Page 34 of Paddy

“Well, war didn’t have shite on my Pa. At least over there, I couldn't predict my environment. But I could always predict Pa’s. Sometimes I get the shakes just thinking about how he bad he beat me. One time, he was so mad, he pushed me down a flight of stairs. I was convinced if he didn't kill me, I was going to do it myself. Might have been a kid's worst nightmare in the neighborhood, but my Pa always humbled his kids to into submission. Honestly, getting drafted was theonlything that saved me. I might have inherited a new set of problems, but at least I wasn't his punching bag anymore.”

That was all so hard to hear. Paddy was one of the strongest men I had ever met. I was sure if you looked up masculine in the dictionary, his picture would be right underneath. To know there was someone who’d put so much fear in him made me sad, somehow.

“I'm sorry?—”

“What are you fucking sorry for? You didn’t do all that stuff to me. And I didn’t share that for you to fucking pity me. I learned a long time ago that we don’t always have the rhyme or reason for why people do things, but I do have control over how I feel about it afterwards. I chose to let him go once he went six feet under. That's all you can do.”

“There can't be a single good reason to put a hand on your kids like that.” Even when Elijah was rowdy, it was never my first thought to hit him. It’s probably why he wasn’t as aggressive as other boys.

“Well, I can’t speak for my brothers, but there was doubt.”

“I don't understand,” I said, unsure of what he’d meant.

“Before my Pa died, he told me I might not be his. Said he gave it to me harder to make me strong, but he was probably just punishing me. Or better yet, punishing my mother. My siblings don't know—hell—Iwould have rather not known. I was raised a Sullivan my whole life. I ain't never known another way. I knowI’m fucked up because of it. There’s a lot of darkness in me I can tie to it. But he was who raised me.” He shamefully admitted.

“All I see is a good man when I see you,” I said to reassure him.

“Pretty, ain't no such thing as a good man. But all men make the conscious decision whether to treat you right or not. Your father didn't treat you right. Your husband doesn’t treat you right. You gotta break the habit of being with men who don't treat you right.”

“That's easy for you to say. You're like a walking vestige of potential. Handsome,young, no kids. Never been married. It's not easy starting over when you're my age,” I confessed, nursing another shot.

“Honestly, Pretty, you're probably the first woman who made me feel sorry for my mother. When I learned the truth, I fucking hated her for dooming me to a life of pain. But now I wonder if Pa was just sucking the life out of her. You’re too fucking beautiful to be wasting your tears over someone who doesn't see you.”

“I'm sure you tell that to all the old maids,” I joked.

“How old do you think I am?” He asked after rolling his eyes.

I squinted. “I'm not so good at guessing,” I admitted.

“I'm twenty-eight.” He smirked.

“Wow. That’s still young, but I thought that you would be younger.”

“It's the smile,” he flirted.

“Actually, it's the eyes. I've honestly been meaning to ask you about that, but I wasn't sure if it would offend you.” It would never not be noticeable that Paddy’s eyes, one in particular, were different colors.

“Well, I don't really got a word for it, but apparently it's normal. I sure as hell got hell for it. Growing up, since it's half blue and half brown, kids would joke that I must have shite inmy eye or something. Then I’d whooped their arse and never hear it again.”

“They just intensify every expression that you make,” I blushed.

“Before we're off the subject, you never told me your age,” Paddy inquired.

“A woman never tells.”

“Bullshite. You can't be a day over thirty.”

“Actually, I'm thirty-eight,” I admitted, embarrassed, even though I wasn’t sure why.

“That just means you age like fine wine,” as he reached over me, and I thought he had planned to kiss me, only he reached in for more rum.

“Plus, you wouldn't be nearly as talented without the years. I'd never even heard you play before today. You were really something.”

Soon after, it wasn’t long before he was coaxing me to play for him again. Bringing the bottle of rum, we made our way to my practice room, as Paddy joined me on the lounge. “Teach me something.”

“Are you musical?” I laughed.

“No, but that's what you're here for,” he teased. Tracing my fingers on top of his, I guided them along the keys. It wasn't very pleasant sounding, but what ithadbeen was entertaining. When he’s insisted I just play, it wouldn't be long before I'd get in rhythm, and he'd throw me off by creeping his fingers across mine.

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