Saving 6 (Boys of Tommen #3)

by Chloe Walsh

I never knew devastation until he walked into my world and gave me a glimpse into his. I never knew heart break until he decimated my heart by decimating his body. I never knew hurt until he walked away from me. I never knew. I never…

“So, in your mind, it’s a dog-eat-dog world that we’re living in?” “It’s not in my mind, Dar. It’s a fact.” “You know,” he mused in a melancholy tone. “I can’t figure out if that backbone of yours will be your saving grace or your downfall.”

“Well, we are,” he reminded me before pulling me in for a hug. “I’ll always be your brother, no matter what, okay? Don’t ever forget it.” “What did I tell you?” I hissed, scrambling away from him before anyone saw me hugging my brother of all people. “I should follow through and kick you in the nuts for that.” “Take care of yourself.” His voice was thick with emotion as he watched me scowl at him. “I love you.” “Jesus, relax with the love bullshit,” I grumbled, feeling acutely uncomfortable. “I’m starting secondary school, asshole, you’re not sending me off to war.” He nodded stiffly. “I know.” Feeling off-balance, I eyed him warily before shaking my head and walking off in the direction of the entrance. Stop. Don’t go. Something’s wrong. Turn back. This is all wrong.

“You saw me back there,” she stated evenly, green eyes snaring me. “I did.” “You kept walking.” I nodded like a fool. “I did.” “Don’t do that again.” Fuck me. “I won’t.” She looked me over once more before nodding in approval. “You’re beautiful.” Well shit. “Likewise.” “Hm.” Her lips tipped up. “So, do you have a name, boy-who-can-think-for-himself?” “Does it matter?” I countered, needing to regain some ground I had lost to this powerhouse of a girl. “We both know that you’ll be calling me baby by the end of the day.” She licked her lips to bury her smile. “Is that so?” I stepped closer. “You tell me, blondie.” Now, she did, and it was a glorious sight. “Okay, that was seriously smooth.” I smirked. “Thanks.” “I’m Aoife,” she laughed, holding her hand out to me.

“Well, it sounds to me like you need to spend less time on your knees praying and more time —“ “Don’t say it,” she warned reaching up to cover my mouth with her hand. “With the male form,” I chuckled, peeling her fingers off my lips with my hand. “So, should I spend more time with the male form in general?” she laughed, and somehow our fingers were entwined now. “Or with you? Because it’s safe to say that I’m impressed with the male form standing in front of me.” “Is that your way of telling me that you don’t have a boyfriend?” “No, it’s my way of telling you that I will have a boyfriend once you ask me.” “Jesus.” My heart rate sped up. “You’re not backwards about anything, are you?”

Don’t do it, lad. It's not your turn yet. Don't give him the satisfaction of checking out. Think of the others. Desperate to distract myself from the temptation, I held my breath and concentrated on why I couldn’t leave this house. On why I had to stay. Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie… Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie… Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie …

If Tony knew me, really fucking knew me, he’d quickly realize that his daughter was hell of a lot better off on her own than with me. I was a bad bet; my mother had as good as told me so on several occasions.

“What changed?” “Nothing.” “Bullshit,” she snapped. “You were into me on that first day, and then suddenly you weren’t. So, what changed?” My life fell apart and I realized you were my boss’s daughter. “Nothing.”

“He told everyone, Molloy.” “Who?” Her face fell and I felt like a piece of shit. “Who did he tell?” The look of sadness in her eyes made me want to hit the prick all over again. It had been worth the suspension.

“We’re not compatible,” I said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “To have a conversation together?” “To have anything together.” “So, what you’re basically saying is that you think you’re too good to be my friend?” She planted her hands on her hips. “To hang out or be seen with me?” The opposite.

“Go inside, Molloy.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Joey.” “Fine. Suit yourself.” Shaking my head, I let go of the gate, and turned to walk away. “What do I care?” “You know what? I think you do care,” she called after me. “In fact, I think you do like me. You like me and that’s why you act how you do. That’s why you riled my father up about Paul tonight. I’m right, aren’t it? You like me.” Of course I fucking liked her. She was the first thing my eyes had landed on when I walked through the entrance of Ballylaggin Community School last September, and the only face I consistently sought out since.

