Mickey looked down at his son. “You want new head gear, shoes and gloves next season?”

“Yeah,” Cillian muttered like he wished he didn’t have to.

“Then we’re up early and over here to help Miz Hathaway sell all this crap tomorrow,” Mickey decreed.

“That really isn’t—” I started but stopped when Mickey’s eyes sliced my way.

Point taken. Absolutely.

I’d seen Mickey Donovan’s eyes friendly, smiling, laughing, thoughtful, assessing.

But the look in them right then said that when Mickey talked, his children listened and no one said a word to the contrary.

The problem was I didn’t want Mickey over at my house first thing. In fact, Josie, Jake, Junior, Alyssa and their families were going to be there at six thirty so I didn’t actually need Mickey and his kids there.

I stared into his blue eyes and decided not to share that.

Mickey broke contact and looked from his boy to his girl. “Now, say goodnight to Miz Hathaway and then let’s get home.”

I got two goodnights, one disgruntled (Cillian), one quiet (Aisling) and gave them back as they headed to the door.

Mickey did too.

So I did as well.

At the door, Mickey stopped just outside of it and ordered his children, “Careful of the street, I’m right behind.”

“’Kay, Dad,” Cillian muttered, starting to trudge across my yard.

“Boy, path,” Mickey directed.

“Oh, right,” Cillian looked to me, changing direction and heading toward my front walk. “Sorry, Miz Hathaway.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t think his feet would damage my grass simply treading on the turf and he could take the more direct path to his house, but I didn’t.

I said, “It’s okay, kiddo.”

He grinned at me.

Aisling silently put her hand between her brother’s shoulder blades and guided him down the path.

Mickey stood watching.

I did too.

When they’d crossed the street safely and Cillian was racing up their yard while Aisling meandered behind him, Mickey turned to me.

“Their mother drinks.”

At his blunt honesty and the fact it came from left field, I could do nothing but stare.

“I’m tellin’ you that because, for the most part, she’s functioning,” he went on. “But those other parts, she’s sloppy so everyone in town knows it and that means you eventually will too.”

“Oh God, Mickey,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothin’ to say,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Time will tell if it was right or wrong I ended that nightmare so my kids would have one home where they had a parent who was all there all the time, they need them or not, rather than a parent who was takin’ care of his kids half the time and coverin’ shit for his wife the other half. And the good news is the functioning parts are when she has our kids. So it’s bad and somethin’ I hate for my kids instead of bein’ bad and I gotta keep my kids away from their mom.”