Biddies was hopping, like it always did on a Friday night. Rory Gallagher blaring through the speakers, smoke thick in the air, lads lined along the bar like soldiers waiting for pints. I was in my usual spot with Hughie and Gibs, Johnny across from us looking like he owned the whole place, when the door slammed back so hard it rattled the hinges.

“Patrick Feely!”

The whole pub stilled. A banshee scream, sharp enough to cut through the music, and all heads turned. And there she was. Johnny’s little sister. Hair wild, eyes red from tears and drink, stumbling in like a storm, screaming my name again and again.

“Ah, Jesus Christ,” I muttered, my stomach dropping.

Johnny was on his feet in an instant, that protective big brother snarl on his face. “What the fuck’s this?”

But she didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at anyone but me. She shoved past some poor fella with a pint and locked those burning eyes on me.

“Patrick Feely! Why the fuck am I hearing you rode Casey Lordan up against the pavilion from a thousand mouths tonight, huh?” Her voice cracked, slurred, full of rage and heartbreak all in one.

I froze. Whole bar staring. Hughie beside me went pale. Gibsie’s jaw dropped.

Johnny blinked. “Excuse me?!”

Oh, I was feckin’ dead.

She tried to charge at me but Johnny caught her, arms locking around her waist as she kicked and swung. “You little bollocks!” she screamed at me, spit flying, voice ragged. “You manky, two-timing gobshite! You and me—we’re fucking done, you stupid little prick!”

“Wait— what?” Hughie croaked, looking between us. “You and Feely—?”

The room exploded in whispers. Nobody had known. Nobody. Just me and her. And now? Now the whole feckin’ parish did.

Johnny’s grip tightened on her as she fought, tears streaking her cheeks. He looked at me like I’d spat in his pint. “You. Were. With. My. Sister?” His voice shook with fury.

“Johnny, listen—”

But he lunged. A full-body swing, rage written in every line of him, and it took Gibsie and Hughie both to hold him back. “You little snake! You broke fuckin’ bro code, Feely! You touched my sister?! And then cheated on her? I’ll bleed you!”

“Johnny, I didn’t—” I tried, hands up, heart hammering. But I couldn’t even look at her. Not with the way she was glaring, chest heaving, hurt carved into her face.

“You lying sack of shite!” she roared at me, voice cracking. “You swore I was different, Patrick! Swore I wasn’t just another ride for ya! And now the whole town’s sayin’ you had Casey Lordan bent over the feckin’ pavilion! Do you know how that feels, you dirty langer?”

The words gutted me. Because yeah, I’d made a mistake. A stupid, drunken, cowardly mistake. And now I was paying for it with everything.

“Love— please—” I croaked, but the look on her face— pure betrayal—shut me up cold.

The bar was deadly silent except for her sobs, Johnny’s snarls, Gibsie swearing under his breath, Hughie trying to calm the storm. Everyone staring. Judging. Knowing I’d broken not just man code, but her heart.

And Christ, I’d never hated myself more.

Johnny surged again, nearly breaking free. “If they weren’t holding me back, Feely, you’d be in the ground.”

I couldn’t even defend myself. Couldn’t even lie. All I could do was stand there, rooted to the spot, feeling the weight of every eye in the room.

She stopped fighting Johnny just then. Went still, sagged in his arms. But her eyes never left mine. Shaking her head, she spat out one last dagger, voice low but cutting deeper than anything.

“You’re nothin’, Patrick Feely. Less than nothin’. And you and me? We’re over.”

My chest caved in. The whole bar seemed to tilt. Before she could turn away, I finally found my voice, rough and shaking.

“Please— don’t walk out thinkin’ that’s all you were to me,” I blurted, desperate. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever given a fuck about, the only one I… I love. I swear to God, you’re it. Casey was a mistake—a stupid, drunken mistake— but you? You’re everythin’.”