Yeah, I did, and the fact that she was standing here challenging me meant that I couldn’t take it back. Jesus, I had problems. Like a defiant child, Molloy reached up and patted my chest, trailing her hands up my neck to my face. “Here, asshole, have some germs.” Pushing my hood down, she ruffled my hair before trailing her hands down my chest and into the front pocket of my hoodie. “Mm, mm, mm,” she taunted, before entwining her fingers with mine. “Feels nice, huh?” “You’re such a brat,” I muttered, shaking my head, as I repressed the urge to shiver from the wonderful fucking feeling of having her warm skin on mine. “And you’re such a tool,” she came right back with, unwilling to give an inch.

“There’s a full box of coco pops in the kitchen with my name on, that I’m willing to share with you.” “I’m not coming…“ my words broke off when my brain registered what she had said. “Coco pops?” She nodded. “The good kind.” Well shit. Rubbing the back of my neck, I heard myself ask, “Is there milk in the fridge?” “Always.” My stomach rumbled loudly at the concept of getting fed tonight because, let’s face it, the odds of finding anything in the kitchen on a Monday night at my house weren’t in my favor. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” I warned, as I took an uncertain step inside her front hall. “This changes nothing, Molloy.”

Looking wary and mistrustful, my classmate shuffled towards the kitchen table and slowly pulled out a chair. “I mean it, Molloy. This doesn’t mean we’re friends.” “Yeah, yeah,” I drawled, humored by his pathetic attempt to shield himself from my irresistible charm. “Whatever you say, Joey Lynch.”

“Thanks.” “You’re welcome,” I replied around a spoonful of cereal, feeling a swell of something strange in the pit of my stomach, as I watched him wolf down his bowl of cereal like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Mam’s out with a few of the girls tonight, and I don’t cook, so it’s the best I can come up with.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” He gave me a hard look. “You don’t pick favorites, Molloy.” “Bullshit,” I laughed. “Everyone has a favorite. That doesn’t mean that you love any of them more or less than the other. It only means that you’re more compatible with one and prefer their company.” He thought about it for a long moment before mumbling, “I suppose I’m closest to Shannon.” “Your sister?” He nodded. “Is she the one who’s ten?” Another nod. “She’ll be eleven next month.”

“Fine.” I smiled sweetly back at him, knowing that a person caught more flies with honey, and said, “You have nice eyes.” “Nice eyes.” “Uh-huh.” Reaching for the cereal box, I refilled his bowl and then added some more to mine. “You said stop asking questions, so I’m paying you a compliment instead.” “Why?” “Why not?” “Why, though?” “Because it’s nice to be nice, Joey.” “You are a really weird fucking girl,” he grumbled, looking thrown off kilter, before begrudgingly adding, “With nice legs.” I grinned back at him. “Thank you.” He eyed me in disbelief. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m pissed with Paul for talking about me.” “Oh.” Setting his spoon in his empty bowl, Joey leaned back in his chair and gave me a hard look. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he won’t be talking about you again.” “Because you set him straight, right?” I joked. Joey didn’t laugh. “Oh my god.” Awareness crashed down on me. “You set him straight, didn’t you?” I whispered, feeling my heart rate spike, as I thought back to their fight the other day. “That’s why you hit him, isn’t it?” “Someone had to.” “And that someone was you, right?” He shrugged. My heart leapt. “Joe…”

"You can cry, Joey," Mam whispered, fingers curling around my skinny arm. Her touch was soft and warm and the feel of her made something twist inside of my stomach. "It's okay to feel, baby." Nope. She was wrong. Again.

He stared up at me, all big eyes and cuteness, and I frowned. "Don’t look at me like that," I warned. Like I can keep you safe. "And don’t piss on me either." "You'll make a great father in years to come," Mam said with a tremble in her voice. "I'd rather die," was all I replied...

