Binding 13: Boys of Tommen #1

by Chloe Walsh

Trembling, I unlocked the screen only to release a fresh surge of panic into my bloodstream when my eyes landed on the digital clock on the top of the screen.

  It was 5:47.

  My bus left on the dot at half past five.

  I'd missed it.

  There wouldn’t be another one passing through the route I needed until 9:45pm tonight.

  "Shit," I whisper-cried, quickly scrolling into my contacts lists to find my brother's name.

  Pressing call, I held the phone to my ear, but instead of the typical ring-ring sound that came with placing a call, I was greeted with the pre-recorded, robotic voice letting me know that I didn’t have sufficient credit to place this call. "Dammit!"

  Groaning, I quickly tapped in the code that allowed me to send a free 'call me' text message to Joey.

  When I didn’t get an immediate response, I sent another, and then I sent three more for good measure.

  Mam was at work and wouldn’t have her phone on her, and I'd rather sleep right here in this toilet stall than call my father to come get me – not that he would even come if I asked.

  Thirty minutes later and I had sent at least twenty more freebie 'call me' messages to my brother, but to no avail.

  He obviously either didn’t have his phone with him, or it was switched to silent.

  My bet was it was on silent mode since Joey rarely left the house without it. He probably forgot to take it off silent-mode when he left school.

  I didn’t know what else to do other than just wait at the school until the next bus was due.

  I knew the school remained open until late for afterschool programs and tutoring.

  It technically never closed considering it was also a boarding school, but the main area would be open until at least 9pm.

  My stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence.

  Checking the time again, I noted that it was now 6:18pm.

  I had those slices of bread tucked away in my lunch box.

  I could go and make some toast in the common area while I waited.

  I would be in serious trouble when I got home, but there was no way on god's given earth that I was going to walk the fifteen miles home.

  The walk, I was sure I could handle.

  It was who I might meet on the walk that troubled me.

  Standing up, I tucked my phone back into my shirt pocket, re-did the buttons on my coat, reached for my bag, and let myself out the stall, stopping to wash my hands before leaving the sanctitude of the bathroom.

  I pressed my ear to the door and listened for a long moment.

  When no sounds of violence and shouting came from the other side, I opened the door and stepped out.

  Like a horrific case of déjà vu, I walked out of the bathroom and straight into a hard chest of muscle.

  16

  Keep your hands off

  Johnny

  My groin was on fire and my body was simmering with barely restrained anger.

  Taking a boot to my crotch while at the bottom of a ruck during training was not my idea of a productive practice session.

  It took me a solid five minutes of breathing through my nose as I lay in a heap on the pitch before I could trust the contents of my stomach to stay the fuck in there and stand up.

  Resisting the natural reaction to maim and kill the culprit, who just so happened to be a sheepish looking Hughie, I blew off the last five minutes of training in favor of going in search of an icepack.

  We had the league final coming up and my asshole teammates were going to take me out before we even got there.

  Letting loose last weekend was all well and good, and the shield was a nice little victory for the team, but my sight was set on the cup and theirs needed to be, too – apparently not, though, if the sluggish training session yesterday and sloppy performance this evening was anything to go by.

  I was walking out of the lunch hall with one icepack strapped to my junk, and another pressed to my thigh when Gibsie's voice boomed through the air followed by the annoying voice of Ronan McGarry.

  "What did the little bollox do now?" I barked when they came into focus, standing on either side of the glass entry door.

  "Don’t lose your shit," Gibsie said in a low tone. "I've got it under control."

  "What?" I demanded.

  Gibsie released a sigh. "He was fucking with Shannon outside the jacks." He scrubbed his face with his hand. "Trying to get her to go in the bathroom with him."

  My entire body tensed as a red, hazing fog clouded my vision.

  I'd been mad as hell with Gibsie over the stunt he pulled at lunch yesterday, but right now, I was grateful for his meddling.

  Tossing the icepack on the ground, I glared out the window and snarled, "You're fucking kidding me!"

  "Nope. He got a little shitty with her, too," Gibsie added, glaring out through the glass at McGarry. "Apparently McGarry has an issue with his hearing because the girl clearly told him no."

  My legs were moving before my brain had a chance to catch up.

  I warned him.

  I bleeding warned that little shite to leave her alone.

  I was going to kill that little fucker.

  "Don’t," Gibsie warned as he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. "She's right over there, lad."

  I swung around to find a wide-eyed Shannon staring back at me.

  She looked terrified.

  "For fuck's sake," I groaned, quickly turning away so I didn’t see the fear in her big blue eyes.

  All day, I'd been trying my best to keep my distance, but fucking McGarry had just screwed with that.

  I hated him.

  It was a strong word, but an accurate one when assessing my feelings towards the prick.

  I warned him to stay away from her, and he went and did it anyway.

  Maybe once I used my fists instead of my words, he'd take me seriously.

  If he didn’t, we were going to have an even bigger problem.

  Turning back to Ronan, I hissed, "I'm going to give you a five second head start, Prickface, and then I'm going to cut your cock off and feed it to you."

  "Fuck you, Kavanagh," McGarry spat. "You can't touch me."

