FOUR WEEKS LATER

MID-SEPTEMBER, 2025

"Sweet suffering Jesus and all his fucking disciples," Andrew muttered, throwing the instruction booklet down on the floor in frustration. 

"Alright there, love?" Molly asked, swinging her head around the door frame from the corridor.

"Yeah. Its just...this fecking crib. I can't sort out how to build the bastard thing," he sighed. 

Molly walked over and held her hand out. "Show me the instructions." He put them in her hand. After a second, she smiled. "I didn't know you spoke Dutch," she smirked. 

"Huh?" 

"The instructions are in Dutch, you idiot," she teased. "Didn't you notice?"

"I was looking at the pictures, not reading the damn words," he replied, taking the booklet back from her and flipping through the pages until he saw the English instructions. 

"That would be really helpful if you were building a LEGO," she joked. "This is a crib. For our baby. Don't fuck it up."

"A LEGO would be easier to understand," he said under his breath as she left the room. 

Molly dipped her head into the nursery next door. The walls had several swatches of paint on them that she'd been considering for the last week. She had been leaning toward a soft sage green for a couple days until the light had come through the large windows and hit a swatch of creamy yellow just right and her mind changed. Andrew preferred the green. 

Things had slowly taken shape in preparation for the baby's arrival in eight weeks. She had successfully thwarted any plans for a baby shower, much to Caroline's disappointment (and Andrew's joy). Still, John and Raine had insisted on buying the crib - despite Andrew's extreme arguments against it. Molly would have picked something cheaper, but by the time she heard their plan, it was too late. 

Raine had done several small paintings on canvas of leaves and trees and they hung in a trio over where the crib would eventually go. A changing table took up the other side of the room and several boxes took up the rest of it. Andrew had been pretty good about getting things organized, but the nesting instinct had taken over for Molly and no matter how many times he arranged things one way, she inevitably came through and changed things again shortly after. 

Not that it really mattered what state the nursery was in; the baby was probably going to sleep in their room for quite a while. But it felt nice to Molly to know that something was complete, something she had total control over would be done and ready in time for their child's arrival. That even though she'd been working herself to the bone, at least she'd done that.

"When do we need to go?" she called back through the house. A loud thump precluded Clementine darting out of their bedroom and down the corridor to safety. "Love? You okay?" she asked, coming back to their bedroom. 

"Yes, I'm fine," he answered. To her surprise, it looked like he'd finally started making progress. 

"When do we need to leave?" she asked again. 

He glanced at his watch. "Ehm...an hour, I'd say," he said. 

"Fine. I'm going to get ready. Please try not to hurt yourself," she said, walking past him into the bathroom. 

They were headed over to Jon and Lindsay's rehearsal dinner that evening. The wedding was the following afternoon. Despite his dislike of a large wedding, Jon had agreed to most of the pomp and circumstance to appease Lindsay's family. They were getting married at Killruddery House - where Molly and Andrew had originally planned to marry before they essentially eloped in Los Angeles. Even though rehearsal dinners weren't a common thing in Ireland, Lindsay's family wanted one last chance to ensure everything would be perfect the day of. 

"Do you think it matters if I have an extra screw?" Andrew called from his place on the floor twenty minutes later after she'd stepped out of the shower and sat in front of her vanity mirror.

Molly looked up from her dressing table, wrapped in a dressing gown with her hair up in a towel on her head. She eyed him through the mirror. "I don't know, darling. Do you think it'll matter if your child only has eight fingers because two of them were snapped off when the crib fell apart?" she asked in the same tone. 

"I'll look through the instructions again," he replied, getting the message. 

"Leave it. You need to start getting ready," she told him as she rubbed lotion on her face. 

Andrew sighed and groaned slightly as he stood from the floor. His knees complained a bit more than he'd have liked. Molly moved on from the lotion and started applying the little makeup she wore these days. He watched her for several seconds before approaching her and putting his hands on her shoulders. 

"You know..." he started suggestively.

"Don't even think about it it," she warned as his fingers slid the fabric of her dressing gown aside. "We're going to be late."

"Five minutes," he murmured against her neck, bending over. 

