Binding 13: Boys of Tommen #1

by Chloe Walsh

  "That's not funny, Gibs," I snapped, bristling.

  "I know," he replied – while he laughed his arse off. "It's hilarious."

  "Not even a little bit," I groaned.

  41

  Block it out

  Shannon

  I spent the following week at home from school, taking care of my brothers and my mother, who, as I suspected, wasn’t speaking to me.

  She wasn’t speaking to any of us.

  Except him.

  He was back.

  Just like I knew he would be.

  The miscarriage had been the perfect opportunity for my father to weasel his way back into my mother's fragile emotions.

  When he came back that night, Joey left.

  He drove away and didn’t come home for three days.

  Those three days, I had lived in terror, fearing he would never come home.

  He finally did.

  But I knew it wouldn’t be forever.

  One of these days, Joey was going to walk out that front door just like Darren had and never come back.

  Mam returned to work on the following Saturday.

  Like a robot, she dressed in her cleaning scrubs, walked downstairs, made herself a cup of coffee, smoked seven cigarettes, and then left for work.

  I knew Mam shouldn’t be working in her condition, she clearly wasn’t in the right frame of mind, but when I tried to tell her, all she did was give me a watery smile, kiss my cheek, and walk right out the door.

  I spent the entire day worrying myself sick about my mother and listening to my father tell me how it was all my fault she lost the baby.

  I was the whore.

  I made him lose his temper.

  I was to blame for him putting his hands on me.

  And I was the reason he shoved Mam when she tried to drag him off me that night.

  I was the reason he slapped her around.

  It was all on me.

  Because I was such a slut.

  That's right, I was a sixteen-year-old girl who had never even kissed a boy, but to my father, I was a tramp.

  When he broke his promise of sobriety to my mother last night, I wasn’t even surprised.

  When he used my neck as a squeeze toy, I didn’t even flinch.

  I was just so tired.

  A part of me prayed he would just get it over with.

  Even though Joey had come thundering down the staircase and dragged Dad off me, the damage had been done.

  He added fresh bruises to old bruises and I had spent a good portion of the night contemplating the worst possible thoughts.

  There was no reprieve from this.

  I had no way out.

  Not in that house.

  Not in a care home.

  I was trapped.

  When I stepped off the bus and walked through the doors of Tommen this morning, the relief that had flooded my body was so potent that I could taste it.

  Returning after a week in hell felt like the greatest reward for surviving.

  Seeing Claire and Lizzie again, and knowing they loved me, being told they loved me, helped piece something back together inside of my body.

  When they presented me with a belated birthday cupcake and gifts at lunch, I almost cried.

  When I gave them the PG version of what happened to Mam, they knew me well enough to drop it.

  I didn’t want talk about it, think about it, or be reminded of it.

  Ever again.

  Claire and Lizzie knew that and respected my wishes.

  Going through the motions, I went to all my classes and erased my family from my mind for the next seven hours.

  It was wonderful.

  42

  Catching shoes and feelings

  Shannon

  My last class on Monday was double P.E, and because of the torrential downpour of rain outside, Mr. Mulcahy had taken pity on us and set up a game of soccer in the indoor basketball hall.

  Mr. Mulcahy was the school's rugby coach and it was pretty evident in the way he lounged on a foldup chair on the sideline, eyes focused on the clipboard in his hand, that he wasn’t concerned with our physical education.

  Also, I had managed to sneak a peek at said clipboard when I tried and failed to get out of playing, and it was covered in doodles and rugby related plays.

  I had ended up being drafted onto the team with Claire, thank god, and a couple of the other girls, while Lizzie had managed to talk her way out of participating and got to go to the library instead.

  I wished I was as persuasive as her.

  Instead, I was sporting a yellow bib and attempting to run around and not get squashed to death by the boys.

  With Lizzie living it up in the library, it left only four girls on the court to play with the eighteen other boys from 3A.

  I was by far the worst.

  Shelly and Helen, the other two girls in my class, weren't much better, but I had a feeling that had more to do with their general disinterest in the game rather than lack of ability.

  Claire was amazing at sports, the best girl on the court, and the lads treated her with the respect she deserved by passing the ball off to her whenever she managed to get free.

  So far, she had scored twice.

  To be fair, my teammates had tried that with me earlier on in the game, but after tripping myself up and costing our side a goal, they avoided me.

  I thought that might be for the best.

  "Are you having fun?" Claire asked, jogging towards me when one of the boys on our team scored again.

  She was wearing the same black jersey, white shorts, and yellow bib that I was, but unlike me, her training clothes actually fit her body.

  Her long, blonde, curly ponytail swished from side to side as she moved.

  Her cheeks were red, her eyes alight with excitement.

  She was disgustingly stunning.

  "Isn't this the best way to end the day?"

  "Uh, yeah, sure!" I feigned a smile and gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up.

  "You hate this, don’t you?" She laughed and rested her elbow on my shoulder. The fact that she could do that with ease only drove home how small I was. "Don't worry. There's only another ten minutes left."

