Biddies was packed.

Someone had spilled a pint. The jukebox was playing something loud and stupid. Rugby lads were shouting near the pool table. Lass were laughing in booths. Someone was lighting a match with their teeth.

And Joey Lynch was trying not to throw up.

He was at the corner booth with Johnny, Gibsie, Hughie, and Patrick, a half-eaten basket of chips in front of him and a knot the size of a fist in his throat. The second girl—the one without strict parents, the one who made it easy—was sitting across the bar with her legs crossed and her smile already waiting for him.

And then— She walked in.

Her.

The girl who never drank. The girl who had to be home by ten. The girl who always wore her uniform neat and never once kissed anyone at a party. The girl who had always looked at him like she knew him before he did. The one he wanted even when she couldn’t want him back.

She looked like heartbreak in a dress.

She looked like hope.

She walked across the pub, shoulders squared, and everyone turned like they felt the storm coming.

“Joey,” she said, voice low, a tremor beneath it. “It’s Friday.”

He stood slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

“You said you’d have your answer.”

The air went still. Even the jukebox sounded far away.

Joey opened his mouth. Closed it.

He didn’t have an answer.

Not because he didn’t know what he wanted.

But because what he wanted was her—and she came with curfews, and rules, and heartbreak written all over her mouth.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “You still don’t know?”

He blinked. “It’s not that simple.”

And then she snapped.

Her voice rose above everything, sharp and breaking all at once. “It’s me or her, Joey!”

The whole pub froze.

She was trembling, red-cheeked, heart in her throat for everyone to see.

“Do you want me or do you want her?!” she cried, hands at her sides, chest rising and falling too fast. “Why can’t you just say me?!”

Joey stared, stunned and silent, and then her name came out of his mouth like a prayer.

“[Her name],” he said, barely audible.

She shook her head, eyes wide and wet.

“[Her name],” he said again, louder now, desperate. “It’s you. I swear it’s you.”

She stepped back.

“Then why didn’t you say it?!” she shouted.

His mouth opened. Closed.

And then she turned and left.

Left him standing there, heart bleeding out in front of his friends, in front of the girls watching, in front of the pub.

Gibsie leaned forward. “Mate…”

Joey didn’t hear him.

He only heard the sound of her name, still ringing in his head, and all the things he hadn’t said when it mattered.