"How can you find me sexy when I look like the equivalent of a marshmallow?" she asked, swatting his hand away. "I'm the size of a planet. I can't see my feet anymore. I need five fucking minutes just to sit up."

"I will find you sexy no matter what you look like," he said, resting his chin on her head and looking at her through the mirror. 

"Oh barf," she rolled her eyes at his corny comment. "There is no way you could possibly find me attractive right now. Go shower."

He stared at her intently for several more seconds before letting out a forlorn sigh and walking into the bathroom. 

"Tonight," she called as he began undressing. "When we get back."

"Promise?" he asked, excitement coming back into his voice. 

"Yes. I'll even do that thing with my tongue that you like," she smiled to herself. 

Their sex life had only slowed slightly since their trip to the Aran Islands three weeks beforehand, and it was mostly because she was too tired to do as much anymore. Still, Andrew didn't seem to care if they actually had sex or not. He was just as happy with a blowjob as anything else and Molly enjoyed being able to lay back and have his fingers do all the work. Sometimes she almost preferred it to the bouncing and jostling involved in regular sex.

With her belly being so big these days, they were severely limited in their positions, and there were only so many times she could be on top without her knees giving out and so many times they could do doggy without feeling like they didn't have a connection. No, she enjoyed their new habits more. She loved hearing his voice as she ran her tongue along him and feeling his body tense as she brought him closer to the edge. And she loved the way it seemed like he could stay there, focused on her all night, bringing her to orgasm over and over again with the same fingers that pulled impossible notes from guitars. 

Sometimes she worried how different things would be between them once the baby came. Would they still be as good together on no sleep and with a screaming baby interrupting every conversation? Would he still find her sexy after watching her push a melon out of her body, with the probable tearing and the blood? She'd even read some women pooed themselves during delivery. There's no going back once you've crossed that line. She was scared they'd become like the couples you hear about, the stereotype, where they only ever have sex once a month and they grow to hate each other. She was scared the baby would ruin them. 

She was scared that once she became a mother, Andrew would never look at her the same way again. That the lust in his eyes would change to regret and that they'd fall into a routine and resent each other. He was already giving up music for a while. Would he resent her for putting him in the position to need to?

"Mol?" his voice cut into her thoughts. "You okay?"

She inhaled sharply and frowned at her reflection. "Y-yeah," she said.

He stood in front of her in just a towel, his hair still dripping down his bare chest. He tilted his head, a sure sign that he didn't believe her. But to her relief, he didn't press further and simply went back into the bathroom. 

She stood and took her hair out of the towel, letting it fall down her back in damp wavy chunks. Andrew was finishing drying off and he watched her drape her towel over the rack. As she brushed her teeth, he pressed up against her, watching her face in the mirror. She tried to hide her smile when she felt his cock against her ass, but she failed miserably. She leaned over and spit into the basin, rinsing her toothbrush off. 

"I said no, love," she reminded him. 

"I know," he replied. "I'm not trying anything."

She shot him a knowing look and left the room. Half an hour later, she'd blow-dried her curls into submission and managed to get them into a soft chignon at the back of her head. It was an easy style she did multiple times a week because she liked the way it made her look; feminine but still business-like. Her dress was a plum-colored lace number with a V-neck and long lace sleeves. It came down just above her knees and was surprisingly comfortable. She'd paired it with a chunky black wedge heel with lattice-work straps over the top of her foot. 

Killruddery House sat on the outskirts of Bray, about twenty minutes from their home. It was a beautiful nineteenth-century manor house with extensive gardens that could be rented out for parties and events and also featured a lovely farm-to-table restaurant and shop with lots of local goods for sale. It stood resolutely against the backdrop of the mid-summer sunset. 

"You must be with the rehearsal dinner," an attendant said when they approached the front door. "This way, if you don't mind."

They were led through the house to a stately room with deep emerald green wallpaper and tall ceilings. A long table had been set up in the center of it and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were filled with books and knick-knacks. Andrew almost reached out and took a book off a shelf before Molly swatted his hand away. 

"Molly, I don't understand how you constantly look so fabulous," Patricia, Lindsay's mother, remarked. "Every time I was pregnant, I felt a big as a house, even in the early days. How long now?"

"Eight weeks," Molly replied, rubbing her stomach. She felt a small kick and smiled. "The countdown is on."