  "Soccer isn’t really my –" I paused to duck, narrowly avoiding a ball to the face. "It's not my thing," I began to say, but Claire was already chasing after the ball, screaming at our teammates that she was 'open'.

  Moments later, a stampede of teenagers came barreling up the court towards me, hunting down the rogue soccer ball.

  So, I did what any sane 5'0 person in my position would do; I ran over to the wall and flattened my back against it.

  Narrowly avoiding another trampling, I decided that I had quite enough of P.E for one day. I’d had a horrible, niggling pain in my stomach all day and running around wasn’t helping matters.

  My body was in pieces.

  I was in so much pain that I could hardly stand it.

  To be honest, I had a feeling the stomach ache I was suffering was anxiety induced and father related.

  We were finishing up from school on Friday for two whole weeks, and every time I allowed myself to think about all those days stuck in my house with my father, the worse the pain grew.

  Most people were looking forward to getting away for the holidays.

  Meanwhile, I was a trembling mess.

  Exhausted, I pulled my bib off and searched the hall for Mr. Mulcahy, to ask him if I could be dismissed early and sit in the changing room.

  My heart jackknifed in my chest when I found him standing in the entrance to the hall, talking to none other than Johnny Kavanagh.

  Oh god.

  How long had he been standing there?

  Certainly long enough to see my pathetic attempt at evading death.

  All day, I felt him watching me.

  Everywhere I went, I swear I could feel eyes on me.

  I knew he wanted to speak to me, which was why I had spent the day ducking and dodging him.
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  He would have questions about last week.

  He would want to know.

  And he wouldn’t believe my lies.

  That was terrifying.

  Because he was too clever for a girl in my position to hang around with.

  When I was with him, I forgot about lying and hiding.

  I forgot about everything.

  Mr. Mulcahy was tapping the clipboard in his hand, deep in conversation with Johnny – whose attention was flickering between whatever was on that clipboard and, well, me.

  I was exactly opposite him, with the court between us, but I swear I could feel the heat of his stare right down to my toes.

  Every time he switched his attention from the clipboard to me, I was hit with a gaze so heated and full of intensity that I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing.

  Was it anger?

  Was it frustration?

  Was it something else?

  I couldn’t tell.

  I didn't have to think about it too much, because a few seconds later, Mr. Mulcahy blew his whistle and instructed our class to leave the court and get packed up.

  Coach and Johnny remained in the entrance, deep in discussion, as our class trudged past them to the changing rooms.

  Feeling like it was the safest option, I made a beeline for Claire, hooking my arm with hers, and asking her a bazillion pointless questions about the game we'd just played – well, the game she'd just played.

  I kept my eyes on her face, listening intently to her responses, when we passed them.

  It wasn’t until I was safely tucked away in the girls’ changing room that I released the tremulous breath I'd been holding in.

  "Ouch – Shannon, what the hell is wrong with you?" Claire demanded the second the changing room door slammed shut behind us.

  "Huh?"

  "My arm?" Claire squeezed out. "Are you intentionally trying to cut off my circulation?"

  My gaze shot to her arm, more specifically to where my fingers were digging into her skin. "Oh my god!" Releasing her, I slapped a hand over my mouth. "I am so sorry."

  "What's the matter?" She took a step closer, concern splashed across her features. "You look really freaked out."

  "Nothing," I quickly replied. "I'm fine. It's just…" I shook my head and blew out a ragged breath. "I wasn’t expecting him to be out there."

  "Johnny?"

  I nodded slowly.

  Her eyes widened then. "Oh my god!" Pointing a finger at my face, she whisper-shouted, "You lied to me! Something happened the other week, didn’t it?"

  "No." I shook my head, cheeks flaming. "Nothing happened."

  "He was staring at you back there – like completely eyeballing you," she hissed, looking a little giddy. "Did something happen? Please tell me something happened…"

  "I promise you that nothing happened between us," I strangled out, regretting ever mentioning it. "And he wasn’t eyeballing me."

  "But you wanted it to?"

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but Claire interrupted me.

  "Ha! Don’t even lie, I can see right through you," she snickered. "Even your ears are blushing."

  "Claire, please, you can't tell anyone!" I blurted out, mortified.

  "I already promised you that I wouldn’t."

  I sagged in relief. "Thank you."

  "But you should know that he was looking at you, Shan. Like seriously looking at you." Claire clapped her hands together, squealing loudly. "Oh god, this makes me so happy."

  "No, he wasn’t –And I don’t –I can't – I just…" Choking on my words, I inhaled a calming breath and tried again, "We had a fight that night in his car."

  "A fight?" Claire's brows shot up. "About what?"

  "It doesn’t matter," I mumbled, flushing. "And I…"

  "You what?"

  "He dropped me home again on the Friday before my birthday."

  Her entire face lit up. "Oh my god!

  "And then I threw up in front of him," I glumly admitted. "Possibly on him."

  He was very close to the danger zone.

  While he held back my hair.

  Claire cringed in sympathy. "In his car?"

  "No," I replied weakly. "In school. At my locker."

  She smiled sadly. "And he dropped you home afterwards?"

  "And then I…"

  "You what, Shan?"

  "I went to the pub with him."

