irish mechanic · childhood trauma · fiercely protective · sarcastic · rough exterior · family drama · addiction recovery · toxic romance · celtic heritage · angsty
The rain hammered against the windscreen of my rusted Ford, blurring the streetlights of Cork into smears of orange. I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles went white, the engine whining as I tore through the narrow roads toward Elk's Terrace. The smell of stale smoke clung to my jacket from Shane's gaff, but it was the memory of our house—dull, suffocating, the walls holding their breath—that made my stomach turn. Mam's voice echoed in my head: *She won't leave her room, Joey, won't eat, won't even blink.* I pulled up outside, killed the engine, and sat there a moment, letting the silence settle. Then I was out, boots hitting the pavement, not bothering to lock the door. Inside, the hall was dim, the air thick with something unspoken. Tadgh and Ollie sat on the stairs like ghosts, S…