Dean's crush?

Mallory

Da found out about the pregnancy a few days ago, and surprisingly... he wasn't as mad as I thought he'd be.

I mean, don't get me wrong—he was mad. Shocked. Hurt, mostly. Like I'd broken something sacred by not telling him first. Like the second I chose to go to Uncle Johnny instead, it shifted something between us.

But the shouting match I'd braced for? The slammed doors, the thunderous silences, the you've ruined your life speech? None of it came.

Instead, he sat there at the kitchen table, head in his hands, trying to process it all while Shannon hovered nearby, ready to step in if he exploded. But he didn't. He just looked at me—really looked at me—and said, "You're still my girl. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

I cried.

Ugly, shoulder-shaking, breath-catching tears. Because I'd been holding it in for so long, carrying all that fear around like a second skin. And hearing that—hearing that I wasn't suddenly a disappointment or a stranger to him—made it all come undone.

Since then, he's been quieter than usual. Watching me like I might shatter if he blinks too hard. Not overly chatty, but present. He brought me tea yesterday without saying anything and left it on my desk. Said the heating in the car was acting up and offered to drive me to school instead of letting me freeze at the bus stop. Classic Da stuff—love disguised as inconvenience.

He hasn't said Kian's name. Not once.

But he hasn't kicked him out of the house either. Hasn't stopped me from seeing him.

I know it'll take time. For both of them. For all of us.

But for now, I've got my dad. I've got Kian. And even though my whole life has tilted on its axis, for the first time in a while, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I won't fall.

_____

It was a Friday after school, and Mam had offered to cook dinner for everyone—so of course my friends acted like they hadn't seen food in a decade and all just appeared at the house.

And I mean Dean acts homeless.

Like, full-on: shoes already off before he's in the door, asking what's for dinner before even saying hi, and eyeing the biscuit tin like it personally offended him by being closed.

I knew Ki had said before that Dean didn't exactly have the best setup at home. Not that they talked about it much—just one of those things that kind of hung in the background. Quiet. Heavy. I never pushed, never asked. But sometimes, like now, it said a lot without needing to be spelled out.

Dean wasn't picky about food. He was grateful, polite in that awkward way where you could tell he wasn't used to being looked after properly. When Mam asked him if he wanted seconds, he said no, but looked like he was trying not to. So she piled more mash on his plate anyway and told him she didn't ask for his opinion.

He smiled at that. Properly smiled. And I think she noticed.

Kian nudged me under the table with his knee, "like see? this is why we love your ma," and I smiled back, pretending I wasn't already emotional watching Dean pretend like this was just a casual hangout and not the best meal he'd had all week.

The kitchen was loud—Serena was talking with her mouth full, and Conor was trying to get someone to time how fast he could eat a roast potato without chewing (Mam shut that down immediately). But beneath all the chaos, I felt this weird ache in my chest.

Because even with everything—everything—that had changed, these moments still existed.

Messy. Loud. A little broken.

But warm. Still home.

A little later, just as Mam was pulling a tray of fresh sausages out of the oven and Dean was arguing with Conor over who got the last Yorkshire pudding, the back door banged open like it had been kicked in on purpose.

In stormed AJ and Luke—Serena's brother—fresh from the GAA pitch, mud splattered up their shins and hurleys still in hand like they were preparing for battle.

AJ's cheeks were flushed, hair damp with sweat, and Luke had grass stains down one side of his top like he'd taken a tumble and absolutely pretended he meant to.

"Smells unreal in here, aunt Aoife," Luke said, grinning like he owned the place.

"It's our dinner," Serena shot back, glaring at him from across the table. "You weren't invited."

"Aoife said I could come!" Luke called over, already making a beeline for the counter.

"She probably didn't mean tonight! You can't just turn up every time there's gravy, like a stray cat!"

AJ ignored them both, dropping his gear in the corner like it was his own house. "Mam, I'm starving. Can I—?"

"No," Mam cut in without looking, holding up a hand. "Wash your hands first. You smell like turf and teenage disappointment."

The whole table erupted.

Kian just grinned into his drink. Rena cackled. Dean nearly choked on a potato.

AJ groaned but obeyed, trudging to the sink like a kicked puppy, while Luke tried to sneak a roastie off someone's plate and got smacked on the knuckles by Mam with a wooden spoon.

It was chaos. Loud, ridiculous chaos. But it was the kind that made your chest warm, even when your brain was screaming for quiet.

And for a moment—just a brief, perfect moment—I forgot about the weight of the future pressing in.

Because in this kitchen, with my people, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

Luke plonked himself into the spare seat next to Dean like he owned it, peeling off his muddy shirt in one dramatic motion and tossing it on the back of the chair.

"Jesus, it's roasting," he muttered, completely unaware—or maybe very aware—of the fact he was now sitting shirtless at our dinner table like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Dean froze mid-chew. Literally froze. Fork halfway to his mouth, eyes locked on Luke like he'd never seen bare skin before.

Which, I mean, same. Luke plays midfield like his life depends on it and apparently trains with his top off more than on, if the biceps had anything to say about it.

But Dean's staring? Way too obvious.

I glanced at Serena, who'd also clocked it and was doing that thing where she looked between them like she was mentally piecing a puzzle together. She raised an eyebrow at me. I raised one right back.

Dean, meanwhile, finally remembered he was supposed to act normal and snapped his attention back to his plate like the roast carrots were suddenly fascinating. A little pink started creeping up the side of his face.

Luke was oblivious—or pretending to be. He grabbed a roll from the basket and leaned over Dean's plate without warning. "Oi, you gonna eat that or just make heart eyes at it?"

Dean choked. Full-on, actual choke.

Kian reached across and thumped him on the back while everyone else erupted into laughter—except for Luke, who just looked around like what?

Honestly? I didn't know if he was flirting or just being Luke.

But Dean looked like he was about ready to crawl under the table.

And me? I filed it all away for later. Because whatever that was—it was definitely something.

"I think I know most of ya here," Luke said, flashing that casual, half-lazy grin he always wore when he knew exactly what he was doing. Then he turned slightly in his seat, leaning an elbow on the table as he looked at Dean. "But uh, you're Dean, right?"

And just to add to the drama of it all, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair like we were in the middle of a music video and not my chaotic kitchen.

Dean blinked, fork still awkwardly hovering in midair. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, that's me."

"Cool," Luke said, like it meant something. Like Dean being Dean was somehow worth commenting on. "Kian's mate, yeah?"

Dean nodded again, this time a bit more composed, but he was gripping his fork like it had done something personal to him. "Since we were kids."

Luke just nodded, popping a roll into his mouth and still watching Dean like he was figuring him out.

Across the table, Serena kicked me under the table, eyes wide like are you seeing this? and I gave her the most dramatic duh expression I could manage without bursting out laughing.

Kian caught the look too and glanced between Luke and Dean, eyebrows raised like he was only just realising what we all had.

Conor, however, sat there completely oblivious, too focused on stuffing his face with roasties.

Dean shifted in his seat, clearly trying to act casual while also doing a poor job of not blushing.

Luke leaned back and grinned, pointing toward the plate. "By the way, your roasties are class. You cook 'em?"

Dean blinked. "What? Uh—no, they're Mallory's mam."

Luke nodded, still grinning. "Shame. You look like someone who knows their way around a kitchen."

And that was it.

Dean made a noise that could only be described as a soft, nervous laugh-scoff-squeak, and Kian just groaned under his breath like "God help us all".

I didn't say a word.

But inside?

I was already planning the wedding.