He knows

Mallory

"So Feely texted me."

"Eden?" I asked, turning to my best friend.

"No... Ben." Serena raised an eyebrow, like I was the slow one.

I blinked. "Ben Feely?"

She nodded, like it was no big deal. "He said he wanted to meet up. But I told him I hadn't seen Edie in a while. So he invited me over."

I stared at her. "As in... invited you over over?"

Serena shrugged, but I could see the flicker of something in her eyes. Curiosity, maybe. Or nerves. "He said it'd just be the two of us. Chill, nothing weird."

"Right." I leaned back, arms crossed. "Because Ben Feely is known for being chill and not weird."

She smirked. "You're so dramatic."

"I'm dramatic?" I gave her a look. "Rena, this is the same lad who got detention for setting off the fire alarm because he 'felt like the vibes were off.'"

She laughed, full and unapologetic. "Yeah, but he's kind of funny. And maybe I was bored."

"Uh-huh. Bored and single," I teased, nudging her with my shoulder.

Serena rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "Look, I'm not planning our wedding. I just... I dunno. He's been nice lately."

I studied her for a second. She was trying to play it cool, like always. But something told me there was more to this than just casual boredom. I knew that look. I'd worn it myself a few times.

"You sure it's not just about Eden?"

Serena paused, then glanced away. "I don't know. Maybe. It's just weird, not seeing her around as much."

I nodded, feeling that same ache I'd been trying to ignore. Things were changing. All of us shifting, growing in different directions. Some of us growing up faster than we expected.

Like me.

Like the tiny heartbeat that was somehow already part of me now.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Whatever happens, just... be careful, alright?"

Serena smiled at me, soft. "I will."

And for a second, it felt like we were still just two girls in my uncle's kitchen, talking about stupid boys and texts and drama.

Before everything got complicated.

The moment held, warm and quiet, just long enough to make me forget for a second.

And then the back door swung open.

Uncle Johnny stepped into the kitchen, rugby boots in one hand, looking like he'd just come from training—which he probably had, judging by the mud caked up the sides of his tracksuit bottoms.

He paused when he saw us. Clocked the two of us perched at the table, half-empty mugs in front of us, a bag of crisps open between us, and Serena mid-eye-roll.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, voice easy but eyes sharp—same way it always was with him. Joking, but not really.

"Only if you think Ben Feely's a respectable young man," I said.

Serena kicked me under the table.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Feely? As in Patrick Feely's kid? Isn't he the one who thought he could crowd-surf in the lunch hall at Tommen?"

"That's the one," I said, grinning.

Serena groaned. "Can we not do the part where adults list all the reasons I have bad taste?"

Johnny walked past us toward the sink, smirking. "Sorry, kid. That list writes itself."

"I take it training went well?" I asked, trying to steer things elsewhere.

He ran the tap, rinsing mud off his hands. "Well enough. Rory nearly started a scrap with a lad twice his size, so you know. Business as usual."

"Was he winning?"

Johnny grinned. "He thinks he was. But no."

Serena leaned her chin on her hand. "I miss the days when the worst drama we had was Ror stealing someone's scone."

"You say that now," Johnny said, grabbing a glass and filling it. "But wait till he starts shaving and over-spraying my Dior Savage like it's a personality."

"He's trying," I said quietly, thinking of the way my cousin practically clung onto that girl, Bethany.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder at me then, slower. "I know."

And that was the thing about him. He joked, he messed, but he noticed stuff. Always had.

His gaze flicked between me and Serena, lingering just long enough to make me wonder if he could read the truth on my face—that I wasn't just tired or quiet, but different.

But he didn't say anything. Just took a sip of his water and leaned against the counter.

"You girls staying for dinner?"

"I probably should head off," Serena said, already standing. "Mam's booked for us and Luke to a film."

Johnny nodded, no questions. "Tell her I said hi."

Serena grabbed her bag and turned to me, hesitating for half a second before pulling me into a quick hug. "Text me?"

"Course."

