“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I replied, wiping off the coffee that had come out of my mouth in an arc of surprise. “He’s only sixteen, Patrick.”

“I was havin’ sex by de time I was twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“Aye.”

“That’s disgusting!” I looked at him in horror, but I couldn’t change my expression. Ew.

“Mum worked quite a bit,” he said with a chuckle, his accent once again fading.

“New subject,” I ordered, my nose still scrunched up.

“Ye have de birds and de bees talk wit’ him yet?”

“He’s not going to be getting anyone pregnant.”

“Don’t be a bitch, ye know what I meant,” he chastised. “He knows about condoms and whatnot?”

“Where the hell is this all coming from?”

“Because I could talk to him. Talked to some of de younger boys at de club, ye know—”

“Patrick!” I yelled, cutting off his rambling.

When his eyes met mine, they were concerned. “He can’t go havin’ unprotected sex, Amy. It’s not safe.”

“Relax, baby,” I said, the endearment slipping out before I could stop it. “I’ve had that talk with him. More than once. He’s got condoms if he needs them, but I don’t think he’s using them.”

“Dere’s AIDS and shite, Amy.”

“Nix isn’t going to get AIDS, Patrick. Shit.”

“Or herpes.”

“Could you knock it the fuck off?”

“How well do ye really know dis Simon kid?”

He was really irritating the shit out of me.

“Patrick, what the fuck is wrong with you? Simon’s gay, not a serial killer!”

Patrick’s chair fell over as he shot up from the table, his face a mask of angry disbelief.

“Dat boy thought I was his da,” he hissed, bracing his hands on the table to lean closer. “He carries me name.”

I watched him in silence as my face grew red. I knew I’d offended him, but I was fucking offended, too.

“He carries me name, Amy. De love of me life carried him inside her fuckin’ body! It’s not like he’s some kid off de bloody street.” He shook his head, seeming to grow angrier by the second. “I have a daughter at home and she doesn’t even bring boys back to de club because dere so fuckin’ terrified!” he growled, taking a step back away from the table. “Ye are out of yer bloody mind if ye believe me concern comes from anyt’in’ but de worry dat someone is takin’ advantage of our children.”

He stomped away and out the front door before I had a chance to reply.

I felt like shit, like a complete and total asshole. I’d been so defensive for so long that I’d automatically assumed that he was being a dick, spouting off all of that STD crap. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he was being ridiculously protective. I spent so much time worrying that someone would treat Nix badly, that I hadn’t even realized when someone was doing the exact opposite.

I was such a bitch.

“Patrick!” I yelled, pushing back from the table and following him outside.

I found him sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette.

“I’m sorry,” I said, plopping down next to him. “I think I’m overly sensitive.”

“No shite?”

“I’m so worried that someone is going to be an asshole— hold that thought.”

I jumped up and ran upstairs to grab a small Altoids tin out of my sock drawer. When I made it back down, Patrick was watching me in amusement.

“You have a light?” I asked, setting the tin down on the wood step next to me and pulling out a small joint.

“Why, Amy Gallagher, ye rebel.”

“Without a cause—I know.” I shook my head as I took the lighter out of his hand and lit up, taking a small drag and coughing slightly. “It helps with my anxiety.”

“Ye have a problem wit’ dat? Anxiety?”

“Not really, yoga and meditation help. I haven’t even gotten hives in years. You know, this is the first time in a long ass time that we’ve just sat shooting the shit.”

“American phrases are ridiculous—and don’t change de subject.”

“I thought you were giving me a minute to apologize.”

“Consider yerself forgiven—I’ve dealt wit’ me own share of shite wit’ Brenna.”

“Really? That surprises me.”

“Not so surprisin’,” he commented, taking the joint from my fingers and inhaling deeply. “Her pop is part of a motorcycle club, some parents ain’t too excited about dat.”

“Ain’t.” I snorted, as he passed the joint my way again.

“Shut it.”

“Sorry you’ve had to deal with that. We haven’t had any major things happen yet—but I feel like I’m always braced for it. I just don’t want him to get hurt, you know? I mean, he’s big and he’s going to be bigger, so I think he’ll do alright physically. I just hate the thought of someone making him feel bad about something that he’s got no control over.”

“Ye can’t shield him from everyt’in’—boy’s almost grown, he can’t be cowering behind his mum.”

“He doesn’t. If anything, he’s more protective of me.”