Hoping my thoughts could fuel my anger and my anger could help me flip the switch and not care anymore. Because caring was killing me, and I honestly didn’t think I could hold on much longer. “What do you want from me, Mam?” I heard myself ask, tone hoarse, heart cut to shreds.

“He’s going to kill you, Mam,” I choked out. “Don’t you get that? Can’t you hear me? You’re going to die in this house. If you don’t get away from him, you’re going to die here. I can feel it in my bones…“ my voice cracked, and I choked back a sob, unwilling to shed tears. “Don’t you love yourself? Don’t you love me?” “Of course I do,” she sobbed softly, reaching across the table to place her small hand on my torn knuckles. “I love my children so much.” ‘I love my children’, not ‘I love you, Joey’. Typical.

“It does. Tell me what you meant. I’m just like what, Mam?” Shaking from head to toe, I strangled out, “Him? Is that what you were going to say? I remind you of him?” Please say no. Please say no. Please say no. “Yes,” she confirmed with a pained expression on her face. “You remind me of your father.”

“But I love you.” “Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes to the heavens. “Get a handle on yourself. We’ve only been going out for a few weeks.” There was a long pause before the sound of soft laughter filled my ear. “Too far?” “Just a tad,” I shot back, grinning. “I love you,” I mimicked his earlier declaration. “You big sap. What if I was one of those girls who actually believe the crap boys tell them?” “Then I might be one step closer to getting my hand back in your knickers?” he asked hopefully.

And just like that, his head turned in our direction; green eyes meeting mine. And just like every time I felt his eyes on me, my heart, the traitorous bitch, thundered violently in my chest.

“My friend thinks you’re dangerous,” I told him with a smile. “She thinks I need to steer clear of you.” Tilting my head to one side, I added, “She’s thinks that messing around with boys like you will get a girl like me hurt.” “Wise friend,” he replied coolly. “You should listen to her.” “That’s the thing about me, Joe,” I pushed back and said, “I don’t like being told what to do.” I watched him watch me, his gaze trailing down my body. When his eyes locked on mine, I swear I saw something shift inside of him. “Then I guess we have something in common after all.”

“Is that so?” Smirking, he took another step closer and I found myself backing up with every step he took, until my back hit against my garden wall. Resting a hand on the wall next to me, he leaned in close. “You think I like you, Molloy?” “I know you do,” I breathed, heart galloping recklessly in my chest. Reaching down with his free hand, he tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear and whispered, “You think I want you?” The air left my lungs in an audible whoosh, and I knew that I was standing in the face of danger. This boy possessed all of the terrible traits that mothers warned their daughters about. Trouble. It should have been his middle name.

"You lied for me." Joey’s tone was cold and full of unspoken accusation. "You covered for me." "Yeah." My heart hammered against my chest bone, as if it was trying to beat its way out of my body and join forces with his. "I did." "Why?" His green eyes were laced with a mixture of heat, annoyance, and reluctant curiosity. "What do you want from me?" "I'm not sure yet."

“Now, you get it.” Backing away slowly, he locked eyes on me and said, “That’s why, Molloy.” “That’s what?” I called after him. “That’s why you don’t like me?” “No,” he called over his shoulder, as he walked away from me. “That’s why you shouldn’t want me to.” And then he was gone.

“Jesus.” I released a frustrated growl. “The fuck are you doing with a tool like him, Molloy?” “Will you walk me home or not?” No. No. Fucking no. She’s not your problem, lad. Just walk away. “Give me ten minutes to shower and get changed,” I heard myself mutter, mentally kicking myself in the balls. Her eyes flashed with relief. “Thanks, Joey.”

“What’s it to you?” I demanded. “Nothing,” he hissed, tone laced with venom. “It’s nothing to me, Molloy.” Yes, it was. It was everything to him, just like it was everything to me, but he was too damn stubborn to ever admit it.

“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Keep it up, Joe, and I’m going to start thinking that you have actual feelings.” “I do,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “For the people I actually care about.” “Like your sister.” “Like my sister,” he confirmed without a hint of embarrassment, which wasn’t something most guys our age would admit. “Although Shan’s not thick enough to fall in with a prick like Rice.”

