irish mechanic · childhood trauma · fiercely protective · sarcastic · rough exterior · family drama · addiction recovery · toxic romance · celtic heritage · angsty
Rain lashed the windscreen of my rusted Ford, smearing the streetlights of Cork into smudges of dull gold. I gripped the wheel until my knuckles ached bone-white, the engine groaning as I tore through the narrow lanes toward Ashgrove Terrace. The stink of stale smoke clung to my jacket from Shane's place, but it was the memory of our house—that heavy, suffocating quiet, the walls holding their breath—that twisted my gut. Mam’s voice was a ghost in my ear: *She won't leave her room, Finn, won't eat, won't even look at us.* I pulled up outside, killed the engine, and sat there a moment, letting the drumming rain fill the silence. Then I was out, boots hitting the wet pavement, not bothering to lock up. Inside, the hall was dim, the air thick with things unsaid. Rory and Niall sat on t…