And then she was gone, leaving me with Uncle Johnny, a quiet kitchen, and the weight of everything I hadn't said yet.

He didn't speak for a minute. Just looked at me, brow creased ever so slightly.

"You alright, Mal?"

I swallowed. "Yeah."

But he knew. Even if he didn't know what, he knew something was coming.

And I knew I couldn't keep it from him much longer.

"Actually..." I shifted in my seat, heart thudding so loud I could barely hear myself think. "Can I talk to ya about something, Uncle Johnny?"

He looked up instantly, glass halfway to his lips. His whole posture changed—less casual now, more alert, like he knew this wasn't just about school or someone being mean on the bus.

"'Course you can." He set the glass down and turned fully to face me, arms folded, that solid, steady way he always stood when he was being a coach or a big brother or—like now—someone who knew something heavy was coming.

I took a deep breath, then another, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my hoodie.

"I haven't told anyone else apart from Mam or Kian yet. Not even Da." I paused. "But... I'm pregnant."

The words dropped like a stone in water—silent, then rippling out in every direction.

Johnny didn't speak right away. He blinked, jaw tightening just slightly. Not in anger—just... surprise.

"Right," he said finally, carefully. "Okay." He took a breath, rubbed the back of his neck. "And you're sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm 21 weeks. I've been to the doctors and everything. It's real."

He didn't ask who. I think he already knew. Maybe from the way Kian had been acting. Maybe just from knowing me.

"And... how're you doing with it?"

"I'm scared," I said honestly. "I didn't plan this. I didn't even think I'd ever be in this situation. But I'm... I'm not alone. Kian's been there. He's been trying, really trying."

He nodded slowly. "Right." Then he ran a hand over his jaw, and I could see the thoughts spinning in his head. "You told Kian's family?"

"No. Just him. We were going to tell my Da. I asked Kian to be there for it."

Johnny looked at me then, properly. His voice was softer when he said, "Well I'm glad you told me."

I almost cried right then.

But before I could say anything else, the front door opened and voices floated down the hall.

I froze.

"Oh, don't start with me, Shan," came Da's voice. "If you wanted to stop for petrol you should've said before we passed the bloody exit."

"I did say," Aunt Shannon replied, exasperated. "You were just too busy slagging the radio host."

Footsteps. Jackets rustling. Keys landing in the bowl by the stairs.

And then—

"What do you mean, you're pregnant?"

The voice cut through the kitchen like a blade.

I turned.

Da stood in the doorway. Shannon behind him, her mouth half-open.

He looked from me to Johnny and back again. His face wasn't red. It wasn't shouting. It was quiet. And somehow that was worse.

"You want to run that by me again, Mallory?"

I stood, chest heaving. "I was going to tell you, Da. I am telling you. I just... I needed a minute. I needed Uncle Johnny."

There was silence. Johnny shifted beside me, but he didn't speak. He just stood like a wall—present, grounded.

Shannon stepped forward, her hand lightly on Da's arm. "Let her speak, Joe."

But he didn't look at her.

Just me.

"Is it Kian's?"

I nodded.

He closed his eyes for half a second.

And when he opened them again, there was fire behind the quiet.

But I didn't step back.

I held my ground. Because even if I was shaking, I wasn't alone anymore.

And I wasn't going to hide.

Da stepped into the kitchen fully, slow and deliberate, like each step was weighing more than the last. Shan stayed just behind him, eyes flicking between the two of us like she was bracing for a bomb to go off.

I'd never seen my dad look like that. Not even when I got suspended that time in third year for calling that sub a misogynist with a God complex. Not even when he caught me sneaking out to Eden's that one night and grounded me for a month.

This was something else.

Disappointment. Fear. Anger. All of it simmering just under the surface.

And I didn't know which one was going to spill over first.

"Mallory..." he said slowly, voice rough. "You're sixteen."

"I know."

"Sixteen."

I swallowed hard. "I know, Da."

"And he—Kian. How old is he now? Seventeen? Just turned?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He ran a hand through his hair, turning in a circle like he couldn't keep still. "Jesus Christ."