  "One," I snarled, grabbing ahold of the door handle. "Two, three, four…"

  "What are you waiting for?" Gibs chuckled, making shooing gestures with his hands. "Get going, Forrest."

  "Five," I snarled then yanked the door open.

  McGarry shot off like a scalded dog, running at top speed.

  He could move as fast as his legs could carry him and he still couldn’t outrun me.

  Injured or not, I was a goddamn bullet.

  "I'm sorry," he roared over his shoulder as he pounded through the courtyard. "Stop – I'm sorry! I won't go near her again."

  "Too little too late, asshole," I shot back, closing in on him.

  Reaching out, I caught ahold of the back of his jersey and pulled him to an abrupt stop.

  "Get off me," he hissed, bucking against my hold.

  "Come here, ya little shit," I barked as I dragged him up the steps to the P.E hall.

  "Stop him," Ronan screeched at Gibsie who had trailed after us. "Gibs, come on, lad."

  "Fat chance of that happening, kid," Gibsie called back. "Unlike your stupid ass, I'm not suicidal and have no intention of putting myself in the firing line."

  Stalking into the hall, I marched down the corridor and slammed my palm against the changing room door, pushing it open.

  The team were all inside the room and turned to look at us.

  "Oh, for Christ's sake," Hughie groaned, watching us enter with a resigned look on his face. "What did he do now?"

  "He broke the rules," Gibsie snickered. "Boy's going to church."

  "And we were doing so well," Feely sighed.

  "Uh, Johnny?" Cormac Ryan muttered, scratching his stubbly jaw. "Should you be doing that to Coach's nephew–"

  "Be glad it's not you, fuckface," I snarled, keeping a death grip on McGarry as I dragged him to
wards the showers.

  "Stop him!" Ronan demanded. "Lads – help me!"

  No one moved.

  Good.

  These lads had loyalty.

  "Think you can put your hands on her?" I hissed when we were in the showers and away from the team. Releasing his neck, I shoved him against the wall. "Well?"

  "I was only messing around with her," he growled, pushing off the wall. "It was a joke. Christ, relax."

  "Do I look relaxed to you?" I took a step towards him. "Am I laughing, asshole?"

  "Back up," McGarry warned, raising his fists in front of him. "I mean it, Kavanagh. Back the hell up."

  "Nice words," I growled, stalking towards him. "Pity you don’t know the meaning of them."

  He took a swing at me and managed to catch the side of my jaw.

  Dangerous move.

  "You cheeky, little fucker." I closed the space between us, grabbed his head and buried my head in the bridge of his nose.

  An extremely satisfying crunching noise filled my ears.

  The steady stream of blood trickling down his face did little to sate the fury burning inside of me.

  "Ahhhh, Christ!" Ronan roared, collapsing on the floor, clutching his nose. "I think you broke my nose, Johnny."

  "Your nose will heal after a break." Grabbing his jersey, I dragged him into a shower stall, slapped my hand against the circular chrome nozzle sticking out from the wall, and watched as freezing cold water poured down on him. "But your spine won't." Crouching down in front of him, I held his face under the water. "And that's exactly what I'll crush if you so much as look at her again."

  "I was only talking to her," he strangled out, red-faced. "Christ."

  "Well don’t talk to her!" I spat, glaring down at his stupid fucking face. "Don’t look at her, and don’t fucking touch her. She's not for you." With great effort, I forced myself to release him and stand back. "Are we clear this time?"

  "Crystal," McGarry muttered under his breath.

  "You better mean it this time, kid," I said in a warning tone. "Because if you push me on this, I'll kill you."

  "I'm done," he grumbled. "Fucking hell."

  I cast Ronan one final death glare before stalking back to the changing room.

  Unsurprisingly, Gibsie was perched on the bench with a shit-eating grin etched on his face. "Is he alive?"

  "For now," I bit out.

  Kicking off my football boots, I grabbed a pair of sweats from my bag and pulled them on over my shorts.

  I could shower when I got home.

  Right now, I needed to get the fuck out of this place before I blew a head gasket.

  There were too many assholes in my close proximity, McGarry and Ryan to be precise, and I didn’t trust myself.

  Ironically, the lyrics of the song Stuck in the Middle drifted into my mind.

  Shaking the thought away, I concentrated on packing up my bag.

  When I had everything loaded into my gear bag, I left the changing room without a word to my teammates.

  Thankfully, Gibsie didn’t follow me.

  I had my bag loaded into the backseat of my car and was rounding the driver's side when a sudden pang of uncertainty hit me in the gut.

  Was she okay?

  Should I go back and check on her?

  No, she was probably gone home.

  I should go home.

  But what if she wasn’t?

  You don’t have time for this, asshole, my brain hissed, you have a PT session in an hour.

  Shaking my head, I opened my car door only to quickly slam it shut and stalk back into the school.

  You're just going to check on her, make sure she's okay, and then get the fuck out of there, I told myself as I walked through the school to the girls' bathroom. There's nothing wrong with that.

  But there was.

  There was something seriously wrong with this picture.

  I was standing outside the girls' bathroom, waiting on a girl to come out who might not be in there to begin with.