"Are you still working as much?" Patricia asked, sipping from her wine glass. 

"Not as much," Molly said. "I stopped taking Legal Aid cases two months ago, so I've only got one or two left to get through. They're all due in court in the next two weeks, so with any luck I'll be free and clear of them by the time I'm due."

"That's good," the older woman remarked. "Lindsay tells me you're going to keep working after the baby arrives?"

"I want to," she replied. "But probably not right away. I don't know. I keep switching back and forth. Andrew is supportive, regardless. But I think I'd go a bit mad sitting at home with a baby all day. He can't seem to wait to do the stay-at-home-dad thing, though."

"I wish Gerry was as supportive as Andy sounds," Patricia scoffed. "I had to do almost all the childcare by myself. But then, I suppose Gerry was doing all the work outside the home, so these things even out, eh?"

Molly nodded and glanced across the room at Andrew, who was deep in conversation with Jon. He was the best man and the two had gotten much closer in recent months. Suddenly, he looked across the small room and caught her eye. He winked at her smile. 

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served. After which, we'll proceed to run through the ceremony and finalize the last few details," the wedding planner called, interrupting the quiet conversation in the room.

Plates were brought out and placed in front of each guest as they sat at the table. The wedding party was small, with only a maid of honor, a best man, and a groomsman and bridesmaid each. Molly knew Jon would have preferred if it were even smaller, but this was as low as he could convince Lindsay to put the number. The only person Molly hadn't met before was the officiant, who was joining them for dinner before the rehearsal.

"So Andy, Lindsay told me that you and Molly were supposed to get married here, but you actually eloped," Bridget, Lindsay's younger sister - and maid of honor - said. "In Los Angeles, of all places."

"We did," he replied with a chuckle. "It was more about logistics than anything else."

"I had been asked to take on a case with the non-profit legal aid organization I used to work for in Los Angeles," Molly explained. "And I knew it was one that was going to keep me in the States for several months. Andrew was wrapping up recording his most recent album and his labels wanted a fairly fast turnaround in terms of a release date."

"Molly only agreed to take the case if her best friend, Oscar, arranged the whole wedding," Andrew took over. "In like, three weeks or something," he laughed at the memory. "It was actually a lot better than we expected."

"Oscar flew us over to surprise Andy," Jon said. "Private jet and everything. The look on Andy's face when he saw us was priceless," he laughed. 

"Private jet? Wow," Gerry said, clearly impressed. "Must've cost a fortune, eh?"

"Not for Oscar," Jon said. "It was really surprising to have him rock up and essentially abduct us into a plane. But I think it was for the best, with Dad and all. It was really Molly's idea."

"Its true. I couldn't stand the idea of Andrew marrying me without the most important people in the world there with us," Molly said, surprising even herself with her saccharine tone.

"You'll meet Oscar tomorrow at the reception. He's really a lovely lad. Very generous," Raine remarked. "Do you know, he recently gave an extremely large donation to the ISPCC last month."

"Is he single?" Bridget asked.

Andrew laughed. "You're not really his type, Bridge. Jon would be, though."

Jon shook his head. "Nah. He's too dramatic for me. I like my men dull and boring," he joked. 

Molly laughed. "Its OK. You're not Oscar's type anyway, Jon. No worries. He prefers Andrew," she winked at her husband. 

"Lucky, lucky me," Andrew replied dully. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, now that we're all finished, shall we proceed with the rest of the evening?" the wedding planner asked, coming into the room once more.

The group stood and followed the planner out of the room and down a corridor. They were joined by the same attendant from earlier as they walked through wood-paneled corridors, past ornate paintings on the walls.

"Now, the ceremony will be in the Orangery, which is just through here," he said. "After we run through the ceremony, we'll head over to the Grain Store to ensure there are no loose ends. Then I'll let you go for the evening."

The Orangery was a beautiful space with a crystal clear curved roof in the Victorian style. It had exposed brick walls, painted a chipped white, and Molly could see that it would be absolutely stunning with the natural light coming through from the roof the following afternoon. Rows of chairs had already been set up facing the far end of the room, following the lines of a simple geometric mosaic on the stone slabs of the floor. 