Johnny finally spoke, calm and low. "Joey—"

"No." Da cut him off, hand raised. "Don't. You knew? She told you first?"

"She needed someone," Johnny said. "And I'm glad she came to me. She's scared, Joe."

"I should've been the one she came to," he snapped.

I stepped forward, hands clenched. "I was going to, Da! I wanted to. But I knew you'd react like this. I knew you'd be angry and—"

"Of course I'm angry!" he shouted, voice cracking at the end. "You're my daughter. My little girl. And now you're telling me you're having a baby with some... some lad you've been on and off with?"

"Da—"

He looked at me like he didn't know whether to cry or break something. "Do you even understand what this means? What it's going to do to your life?"

"I do!" I snapped back. "More than you think. But I'm not getting rid of it. I'm having this baby. And Kian's not running. He's staying. We're doing this together."

His mouth opened, then closed. Like he couldn't quite take it in.

Shannon stepped in then, gentle. "Joe."

He didn't look at her.

But I saw something crack.

He shook his head slowly. "You're still a child, Mal."

"I'm going to be a mother."

Silence fell over the room like fog.

Johnny stepped closer, his voice the steady thing grounding us all. "You don't have to like it, Joey. But it's happening. And she needs her family. Not judgment."

Da looked at him, and for a second, I thought he was going to swing. But then his shoulders dropped, and all that fire just... went out.

He sat down heavily in the chair Serena had left.

The same chair I'd sat in earlier, joking about boys and texts and pretending everything was still simple.

"I need a minute," he said, rubbing his face with both hands.

Shannon nodded. "Take it. We'll figure this out."

And for the first time in weeks, I felt the smallest flicker of something—

Maybe not peace. But the space where peace could begin.

"Your mam know?"

I nodded, keeping my head down. "Yeah."

There was a beat of silence, heavy and sharp. I didn't look up.

"So..." Da's voice was low now, rough in a way that made my stomach twist. "My wife. Your boyfriend. And my brother-in-law... all knew before I did?"

I swallowed, nodding again. "Aye."

His chair creaked as he leaned back, and when I finally glanced up, he wasn't looking at me—just staring blankly at the far wall like he was trying to piece it all together. Like maybe if he sat there long enough, the last few minutes would start to make sense.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Absolutely bleeding brilliant."

"Da, it wasn't—" I started.

"You didn't trust me," he said, and that cut worse than any shouting ever could.

I took a step forward, heart thudding. "I was scared. I did trust you. I just... I didn't want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now."

He looked at me then—really looked at me—and the pain in his eyes was worse than any lecture or anger I'd prepared for.

"I'm your father, Mal," he said quietly. "You were supposed to come to me. No matter what."

"I know," I whispered, throat tight. "I'm sorry. I just... I needed time to figure it out in my own head. And I didn't want to make it worse by dropping it on you before I even knew what I wanted to do."

Da was quiet again. Shannon moved around the kitchen, putting on the kettle like the act of doing something would soften the silence.

"Was it Kian's idea not to tell me?" Da asked.

"No," I said quickly. "It was me. I told him I wanted to wait. He offered to be there when I told you. Said he'd take whatever you threw at him."

"Good," Da said, bitter and dry. "Because I'm not done throwing things."

Johnny finally stepped forward again, voice calm but firm. "He's not the villain here, Joe. They're kids. They made a mistake, but they're owning up to it. You've got to give them a chance to do right by it."

Da looked like he wanted to argue, but the words didn't come.

He just rubbed his eyes again, slower this time. Like everything had finally caught up with him.

And when he looked at me again, something in his face had shifted. Not softened—settled.

"This is going to be hard," he said. "On all of us. But especially on you."

"I know."

"And if he so much as thinks about walking away from this—"

"He won't," I said, cutting in. "He's not going anywhere."

Da didn't answer.

But after a long pause, he nodded once, slow and heavy.

And somehow, that felt like the start of something.