  I was as bad as McGarry.

  Disgusted with myself, I turned to leave.

  I made it five feet before retracing my steps back to the bleeding bathroom.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I was deep in thought, fighting an internal battle with my conscience, when the bathroom door flew open and a tiny wisp of a girl came rushing out and crashed straight into my chest.

  The minute my eyes landed on her, I knew I was in trouble.

  You should have gone home while you could, eejit, my mind hissed, there's no leaving now.

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  17

  You've got a fast car

  Shannon

  My body smacked into a hard chest of muscle, causing my school bag to fall to the floor from the impact.

  Instinctively, my hands darted out in front of my face, self-preservation mode activated.

  If I wasn’t so frightened, I would have been proud of the scream that tore from my chest.

  It was progress.

  Two large hands shot out, capturing my flailing limbs, and steadying me.

  "Hey – hey, relax." I recognized the hint of a Dublin accent immediately. "Shh, relax. It's just me."

  Sagging in relief, I looked up at his face, registering the familiarity.

  "Oh god." My words came out in a sharp gasp, as I stared up at him, breathing hard and fast. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

  "Shite, sorry about that." Johnny released me and took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him. "You were in the bathroom so long I thought I'd need to call in a rescue crew or something."

  He took another step backwards, then cupped the back of his neck with a hand, looking a little uncomfortable.

  He was still wearing the same jersey with the sleeves slightly torn at the biceps, but had switched his shorts for grey sweatpants, and his footballs boots for a pair of runners.

  "I just wanted to check that you were okay." Shrugging, he dropped his hands to his sides and asked, "Are you?"

  Was I?

  "I think so?" My heart was beating at a hundred miles an hour and I felt like I was two seconds away from passing out from the adrenalin battering through my veins.

  Pressing a hand to my chest, I took a few deep breaths to steady my frazzled nerves before I could speak.

  He was so much taller than me that I had to crane my head back so I could look at his face when I asked, "Were you waiting out here for me?"

  "Uh, yeah." Shoving his big hands into the pockets of his sweats, Johnny nodded. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. Gibsie told me what he said to you."

  "He did?"

  "Yeah." Johnny nodded grimly. "That fucker won't be bothering you again."

  "Ronan?"

  He nodded, jaw ticking. "Listen, I need you to trust me when I tell you that little scene with McGarry had more to do with me than you." He shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "He likes to push boundaries – mine more than most."

  Push boundaries?

  More to do with him?

  "Oh." I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  I was so confused.

  "Thanks," I added, because thanking him seemed like the right thing to do.

  "No problem."

  "Did you, uh, catch him?" I asked, then immediately regretted my question.

  Why was I making conversation with him?

  That was my cue to leave.

  Why wasn’t I leaving?

  And why wouldn’t my heart stop trying to beat its way out of my chest?

  Was this going to happen every time I bumped into him?

  If so, I needed to get a prescription.

  "Ronan," I clarified, digging myself a deeper hole. "You were counting to five."

  "Like I said," Johnny replied, jaw set in a tight line, "He won't be bothering you again."

  My eyes widened. "You didn’t kill him, did you?"

  He barked out a laugh. "No, S
hannon, I didn’t kill him."

  "Oh, okay." I breathed a heavy sigh. "That's good."

  He tilted his head to one side, expression curious, voice soft. "Is it?"

  "Well, I-I, yeah," I choked out. "I guess it's always good to avoid a murder charge."

  "I guess that's true," he replied with a smirk.

  "Well, I'm, ah, okay," I said, tone a little strained. "Thanks for checking."

  He arched a dark brow. "You sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good."

  "Good."

  He made no move to walk away, and, weirdly enough, neither did I.

  We both just stood there, a few feet apart, with him looking down at me, and me staring right back up at him.

  It was hard to explain what was happening, but it almost felt like he was re-memorizing what I looked like.

  At least, that's what I was doing.

  His dark blue eyes were on my face, moving from my eyes to my lips, and back up again.

  He was openly taking me in and made no attempt to be discreet about it.

  It was disconcerting and exciting all at once.

  My phone vibrated against my chest then, startling me, and thankfully giving me a much-needed reprieve from the strange tension enveloping us.

  Unbuttoning my coat, I dragged my phone out of my pocket, glanced at Joey's name flashing on the screen, and quickly pressed accept.

  "Shannon! What's going on?" my brother demanded down the line. "Are you okay? Did something happen –" his voice broke off and he growled down the line, "If one of those posh bastards did something to you, I will lose my –"

  "I'm fine," I blurted out, interrupting him mid-rant. "I'm okay. Calm down."

  My eyes flickered to Johnny who was still there, watching me with a considering look.

  "I missed my bus," I continued to say, turning my back on him to gain some much-needed composure. "And the next one's not until quarter to ten tonight," I quickly explained, keeping my voice low and hushed. "It's already dark out and I don’t want to walk in case –" I stopped myself before finishing that sentence, then hurried on to ask, "Are you with Aoife? Can you guys come pick me up?"

  Joey had his full license, but he didn’t have a car.

  His girlfriend, who was still on her provisional license, had a fourteen-year-old Opel Corsa.