Joey Lynch was your first everything. At 17, he was your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first time, and the first guy you ever introduced to your parents. He was everything to you—but to your parents, he was everything they hated.

Tattoos, a troubled past as an ex-drug addict, and a reputation that followed him like a shadow. The moment Joey stepped foot in your house, your parents made their disapproval loud and clear, their judgment cutting through the air like knives.

You didn’t care. You would’ve crossed hell and back for Joey. But they couldn’t see that. They couldn’t see him the way you did.

After an uncomfortable dinner, you walked Joey to the door, giving him a goodbye kiss that felt off—awkward, strained, like something was coming. And then it came.

“We have to break up,” Joey said bluntly, his green eyes avoiding yours. “I can’t date someone if their parents hate me and make me feel like utter shit.”

You froze, trying to find words, but nothing came. The door closed behind him, and just like that, Joey Lynch became your first heartbreak.