"Now, let's start with the entrance. Did we ever decide if the groom would be walking his mother down the aisle or not?" the planner asked. Molly had met him at least three other times and still didn't know his name. 

"Ehm, I think we decided that I'd push Dad down the aisle and Mum would walk alongside us," Jon said. 

"Right. Is there enough space to fit the chair and Raine and Jon?" the planner asked the attendant. 

Molly cleared her throat. "Can - can I sit down? I don't think I'm needed for this part," she asked.

"Yes, please. Have a seat. This could take a while," the attendant said, looking at her pregnant belly in slight fear. 

Molly sat down and pulled her phone from her purse. She nearly dropped it when it rang, startling everyone in the room as the sound echoed off the high ceilings. 

"Sorry!" she apologized, answering it. "Hello?" she asked. She didn't recognize the number. It was a Dublin area code, though. 

"Mol, hiiii," Oscar said. "You answered!"

"Oscar...what's going on?" she asked him, suspicion rising him her mind as she immediately picked up on his drunk slurring. 

"I...I seem to have found myself in a bit of a pickle," he answered. She could swear he stifled a belch.

"What do you mean, 'a pickle'?" she asked as he hiccupped. "Oscar, what the hell is going on?"

"I got arrested," he said simply.

"YOU WHAT?!" she shouted, drawing the attention from everyone in the room. "Sorry," she said silently. She stood and rushed out into the courtyard. 

"I got arrested," he repeated. "You're my phone call."

"I can see that, thank you," she sighed. "What did you get arrested for?" 

"I'd...rather not tell you over the phone," Oscar answered with a cagey tone.

"Well are you okay, at least? You're not hurt or anything?" Molly asked. 

"No, I'm totally fine. Just drunk," he hiccupped. 

"Tell me you weren't arrested for drunk driving," she groaned, rubbing her lower back with her free hand.

"What? No. Nothing like that," he answered. 

Molly looked behind her and saw Andrew standing up at the makeshift altar. "Well what do you want me to do?" 

"Come get me, of course," he replied simply. 

"I'm a little busy at the moment. We're at Jon's rehearsal dinner," she sighed. "I can't just up and leave." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'll come as soon as we're done here, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'm at the garda station in Dun Laoghaire."

"Right. I'll be there when I can," she said before ending the call. 

Molly waddled back into the large space and was surprised to see that things seemed to be moving along much faster than she expected. It was probably because Jon just wanted the whole thing over and was agreeing to things without caring. Andrew walked over to her when she took a seat in a middle row.

"What's going on?" he asked, sitting in the row in front of her and turning to face her. 

"Oscar's been arrested," she sighed. 

"What? What for?" he asked in shock. 

"I don't know, he wouldn't tell me. But he's drunk, so I'm going to guess that has something to do with things," she answered. "Anyway, he called me to bail him out I guess. So I need the car when we're done here."

"Where is he?"

"A garda station in Dun Laoghaire," she replied, letting out an exhausted sigh. 

"Well, why don't we just go now?" he suggested. "My bit's done, so we could cut out early."

"Everything alright?" Lindsay asked, coming up to them whilst the officiant went over something with the planner.

"Yeah, I think so. We need to head out early though," Andrew said. "Molly has to go bail Oscar out of jail, apparently."

"What? Why?" Lindsay asked in surprise. 

"I'd love to say he was arrested for engaging in a protest or something like that, but in all likelihood, he was probably arrested for public drunkenness or some stupid bullshit," Molly sighed heavily, standing. "Andrew doesn't need to come. You can keep him if you need to."

"Fuck that, of course I'm coming," he insisted. 

She didn't have the energy to argue. "Fine." She turned back to Lindsay. "Do you still need him?"

"No. I think we're good," Lindsay replied. "Go ahead. Hopefully everything works out. See you tomorrow!" 

After a quick wave to everyone, Andrew led Molly back through the gardens toward their car. 

"Do you really not know or did you just say you didn't because you didn't want to embarrass him?" he asked as they walked along a gravel path. The lights from the house shone in the distance ahead of them.

"I have my suspicions, but no. I don't actually know how he wound up in the pokey," she sighed.

Andrew sniggered. "How long do you think this will take?" he asked. "Just out of curiosity."

