Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

The banging resumed so I hastily dried my hands on the towel hanging on the rack and unlocked the door, eyes landing on my brother who was standing in nothing but a pair of black boxers, scratching his chest.

Leaving my stomach waiting longer than four hours, and I was a moody, pissy bitch.

These were boys. I played with men.

"Why'd you do that?" she whimpered, so frail and small and covered in shite. "I'm an asshole," I informed her, shifting her pink school back onto my back as I tucked her in closer. "I fuck up a lot." "Did you do it on purpose?" "What?" Her words threw me enough to cause me to halt. "No." Twisting my body so I could look down at her face, I frowned and said, "I wouldn't never do that to you." "You promise?" "Yeah," I grunted, hitching her up with my arm and melding her body to my side. "I promise." It was January. It was wet. It was cold.

Who could attack her? She was so small. And frail.

Her blue eyes were big and round and fucking beautiful, with small hues of yellow dotting through them, rimmed with thick, long lashes.

Hands down, she possessed the most gorgeous pair of eyes I'd seen in my life.

"That's really your face?" she asked, eyes drooping, as she studied me with a vacant expression. "It's so pretty."

"I like it," she whispered, "it's a good face," just before closing her eyes again, sagging forward.

"You're okay," I coaxed, battling down my anxiety, the urge to nurture this girl both a new and equally terrifying feeling for me. "Shh, you're okay."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Now why in the holy hell did I have to ask that? You are almost two years older than this girl, asshole!

"Interest, lad," Gibs explained calmly – much calmer than me. "A lot of interest." Reaching into his bag, he withdrew his white school shirt and shrugged it on. "In case it slipped your attention – and going by your reaction I know it didn’t – that girl's a corker."

"Why?" he taunted from the safety of the opposite end of the changing room. "Are you laying claim?" The blond little fucker, encouraged by a couple of his benchwarmer buddies, continued, "Is she yours now or something, Kavanagh?"

"Why don’t you do us all a favor and sling your hook, Johnny! I wish you'd just fuck off to the youths and be done with it," he roared, face turning an ugly shade of purple. "That's what you're in The Academy for, right?" he demanded, tone furious. "To be conditioned? To move up the ranks and get a contract?" Huffing out a breath, he snarled, "Then fucking move. Leave Tommen. Go back to Dublin. Take your contracts and go the fuck away!"

"I would love a reason to tear your fucking head off."

Thanks so much." "It's yer one Shannon's file," he corrected, rolling down the sleeves of his jumper. "No doubt your obsessive ass was looking for it."

And I had a feeling he had something to do with it. Johnny Kavanagh.

But he was just so interesting to observe.

He gave out this 'I'm the best. You're fucking with the best right here. You're not going to find anyone better than me. Bad luck on you' vibe and walked around with a constant fuck you expression on his face.

It was hard to describe the look I received because usually when our eyes locked, it was because Johnny had caught me staring at him, be it in the lunch hall or outside classrooms, and I always turned away quickly, mortified.

Yeah, that wasn’t unhealthy at all.

"I really don’t," Claire shot back, flustered now. "I tolerate him because he brings cookies to my house." She turned to me and said, "Gerard's mother owns a bakery in the city. Her cakes are insanely delicious."

My brain's track of choice: Shannon like the river, with the gorgeous blue eyes, face of an angel, and the troubled past.

"Keep talking about it and you won't need a picture to show coach," I bit out. "I'll cut your cock off and you can hand it to him instead." Gibsie grimaced. "Still too soon to make jokes?"

"I hate you, Gerard Gibson!" Claire hissed when he was done serenading her like a demented crow. "And I love you, too," he laughed, before turning his attention to me and stifling a groan. "Jesus Christ," he groaned so that only I could hear him. "I swear to god, lad, that girl drives me crazy."

"Do you have a –holy shit, you do!" he choked out through fits of laughter. "And you're blushing!" He clapped me on the shoulder and snorted loudly. "Ah, lad, I love it."

"Oh lad, it was before your surgery, wasn’t it?" He gave me a sympathetic look. "You haven't cum in months. No wonder you're so pissy all the time," Gibsie muttered with a worried frown. "That's why you got hard when yer one Shannon bent over and gave you some bare ass action. Your poor dick must have thought it was Christmas." Shuddering, he added, "You poor, poor bastard."

Glaring, I shoved his chest and hissed, "Go fuck yourself!" "I do!" Gibsie hissed, eyes wide. "Three times a day. Can you?" "Yeah, I'm not listening to this," I announced, desperately trying to mask my panic as images of exploding ball sacs danced across my mind. Swinging around, I stalked back down the corridor towards the entrance. I was going the fuck home. To get away from the absolute mental case that was my best friend. And to check on my balls. "Better out than in, lad!" Gibsie called after me. "Practice makes perfect. Let me know how it goes."

"I don’t know what I ever saw in him," she grumbled for the hundredth time. "But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth giving him my v-card."

I didn’t have to turn around to see he was grinning; I could hear it in his voice.

"Because we're your babies," Hughie announced, leaning his weight on me. "My babies?" I slurred. "How the fuck are you three anyone's babies?" "You're our captain," Hughie slurred. "We're kind of your responsibility." "On the pitch, ya gobshite."

I turned my bleary gaze on him, too drunk to mask my curiosity. "My Shannon?" Hughie laughed. "She's your Shannon now?" I shrugged, too drunk to defend or deny.

"Keep looking out for her, Cap," he said, squeezing my shoulder. "God knows someone needs to."

Johnny's attention wasn’t on the medic or the referee shouting commands in his ear. He was too busy looking at me.

"Good man yourself," the photographer praised and pointed the camera at Johnny, only to halt and turn to me. "Move out the way, will ya, love?" "Oh, right, sorry!" I squeaked and scrambled to back out of the line of the lens. "We were talking," Johnny bit out. He cast a scathing glare at the photographer and then walked right over to me.

"Johnny, Johnny?" one of the women crowding us called out. "What's your relationship?" "Private," Johnny shot back coolly.

Releasing a frustrated growl, Johnny turned around. "I’m at school," he stated in a sharp tone. "On school grounds. With a minor."

"Boys with pretty eyes and big muscles mess everything up for girls."

I liked him. I really liked him.

"By the way, I saw you with him on the pitch Friday, you little flirt."

"You're only mentally undressing her in your head."

"It comes with cock, Claire!" he taunted, accepting her challenge without an ounce of shame. "My cock." "Fuck your cock," Claire growled, looking mortified. "Of course, you can," he nodded with a grin. "But here's not really the place."

"She-wolf can come, too," he said to Claire. "If you promise to put a muzzle on her."

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."

The male to female ratio in third year was heavily unbalanced with eighty boys and only five girls. All five girls were placed into the same class, 3A.

"Even if I hadn't, your accent is a dead giveaway."

"I think you're in denial about your healing process and I know you're hurt. You limp at school. Did you know that? All the time. Others mightn’t notice it, but I do. I see it and you do it all the time! So, I think you're playing a dangerous game with your body, Johnny. And I think if your doctors knew how much pain you are actually in, there's no way they would have signed off and released you to play." I had no idea where this was coming from, but the words were bursting to come out of my mouth so I let them spill.

"Watch your language, Jonathan!"

And I would torment myself with that picture. I planned on it.

"Hey, Joe?" "Yeah?" "Can you do me a favor?" He tipped his chin up, letting me know he was listening. "Please don’t do to me what Darren did to us." Folding my hands under my cheek, I whispered, "Don’t leave me." "I won't," my brother vowed, tone laced with grit and sincerity. "I won't ever leave you here with him."