Chapter 27 Stop trying to help me
Stop trying to help me
Morgan
Holly: He’s your boyfriend? What happened to playing it cool and leaving him wanting more?
I showed him my tits
Holly: What? Morgs, I swear if I’m not there to keep you on your toes, everything gets messy
I actually think I did quite well without you
Holly: Of course. They’re great tits, he didn’t stand a chance
“Morgan?”
I swing around to see Paddy walking towards me.
“Ready to go?”
I hum my response stowing my phone in my bag, feeling the effects of nine Sambuca shots polluting my blood stream.
Paddy eyes me curiously. “Are you drunk, curly fries?”
“No,” I slur, not meaning to. “Well, maybe a little.” I hold up two fingers, seeing two of my hands.
Damn it.
“You think you can walk back, or do I have to carry you?” He steps closer, smelling like sex on legs with his hair looking tousled.
I hold my arms out in front of me just as one of my eyes closes against my will. “Okay.”
Smiling, he dips his body and scoops me into his arms.
I squeal excitedly. “A piggyback would have worked.”
“In that belt you call a skirt? No way.”
Then I frown. “You can’t carry me all the way home like this, Paddy O’Keefe. You’ll exhaust yourself.”
He lets out a proper laugh then. “Come on, curly fries. I’ve carried you before.”
“When?” I question, as he manages to open the garden gate. It’s only now I realise that we’re outside.
“When you fell off that horse after yours and Fi’s one and only riding lesson.”
I snort a laugh. “I completely forgot about that.”
He kicks the gate shut. “You two were a right pair of goons. Falling off a horse that wasn’t even moving.”
“He was,” I protest lazily, feeling my eyelids getting heavier. “Uh,” I grumble, letting my head fall against his chest. “I don’t remember the last time I was this drunk, but I had fun tonight, Paddy.”
“I’m glad, curly fries.”
“Why?” I hiccup. “Because you feel sorry for me?”
Paddy’s feet momentarily stop. “No. I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“I feel sorry for me.”
I feel him sigh. “Why?”
“Because… because you said we’re official, but I know you met with another woman when you said you were seeing Tom.”
His whole body stiffens.
“See,” I slap a hand to his pec. “That’s why I feel sorry for myself.”
“It’s not what you think, Morgan.”
Rolling my head against him, I’m not sure if what I want to say will come out how I intend it to, but I give it my best go. “Holly thinks I’m overreacting, but I don’t care.”
He looks down at me blankly.
“I don’t care anymore. And I know I’m drunk, but it’s the God’s honest truth. You and me… I think one day you’re going to break my heart.” I wish being in his arms didn’t bring me the comfort it does, because I know it’s not real. “You pity me.”
“Morgan—”
I lift a hand to his lips, swallowing the burning lump in my throat.
“You pity me, and yet, you’re the only person I trust. I don’t know what that says about me, that I would want someone even though they couldn’t give me all of them, but I showed you my boobs, and you told me you wouldn’t have sex with me.
I know you like me, Paddy O’Keefe,” I drag my eyes open, “your eyes tell me that you do.”
Paddy blinks, long and heartbreakingly slow.
“But I’m not what you want. As much as I have wanted you over the years, I will never have you the way Hannah did, or the lady, or any of the girls from school did.”
“Please, Morgan. Just stop.”
I shake my head, pushing myself reluctantly away from him.
Carefully, he guides my feet to the floor, and it shouldn’t, but it annoys me.
“Stop trying to help me.” I stagger forwards, my knees coming into contact with the hard ground. “Shit.” Feeling his arm on me, I snatch mine away. “I’m fine without you, Paddy.”
He sighs heavily. “Will you let me help you to your feet?”
Grumbling, I take a minute, before my limbs turn to lead.
He reaches out a hand and hooks me under my arm again. “There.” Waiting until I can stand straight, he lets go of me.
I don’t say a word, wondering if what I’ve already said makes any sense to him.
“I know you’re fine without me, but I’m not going anywhere.” My eyes stay fixed on Paddy, watching as he steps closer.
“Who was the lady you met with?” I ask with caution, bracing myself for his answer.
“Jake’s wife, Catherine. She’s a psychologist,” he comes right out and says before adding, “She met with me to talk about the accident.”
My mouth drops open with relief and shock. “Paddy that’s… What did she say?”
His brows narrow before ironing out again. “That it wasn’t my fault.”
I manage to nod, knowing it wasn’t from everything he’s told me.
“We spoke about how I’ve overcome the tragedy, and she’s given me some useful pointers on how to live with what happened.”