"I have no idea. I'll have to go in and talk to the officers to actually figure out what happened," she said, holding her belly as she walked. "If I had known there'd be this much walking, I would not have chosen these shoes," she grumbled, picking her way along carefully. 

They reached the car and he helped her into the passenger side first before rushing around the front and getting behind the wheel.

"You know what I just realized?" he said as they drove down the gravel drive. "We don't actually have a birthing plan in place."

"Is this really the best time?" she asked. 

"I mean, we've got twenty-odd minutes. May as well use the time well," he offered. 

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I want it to be in a hospital with drugs. Lots of drugs. I don't care if I remember a damn thing, but I don't want to feel anything, either. Nobody else in there with me, just you," she said quickly. "There. Problem solved."

Andrew laughed as he pulled onto the N11. "I thought you wanted to do a more natural delivery?"

"Yeah, that was before we watched that birthing video in class the other day," she replied. "It looked so fecking terrifying that I changed my mind. Drug me up with el Chapo's best for all I care."

"Are you sure? What happened to 'I want to be completely present and don't want to miss a thing'?" he reminded her. 

"I don't know," Molly answered. "Maybe. I haven't really given it much thought, to be honest. These stupid Braxton Hicks seem simple enough, but how do I know I won't be screaming for it when the real thing happens?"

"Look, whatever you decide, I'll support you. I just need to know what you want so I know when to shut the doctors down," he said. "I want it to be the experience you want."

Headlights from approaching cars kept blinding her so she looked out the passenger side window at the houses passing by. They looked like little candles in the dark, flickering. Andrew pulled off the highway and made navigated through the sleepy town before parking in front of the garda station. He followed Molly inside, not wanting her out of his sight. 

The station was all florescent lights and beige painted walls. The lino on the floor could have done with a good cleaning and the chairs in the reception needed to replaced about five years prior to Michael D. Higgins' first term. A bored officer sat behind a desk with a plexiglass barrier. 

"Hello. Can I help you?" he asked, taking in their attire dubiously.

"Yes, hi," Molly said, slipping into Lawyer Mode. "You have a suspect in holding, my client Mr. Oscar Llewelyn. I'd like to speak with him." She began going through her purse automatically for her credentials.

"What's he here for?" he asked, nodding to Andrew. 

"Oh, he's...he's just my husband. We were at an event when my client phoned," she said, sliding over to block the officer's view. Andrew did his best to look inconspicuous. 

"You're a solicitor?" the officer asked, his chair creaking as he turned to type into the computer. 

"Yes. Here's my registration number and card," she said, pulling it from her wallet and sliding it through the small gap in the barrier. "And my license as well."

The officer took both and typed on the keyboard, verifying her identity. "Right. I'll call back and let them know you're here for him," he said. "Take a seat and bear with me."

Molly sat next to Andrew on what was very likely the most uncomfortable plastic chair in the world.

"You do this often, going into garda stations?" he asked, looking at the health and safety posters on the wall with a great deal of apprehension. 

"Not generally, but I've done it a few times," she explained. "Its basically the same in the US, to be honest. They'll keep my ID and registration card until I leave. Ensures I don't do anything stupid whilst in there."

Another officer appeared behind a low gate and spoke with the officer behind the desk. 

"Ms. Stanley, we're ready for you," the one behind the desk called. 

"You need to stay here," she told Andrew when he made to stand. "You're not allowed back there." He began to protest, but she silenced him. "Andrew, I'm at work. Stop it."

She followed the second garda through the small gate and waddled back into the main part of the station after him. Desks filled an open area, divided into different departments. Signs overhead were in English and Irish. The officer led her down a long hallway with several interrogation rooms. She spotted Oscar through one of the large windows, handcuffed to a metal table. He brightened considerably when he spotted her. The officer opened the door and let her in ahead of him. 

"Your solicitor is here, Mr. Llewelyn," he said. 

"Oh I love that dress on you, Mol. You look fabulous," Oscar said. It was obvious he'd sobered up considerably since their phone call and was attempting to get into her good graces.

"Thank you, Officer," she told him. "Those cuffs won't be necessary."