  "The pub?" she screeched. "What pub?"

  I thought about it for a moment before I remembered the name. "Biddies, I think?"

  "Oh my god," she gasped. "That's his pub."

  "What?" My eyes widened. "His family own it?"

  It wouldn’t surprise me.

  "No, no," Claire hurried to say. "They don’t own it, but it's like his pub. His spot. His…his…HQ."

  "What does that even mean?"

  "That's where they all go," Claire said. "All the boys from the team. Biddies is their hangout."

  "Oh," I breathed, flustered. "Okay."

  "So," she mused. "What did you do at the pub?"

  "He bought me dinner," I confessed.

  "Wait – why did he take you to Biddies if you were sick?"

  I shrugged. "He drove me home, but when we got to my house, he asked me to go for a drive with him." Frowning, I added, "And he took me to the cinema after Biddies."

  "Shut the front door," she squeaked.

  "And on my birthday, I ended up going to his house."

  "What?" Claire actually screamed. "His house?"

  "It was Joey's fault. But I was there…and I had a shower…and then he cooked for me…and I fell asleep on his – " I quickly snapped my mouth shut when the door flew open and Shelley and Helen came bursting into the room.

  Claire raised her brows at me but didn’t say anything else.

  One look at her face, though, and it was clear that this conversation was far from over for her.

  I took that as my opportunity to scoop up my uniform off the bench and slip into one of the shower stalls to get changed.

  I wasn’t a prude or anything like that, but I was seriously lacking in comparison to these girls.

  Saving myself some unnecessary humiliation, I always changed in one of the stalls with a curtain drawn around my A cups.

  When I had my uniform back on, and my frazzled nerves under control, I returned to the girls just in time to hear Shelly and Helen's latest drama.

  Shelly was a tall brunette with the kind of curves I could only hope to grow into one day. Helen was the shorter, slightly less curvy, redhaired version of Shelly.

  They were massive gossipers and spent their days welded to each other's sides, whispering and snickering, but I'd met far worse than them.

  I actually sort of liked them both in a 'they're completely harmless if you don’t tell them your business' kind of way.

  "God, he's such a ride!" Shelly continued to squeal.

  She was standing in her bra and knickers, completely at ease with her body, and making animated hand gestures to her BFF.

  "I swear to god, Hells, I would climb that boy like a drainpipe." She flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder and feign-swooned. "He'd be amazing at it, too."

  "Don’t lie, Shell," Helen shot back with a snicker. "If he looked at you long enough you'd pass out from shock."

  "I might," Shelly agreed with a laugh. "But then he could revive me." Waggling her finely-shaped brows, she added, "with his tongue."

  "Who are we talking about, girls?" Claire interjected with a friendly smile. She was sitting on the bench, buttoning her school shirt back up. "Anyone interesting?"

  "Who do you think?" Shelly teased with a huge smile. "Mister sex-on-legs himself."

  "Did you see him watching us?" Helen added excitedly, biting down on her bottom lip. "He was. I saw him. He was totally watching us when we were on the court."

  "I wish." Shelly sigh/swooned. "God, why can't the lads in our year look like him?"

  "I know," Helen agreed dreamily. "That boy
is one hundred percent homegrown, Cork sexiness."

  "He's not homegrown," I heard myself interject. "He's from Dublin."

  "No…" Helen challenged with a confused expression etched on her face. "He's from Ballylaggin."

  "If it's Johnny Kavanagh you guys are talking about, then Shannon's right," Claire interjected. "Honestly, girls, if you went and spoke to the boy, you'd know straight away that he's a Dub."

  "He is not a Dub," Shelly piped up, looking mildly horrified. "He's from Cork."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but Johnny is a big, blue Dub," Claire countered, grinning. "God, girls, the minute he opens his mouth, it's so obvious."

  "Well, his father is from Cork, so he's half Corkonian," Shelly grumbled. "And he lives in Cork."

  "And he was born and raised in Dublin – which makes him a Dub," Claire snickered. "Ask him what colors he'll be wearing on All Ireland Final day," she added. "I can promise you it won't be red."

  Shelly clearly took the Cork and Dublin sporting rivalry to heart because she looked terribly distraught at the news.

  "You don’t know that," she challenged. "He moved down here when he was little. He probably supports Cork and Munster now."

  "Actually, I do know that," Claire countered, grinning. "Back in September, Hughie had all the lads from the team over to watch the hurling final, and guess who was the only one wearing blue in a sea of red jerseys?"

  "Well, I don’t care," Helen sighed. "The accent only makes him sexier."

  "Exactly," Shelly sniffed. "I'd still climb him like a drainpipe."

  "Then you better get a hurry on that climbing, Shell." Laughing, Claire continued to rub salt in Shelly's rebel wounds by adding, "Because he'll be out of here after he leaves school. Once he's through with The Academy and Irish Heads offer him a contract, mark my words when I tell you that he won't stay in Cork. He'll go straight back to Dublin and they'll welcome him with open arms. Because he's their 'homegrown' not ours."

  "How do you even know all this?" Helen asked, staring at Claire like she had grown two heads.