“Paddy, that’s so good. I’m so pleased for you,” I say, yawning rudely. “I’m sorry.”
Closing the small gap, Paddy relents and smiles at me. “Come on. We need to get you into bed.”
“I already tried getting you into bed, remember?”
“Good one, curly fries,” he jokes sarcastically, picking me up again. “I mean in your bed. Alone. Where you can sleep off the Sambuca.”
I shudder. “I’m never drinking again. Especially with your father.”
Paddy chuckles, and after a few strides, I look up at him.
“Seriously, Paddy, I’m pleased you talked to someone about what’s been troubling you. I’m sorry I thought something was going on between you and Jake’s wife.”
He keeps his gaze focused on where he’s walking under the darkness of night. “Thanks. But it hurts you know.”
“What does?” I whisper, feeling sleep taking over.
“That you think I would see another woman then ask you to be mine. After all the time we’ve spent together recently, you think I would do that to you?”
My muscles tighten, my cheeks heat. But I manage a smile. “You saw my boobs. Your night wasn’t all bad.”
“No,” he laughs, admittedly sounding a little pained. “But you wanted to have sex with me, thinking that I was seeing someone else. You’re worth so much more than that, Morgan.”
My gaze drops, and my heart constricts painfully tight. “Having one part of you is better than having none of you.”
I feel his fingers dig into my skin. “You have all of me, curly fries. You really do.”
Our eyes lock. “Is there a but?”
“But we need to go slow. We’re not rushing this,” his head bobs to and fro between us, “alright? You mean too damn much to me, I won’t fuck this up.”
“Okay, Paddy O’Keefe.” I smile feeling satisfied, resting my head against his warm chest and letting my eyes close. “Whatever you say.”
Paddy: Are you sober yet? It’s been eighteen hours. I’m beginning to worry
I wonder if this is what death feels like?
Paddy: Drama queen
It’s just after three in the afternoon when I finally make my way downstairs. Mum’s got food cooking on the stove, and my dad and brother are sitting at the table.
Honestly, I still feel tired, but today something feels different. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s alcohol poisoning making me delirious, which, let’s face it, is pretty lame considering I only had nine shots, but the air feels different.
The sounds and smells are strange.
Questioning myself, I look down at my hands to make sure I’m not dreaming.
“She’s alive,” Jerry says mockingly with an air of disappointment.
Nope. Definitely awake.
The grin on Jerry’s face would usually make me cower on the inside, but today it doesn’t. I’m embarrassed Paddy saw me being sick when he brought me home yesterday, but there’s a deep sense of happiness giving me fresh life.
Then I smile, and I know it’s because Paddy O’Keefe is mine.
“Do you have to start this early, Jer? Can’t you at least wait until I’ve eaten?”
I’m not sure where my response comes from.
Judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t either. “Did the leprechaun enjoy watching you making an arse of yourself?”
Letting my shoulders unfurl, I reply, “About as much as he did when he knocked you out.”
Dad chokes on the tea in his hand.
“Food is ready,” Mum sings chirpily, using her go-to attempt to diffuse the tension between me and my brother. Feed us.
Assuming that I’m about to be reprimanded for having a smart mouth with the golden child, I grab a mug and head to the fresh pot of tea on the side. Hearing Jerry mutter something under his breath, I pour as I announce, “I’ll eat upstairs, Mum.” I’m not letting him bring me down today.
“No you won’t,” Dad replies quickly. “Jerry, help your mother.”
“What?” he and I both say at the same time.
My dad looks up at me, and doing something that he’s never done before, he takes my side. My side. “Come sit, Morgan. Your head must be pounding.”
I look at Mum. Then Jerry. And my feet slowly make their way to the table.
“There,” Dad says gently, before giving Jerry a look which tells him to get on with it.
I don’t know what’s happening, but I have never been on this side of the table, so to speak. “Dad?” My eyes are wide as I watch him.
Resting a hand over mine on the table, he smiles at me warmly. “Are you alright?”
Am I alright?
My parents have made me feel like I’ve lived behind glass, controlling everything to suit them since I left college. And this morning they’re asking me if I’m alright like going out and getting drunk is something I do often?
Where’s the shouting? The argument? The lecture of disapproval?
My lips part, close and part again. “I’m hungry,” I admit, shocked that he seems to care. I can’t remember the last time he was like this with me.
“We knew you would be,” Mum chimes from her spot by the kitchen sink.
Jerry bangs the plates as he takes them out of the cupboard.
“Want some OJ to go with your food?” Mum asks, now drying her hands on a tea towel.
I look at her. “Please.” Slowly, I look back at my dad.