“You asshole.” “Me?” “Yes you!” “How am I the asshole?” “Because you hurt my feelings.” “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did, Joey!” “Fine,” he growled. “I’m an asshole. Now let’s go.” I shook my head. “Molloy.” “I am not a mannequin!” “Fine.” Joey shook his head. “I take it back. You’re not a mannequin.” “That was really mean.” He stared at me for a long time before finally blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I know.” “Apologize.” “For what?” “For calling me a mannequin.” “I just said you’re not a mannequin.” “That wasn’t an apology.” “Yeah, it was.” I gaped at him. “No, it wasn’t, Joey.” “How was that not an apology?” “Because it didn’t contain the word sorry, asshole.” Looking thoroughly confused – and thoroughly fed up – my classmate released a furious growl. “Let’s just walk, okay? Just move your legs, Molloy. Please.”

“Haven’t you ever apologized to someone?” I asked, morbidly curious now. “I just did.” “Oh my god.” I studied his side profile. “You haven’t.” With a deep frown etched on his face, Joey concentrated on the road ahead of us, but didn’t respond. We walked in silence for the rest of the way, and it wasn’t until we turned the corner of my street that I heard him mutter the words, “I’m sorry.” “Wow.” My heart fluttered around in my chest. “Is that your first time saying that word to anyone?” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Probably.”

“I’m not your friend, Molloy.” Releasing a frustrated growl, I caught ahold of his hand and dragged him into my house. “Well, I’m yours, asshole.” Closing the door behind us, I reached up and pushed his hood down. “See; that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Joey gaped at me. “You think I’m going to cook for you?” “For us,” I corrected, giving him my sweetest smile. “Don’t do that,” he warned. “Do what?” “Give me that butter wouldn’t melt smile,” he growled, pointing a finger at me. “It won’t work on me, Molloy. I’m immune.” Of course it was going to work. “I love steak.” “Steak?”

“I have two steaks.” He eyed me for a long moment, clearly weighing up his options, before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Get the frying pan.” “Yay.” Clapping my hands in delight, I did a little shimmy dance before bouncing off in the direction of the cupboard where Mam kept the pots and pans. “I like my meat well done.” “You’ll take your meat whatever way I give it to you,” Joey grumbled, rummaging in my fridge for what he needed. “This doesn’t mean anything, Molloy,” he added. “You didn’t win this round.” I threw my head back and laughed. “I always win, Joe.”

Not only had I cooked for the girl, but she had somehow wrangled me into bringing in buckets of coal and slack, and lighting the fire for her, too. Persuasion was certainly a skill that Molloy had honed to perfection. Knowing that I shouldn’t be here, but not wanting to eat and run like a prick, I decided on half an hour being a reasonable amount to time to linger. “Right.” When the thirty minutes was up, I set my plate down on the arm of the couch and slapped my thighs. “I’m going home.” “No, you’re not,” she grumbled, hooking her arm through mine. “Molloy.” “No.” Shifting closer, she rested her cheek on my shoulder and returned her attention to the film playing on the television. “Now shush.”

“We’re not friends, Molloy. And stop snuggling me.” “Friends snuggle.” “Friends do not fucking snuggle.” “I snuggle with Casey all the time.” “Well, I can assure you that I have never snuggled with Podge.” “Then you can practice with me.” Shifting closer, she curled up in a small ball, and burrowed her head under my arm. “See. You’re already a pro.” “Okay, how is this normal?” I demanded, glaring at my arm that she had somehow managed to drape over her shoulders. “You’re a real slick mover, aren’t ya?” “Just chill, Joe,” she coaxed, resting her head against my chest now, as she draped her arm over my stomach. “Watch the film.” “I don’t watch films.” “Yes, you do.” “No, I don’t.” “Well, you do now.” “Fine.”

