely, one hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. Then he turns to look at me.
And I hold his gaze, my tongue running over my teeth. Is he going to speak up? Should I do it for him?
When his widening eyes dart to Morgan and his lips press together nervously, I get his silent plea. I don’t owe him anything, but for her sake, he can have what he wants. “I’ll be off, then,” I say through gritted teeth.
Morgan flashes me a look of worry, but her father jumps in before she can speak. “Actually, do you have a minute?”
My nostrils flare, anger rising. “For you?” I spit the words like they taste fowl.
Bill nods, but his jaw clenches, a flicker of annoyance darkening his eyes. “Yes,” he says, tone dry, the muscles in his face twitching.
I try my hardest not to demand answers on the spot, but Morgan must sense her cue to leave. It’s clear in the way Bill doesn’t immediately start talking, that he wants our conversation to be private. I mean, of course he does. He got caught spying on his daughter. He has a lot of explaining to do.
“Well, good night, Paddy. Thanks again for coming to get me.” Morgan looks once more between us.
“Good night, Morgan.”
Then she walks to her house.
The man in front of me watches her until she’s inside.
As soon as the door clicks, I cross my arms. “Does she know?” I come right out and ask. “Does she know that you follow her?”
He won’t meet my eyes as he blows out a depleted breath, running a hand through his grey hair. “No,” he says bluntly.
His bristly tone fills me with unease. “Why do it?”
His pause is half a second too long for my liking. He looks at me, finally, and I see it in his eyes. Not fear, not anger. Pain.
“I have to.”
He’s done this before. “Why?” I snap, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.
His lips part like he’s going to come out with it, but he quickly closes his mouth, looking away from me. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Try me.”
His shoulders stiffen. “She’s my daughter, Paddy. It’s my job to look out for her.”
“She’s twenty-one.”
Turning on his heels, I think he’s going to walk away. But he faces me slowly, deliberate, an anguished look on his face like he’s calculating the cost of telling me the truth.
“I’ll never stop looking out for her.” Is that a threat?
“And my mother will never stop looking out for me, but you don’t see her following me around and hiding out of sight.”
Keeping his eyes on me, he frowns. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I step closer to him, feet scraping the tarmac. “You’re the one who asked to talk,” I point out, face scrunching.
At six-foot, he stares down at me. “I need you to leave her alone,” he says tightly.
I run a hand over my mouth. Thinking. This runs deeper than a father simply looking out for his daughter. The way he controls her. The following her. It isn’t normal. “Bullshit.” He may be Morgan’s father, but if he’s responsible for making her unhappy, I won’t stand for it.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorts right away.
“Then tell me,” I demand, hands coming out by my sides. “Because right now, you look terrified of something, and the only person paying for it is Morgan.”
He moves so suddenly, I flinch. His hard step forward is close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. “This has nothing to do with you.” His voice sounds like he’s holding back a scream. “You think I want this?” His voice drops lower. “You think this is about me?”
My pulse hammers in my throat, but I stand my ground. “There’s something you’re not saying. Something you don’t want us knowing.”
“I don’t want her getting hurt,” he admits, and although in my gut I can tell he means it, something flickers across his face with a quick glance towards his house.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” I tell him, my voice shaking but remaining firm. “You know that.”
He exhales sharply, eyes bouncing between mine. He saw what I did to Rory. He watched as I got Morgan out of there and dragged the scumbag away.
“But what about you?” I dare to say, tone thick. “Why didn’t you help her? Hmm. Why didn’t you get her out of the pub the moment you saw that slimeball put a hand on her?”
Angry lines crinkle his forehead. “I didn’t know he touched her,” he growls.
“Yeah, well, he did. And what did you do? Fucking, nothing, that’s what.”
“Enough!” he barks, and it takes everything out of me not to laugh in his face.
“I believe that you wouldn’t intentionally hurt my daughter.
But Morgan doesn’t know the whole story.
And I’m not going to watch as you unravel everything I have done to protect her, all because you might have feelings for her. ”
I laugh now with distaste. “You say that like you’re not the one causing her this pain.”
He grabs a fistful of my jumper, yanking my face to his, cheeks flaming. I grab his wrists, but it only forces him to hold me tighter. “She’s sick,” he blasts, and my mouth opens but nothing comes out. Icy waves of shock flood every inch of my body.
We share a stunned silence, before he begins shaking his head, frustration and sadness making him vibrate. “Can you hear me?” He throws his hand down as he lets me go, and I take a step back.
“Sick?” I manage to choke out, my legs paralysed by shock.
He grabs a handful of his hair. Is this the first time he’s told anyone? Eyes closed, his breath catches, and a pained sob racks through him.
It makes me falter, legs shaking like they’re about to buckle. “What can I do?”
His shattering, muffled cry has a lump forming in my throat.
It’s hopeless. Anguished. Cuts right through me.
When he doesn’t say anything, the air between us stretches so tight, my ears begin to ring.
I step closer to him, doubled over with his hands now on his knees, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do. “Tell me how I can help her,” I plead.
He eventually stands straight, blinking away his tears. And I realise he’s grieving. Grieving something that hasn’t even happened yet.