There’s no point in trying to deny the way they’re treating me isn’t making me feel all warm inside. And even though no part of me wants to ruin this moment, still I go ahead and ask, “Did I miss something?”
The silence of the room is instantaneous.
Both my mum and Jerry look towards the man sitting next to me.
“No,” Mum starts, but stops when Dad sucks in a breath.
“We’re happy,” he insists.
I look between all of them, checking I haven’t accidentally woken up in somebody else’s house. Everything looks similar. But this doesn’t feel real. “Happy? That I’m hungover?” I check I heard right, also aware that I won’t be drinking again anytime soon.
Mum laughs. “In a way, yes.”
Jerry huffs. This must be killing him.
Dad gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re happy that you’re happy.”
I check his expression. “You’re happy that I’m happy?” I ask, not fully registering.
He inhales. “Yes. I admit, I’ve been too hard on you.” Heat rises to the back of my neck. My shoulders tense. “Seeing you handle life with the joy you have, even falling in love, it makes me proud.”
A thick lump lodges in my throat. “Dad?” I croak out, eyes pinching. “In love? You think I’m in love with Paddy?”
Dropping his head, Dad laughs under his breath. “I know that boy’s in love with you.”
I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. “What makes you say that?”
Finally dishing up four plates, Jerry brings them to the table one at a time.
Dad lets go of my hand and sits straighter as Mum brings over a jug of orange juice and a concoction of painkillers.
“How he was with you last night. Making sure you were okay. I… I’m sorry I thought he was bad for you. I can see now that he isn’t.”
Seeing his eyes narrow and a look of regret fill them, I lean closer to him. “You spoke to him? The other night, I mean.”
Mum pulls out a chair and sits down.
Dad taps his fingers on the table. “I did. And this,” he gestures around the table, “is us trying to say we’re sorry we stopped you from doing what makes you happy. You will always be our little girl, it’s just overwhelming.” He swipes his eye as Jerry sits.
I rub a hand on his arm, unsure of what to respond with, but my emotions take over, and I’m wrapping my arms around him. “Love you.”
He hugs me back, long and heart-felt. Considering we’re never this affectionate, neither one of us wants to let go.
Finally, I break away, and Dad nods as though the world is right again. I swallow the mass of tablets, grateful, my heart full, but my head now banging.
Jerry coughs. “Dad, did I tell you about the new deal I made last week?”
“Yeah,” Dad says bluntly, not looking at Jerry. “So, Morgan, tell me about last night. How was the game?”
I try not to smile as Jerry’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?” Jerry snaps. “I land a huge marketing campaign, and you don’t want to know, but Morgan gets drunk for the first time in years, and suddenly you care?”
“Get over yourself, Jerry,” Dad says, and I am left unsure of what to do or what to say.
“I heard they won,” Mum says in my silence.
I look at her, shaking myself out of my daze. “Yeah, they did well.”
“And the O’Keefe’s. Are they all okay now after Siobhan’s run-in with Pete?”
My lips pinch together. “I think so, yeah.”
“Well, no news is good news,” she says happily.
My dad tuts. “You say that like there is news to be had, Julie. There’s no such thing in this situation.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Mum sighs. “I meant… Well at least everyone’s okay. That’s what I was getting at.”
Feeling Jerry’s eyes on me, I refuse to look up as I take a mouthful of food. “I’m sure Siobhan’s fine.” I give Mum a reassuring smile before taking a mouthful of food. It instantly makes me feel better.
“Good. Oh, before I forget, this came for you this morning.” Mum reaches behind her before she holds out today’s post towards me.
“For me?”
She nods excitedly.
“But I don’t get post.”
What is with today?
“Which is why we’re wondering why something from the US has arrived,” Dad says, his tone matching Mum’s eager, beaming face.
“The US?” I clamp my mouth shut, seeing the airmail stamp on the front of the letter.
Oh. Shit.
I’d forgotten I sent an email. “This can’t be.” I drop my cutlery onto my plate. “I only emailed yesterday.”
“Emailed who, hun?” Mum asks gently but leans forward in her chair to see better.
“What have you gone and done?” Jerry gripes, but I hear his interest.
Inhaling, my fingers lightly begin tearing back the envelope. “I…” I look up at my dad.
“Is it good news?”
I don’t know. “I emailed a publication house in New York. But that was only yesterday. How would they… Maybe there’s been a mistake?”
“A publication house?” Dad asks confused.
Rather than say anything more, I open the envelope as if it were a bomb waiting to explode. The tips of my fingers buzzing in nervous anticipation.