“Listen here, Joey Lynch.” Sitting upright, she grabbed my chin and turned my face to look straight at her. “I saw you first. You’re my friend, not his. So, stop worrying about my dad, and start focusing on me.” “Technically, your dad saw me first—“ “You’re mine, okay?” “I’m not yours, but whatever.” Huffing out a breath, I attempted to fold my arms across my chest, only for Molloy to loudly clear her throat expectantly.

“Snuggle me.” “No.” “Do it.” “It’s not happening, Molloy.” “Snuggle me, Joey.” “I said no.” “Snuggle me or I’ll scream.” “For fuck’s sake, fine,” I snapped, lifting my arm up for her to nestle into my side. “There. We’re snuggling. Are you happy now?”

“Tell me that we’re friends.” “Molloy.” “Say it, Joe.” “Why?” “Because it matters.” “To who?” “To me.” Jesus Christ. Shifting uncomfortably, I let my shoulders sag before mumbling, “We’re friends.” “What was that?” “We’re friends.” She laughed. “I was hoping for something more along the lines of ‘Aoife, you’re my dearest, sexiest, most lovable, bestest friend in the whole wide world’.” “Don’t push your luck.” “But I’m your favorite, right?” With a teasing lilt to her voice, she said, “Your favorite friend?” “Yes, fine! Whatever. Christ,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “You’re my favorite friend, with my favorite legs.”

“Well, now see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she laughed, reaching up to pat my cheek. “And just so you know, Joe?” She leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re my favorite friend, with my favorite everything.” Well shit.

“Come on, lad,” Eddie interjected, grabbing ahold of the back of my neck with his beefy hand, and steering me towards the door. “You need to cool down.” “Don’t do that,” I snarled, breaking free from his hold, chest heaving now, as my skin crawled from the touch – from the surge of memories that came with a touch like that. “Don’t ever fucking touch me like that again!” I warned, trembling, as I reached up and cupped the back of my neck. “Ever again.” “It’s all good, Lynch,” Eddie replied calmly, holding his hands up in retreat.

“Is she your friend, Joe?” Ollie asked, looking back to me. “She’s pretty.” “I sure am his friend, Ollie. And aren’t you just adorable to call me pretty.” Her gaze flicked to me, and she winked. “Joey thinks I’m pretty, too.” “Pretty fucking annoying,” I muttered under my breath.

I knew I had no right to feel any type of way about it, but that didn’t stop me from feeling every type of way about it. The hell was she doing with a fella like Paul Rice? He was too boring for her and had a shit right hook. She needed excitement and to be challenged. It was written all over her face. She waited for you, remember? He wasn’t her first choice. Pretending that it didn’t hurt me to see her with him was something that I had no choice but to master. So, like I did every other time she came into the garage, flaunting her fantastic fucking boyfriend, I handled the knife in the gut sensation like a trooper, and went about my business.

Heart bucking wilder than necessary, given the fact that it was only the boy’s eyes that were on me, and not his hands, I reached up and brushed my thumb over his swollen bottom lip, addicted to tormenting him. “What’s that on your mouth, Joe; drool?” “Don’t do that.” His green eyes darkened. “Not here.” “Don’t do what?” Tone heavily laced with sarcasm, I traced his bottom lip with my thumb and grinned. “This?” “Play your games when your father is across the landing.” “Why not?” I teased, hell bent on playing games.

“I indulge you by playing your little games, but don’t push your luck.” “My luck?” I breathed, heart racing violently, as I watched him watch me. “Your luck,” he confirmed. “There’s only so far you can push me.” I could do nothing but stare at his face and resist the urge to slap it – or kiss it. I wasn’t sure which. “I’m not Ricey. I won’t kiss your cheek and hold your hand,” he added, tone heated. “You keep goading me into touching you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” His pupils dilated and my heart hammered recklessly against my ribcage.

Sighing, I asked, “Why do you put up with it, Mam?” “I love him,” she replied. “I have invested more than twenty years of my life into the man and had my children with him. And believe it or not, he loves me, too.” “Then maybe he needs to love you better,” I told her.

“He cheated on you?” she demanded, immediately catching my drift. “Then what are you doing with him?” “Ha!” I folded my arms across my chest. “Pot, meet kettle.”