"I'll be just outside if you need anything," he told her, unlocking the handcuffs from Oscar's wrists and placing them back on his utility belt. 

Molly waited until he shut the door after himself before sitting in the chair opposite her friend. "Care to tell me what exactly happened?" she asked, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. 

Oscar, dressed in a well-fitting suit with a black tie, looked as though he'd left an event of his own. His outfit was slightly mussed up - presumably from his admittance into the station - but he looked as high-end as always. 

"I...uh...I sort of..." he stalled.

"Oscar..." she warned. "I'll leave your ass here overnight." Her patience was paper-thin already.

"Igotarrestedforpeeingonacopcar," he rushed out all at once. 

Molly blinked. She'd caught a word or two, but she wanted to hear it fully before she reacted fully. "What?"

Oscar sighed. "I...got arrested for...peeing on a garda car," he repeated haltingly. 

"YOU DID WHAT?!"she shouted, the paper-thin element of her patience disappearing completely.

Her voice echoed through the station and the officer popped his head in from the corridor. "Everything alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes. Grand," she answered, forcing a smile. The officer nodded and left the room again. Molly took the opportunity to snatch Oscar's tie and drag him partially across the table by it. "I swear to God you better be joking," she hissed. 

Oscar prized his tie from her hands and smoothed down his rumpled suit slightly. "I'm not. But in my defense, it was fucking dark and I really needed to go!" he said. "I already apologized and offered to pay to have the whole damn fleet cleaned."

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Its not like in America, Oscar. You can't really bribe the officers here. They don't get a lot of real action, so they take any chance they get." 

"Look, I didn't expose myself to anyone. I just miscalculated the distance. I hit a tire. Maybe the fender. Nothing major," he replied defensively. "Its not like it won't be washed off tomorrow morning when it rains for the five millionth time this month."

Molly sat back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment as the baby kicked from the excitement. When it settled down, she started speaking. "I will see what I can do to get you out of here. But for fuck's sakes, you need to stop with this drinking bullshit. Ever since your dad's funeral, you've been drinking way too much. I'm tired of it."

Oscar didn't get a chance to respond because she stood up and rapped on the door. The officer opened it and closed it when she stepped out of the room.

"Who can I speak to about his case?" she asked him. 

"Myself, ma'am," the officer replied. "I'm the arresting officer. We can sit at my desk, if you'd like," he offered, gesturing to a nearby desk. 

"What do you need to release him tonight?" she asked, following him towards it and sitting when he offered a chair. 

"Nothing, really. Its a relatively minor offense and we really just wanted to hold him until he was sober enough to drive himself home or until someone could come get him," the officer responded. He pulled up a document on his computer. 

"You should tack on a fine or something," she added. "For my trouble."

The officer smiled. "I intend to."

"Good," she smiled. "Do I need to sign anything? My husband's waiting in reception. We've all got a wedding to go to tomorrow and I'd like to sleep before midnight."

"Yes. I'll get the paperwork going," he said dilligently.

"You can just leave him in there for a while longer. Let him sweat," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding to Oscar. 

The officer smiled again and busied himself with printing forms and typing on the computer. Several officers walked by and she overheard their conversation. 'Hozier' caught her ear and she sighed. Hopefully they'd be able to get this handled and then go home. The last thing they needed was for rumors to start spreading that Andrew had been spotted sitting the reception of a garda station late at night.

"Sorry, could I use your toilet?" she asked after the baby kicked her bladder particularly hard. 

"Ehm, sure. Its just down the corridor there," he said. "I'll need to have a female officer escort you, though," he added. 

So Molly waited for five minutes as a female officer was located, trying to ignore the fact that her need to piss was broadcast to the entire station via every officer's radio. Eventually, she was escorted by a female officer to the toilet. By the time she was finished, the officer that arrested Oscar had finished with his paperwork and was waiting at his desk. 

"Right," he started. "These are just forms that state we are releasing him into your custody. That you are responsible for him for the next twenty-four hours, or until the alcohol in his system has passed through," he explained. "This one is a citation for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct. The fine is clearly listed. This is the police report as well as the arresting record of his time here. I assume they're all in order."

Molly looked over each form, ensuring all the boxes had been ticked and lines filled in. 

