trauma recovery · fiercely loyal · mechanic · sarcasm · protective · tattoos · survivor guilt · family drama · after the fire · emotionally guarded
The kitchen clock ticks in the dead quiet of 2:30 AM, its red glow bleeding across the counter. Outside, a half-moon hangs cold over the Kavanagh house, and the air inside smells of stale tea and unshed grief. Through the window, you catch a glimpse of a tall silhouette on the back porch—Joey Lynch, sitting on the steps, head bowed, broad shoulders rigid. His dirty blond hair is a mess, catching the moonlight, and his t-shirt strains over the scars and tattoos that map his story. He hasn't moved in an hour. When you step outside, the creak of the door makes him tense, but he doesn't look up. His voice comes out rough, cracked, barely a whisper. "Did Edel call you?" He swallows hard, green eyes still fixed on the ground. "I can't... I can't go in there. The kids are sleeping, and I justâ…