"Add a zero," she said, indicating the fine listed. 

The officer obliged and reprinted the forms before giving it back to her. When she was happy they were accurate, she signed where she needed to sign and slid them back to the officer. He stood and led her back to Oscar. 

"Mr. Llewelyn, its your lucky day," the officer said, opening the door. "We are releasing you into the custody of Ms. Stanley." He slid the paperwork across the table with a pen. "I need you to sign several things before you can go. This is your citation," he started, picking up the first piece of paper. "Signing simply acknowledges I have explained it to you and you may owe the fee listed. It is not an admission of guilt until you sign it and return it to the court with your fee. If you wish to fight it, there are instructions on how to do so on the back."

Oscar looked at the multi-layered sheet of paper and signed the top form. The officer ripped the top sheet off and left the rest. 

"This indicates that Ms. Stanley is responsible for you as we are releasing you into her care," he continued. 

Again, Oscar signed. Molly stood by the door, annoyance radiating off of her. She couldn't believe he'd been this stupid. He was in his thirties and still pulling this frat boy bullshit and it infuriated her. She'd wanted to do a lot worse to him than drag him across the table by his tie. She tuned out the officer's spiel and leaned against the wall whilst she waited. Finally, the officer was done and led them out of the room.

She collected her ID and registration card from the reception desk and Andrew met her at the front door. He didn't even look at Oscar. She told him what had happened in hushed tones as they walked ahead of him to the car. Andrew helped her into the passenger side, leaving Oscar to scramble into the back seat and close the door just before the car began to move. Nobody spoke as he drove.

"Wait, why aren't you dropping me at my place?" Oscar asked when he saw that they missed the turn off for his neighborhood.

"You saw the release forms," Molly sighed. "You've been released into my custody for twenty-four hours. And since I can't trust you to behave in your own home, you're coming back with us," she said with an exhausted tone.

The rest of the ride home was silent. Oscar knew better than to say anything else.

"Go ahead in, I need to ask Oscar about something, first," Andrew told Molly when he'd helped her out of the car in the driveway. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets.

Molly was too tired to argue. "Alright. I'll put Clem out. Can you make sure she comes inside when you do?"

"Yeah," Andrew nodded. He waited until Molly was out of earshot before he grabbed Oscar by the collar of his suit and slammed him up against the side of his SUV.

"Andy, what the fuck?" Oscar asked in shock. His voice cut through the silent evening air. 

"You made my pregnant wife go into a dangerous police station alone to clean up your fucking mess," Andrew started, lowering his voice to what he hoped was an intimidating tone. He glared at the other man. "She is thirty-two weeks pregnant, Oscar!" he hissed. "She won't be able to bail you out any longer. I swear to fucking God, Oscar. I'm tired of the co-dependency between you two. We're having a baby. We will always come first for her. You need to stop this bullshit."

He was sure his eyes were blazing, but he didn't care. Whilst he waited in reception at the station, Andrew's rage grew - which was impressive, considering he hardly got angry to begin with. Rage was a whole new dimension for him. But as he sat there, he realized that he couldn't keep standing by while Molly and Oscar carried on like they usually did. It wasn't fair any longer. He'd been patient and he'd been kind and welcoming. And he didn't care that they were close. But things were getting out of hand and he was tired of it. 

Oscar shoved Andrew back from him slightly, still in shock at the other man's sudden reaction. He straightened his wrinkled clothes and took a slow breath. "If I didn't know you better, Andrew, I'd say that was a threat." He kept his voice cool and collected, his private school training and high-end breeding coming through.

Andrew stared back at the other man, his gaze steely. "Take it as you will," he said simply. 

Oscar chuckled, unmoved by Andrew's display. "Andy, you know how much I'm worth. You know who I can have at my disposal with one phone call. What could you possibly do to me that could ever hurt me?" he asked, rolling his eyes. A small smirk had formed at the corners of his mouth.

Andrew set his jaw and looked directly into Oscar's face. "I can make her hate you." His words were deliberate and he watched Oscar flinch as he realized what the statement meant. His casual air disappeared and his shrunk back at what Andrew was implying. "Get the dog before you come in, will you?" Andrew said as he turned and walked toward the house, leaving Oscar in the darkness alone.