Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

Hughie nodded and turned his attention to Gibsie. “Let’s go, Rocky Balboa,” he said brightly. “Before you get us all thrown in the barrack for the night.” “He asked for it,” Gibsie slurred. “Piece of shit.” “I know, lad,” Hughie coaxed. “Come on.” Wrapping his body around Gibsie’s, he forcefully walked him backwards out of the bar. “You coming, Johnny?” Katie asked, glancing nervously between Cormac and me. “I’ll be grand,” I told her and turned my attention on Cormac. “Are you sure?” Katie persisted. “You should come with us—” “Go ahead, Katie,” I ordered, swinging around to catch her eye. “I’ll make my own way home.” “If you’re sure.” “I am.” I waited until Katie had followed Hughie and Gibsie out of the bar before turning my attention back to Cormac. “You want to talk to me?” I snarled, gesturing toward the door. “Then let’s go.”

If he thought I was going to throw my career away for a punch-up over Bella, he was seriously mistaken. Shannon—absolutely, but Bella? Not a chance.

“Don’t feed me that I-didn’t-mean-for-it-to-happen line. I’ve had sex, Cormac, many times, and we both know that when you put your dick inside a girl, you always fucking mean it. It doesn’t just slip in unannounced to ya.” “You’re right,” he admitted after a long pause. “Shit, lad, you’re right.” “I know I am,” I replied, tone clipped.

“I am better than you,” I snapped, frustrated that he wasn’t listening to me. “If you want to be on my level, then step it up on the pitch. Work harder. Train harder. Be fucking better. And open your goddamn eyes to danger. Because that so-called girlfriend of yours will bleed you dry, lad.” “She is my girlfriend,” he snarled. “So don’t talk about her like that.” God, give me strength… “Fine.” I threw my hands up. “Keep your girlfriend away from mine and we’ll be rosy.” “You don’t have a girlfriend,” he replied slowly, expression laced with confusion. “Me,” I corrected, flustered at the word spill. “Keep her away from me and we won’t have a problem.”

“And Bella?” Cormac asked after a long pause. “Are you going to cause problems with her?” “Because you’re with her? No,” I told him. “If she fucks with Shannon? Absolutely.” “Shannon?” “Yes, Shannon,” I bit out, tone harsh now. Cormac stared blankly. “Who’s Shannon?” “Shannon is the reason you’re going to end up with a broken jaw.” “The hell?” “Bella was threatening to go after her,” I snarled. “If that happens, I will fuck you up.” He blanched. “Why me?” “Can’t hit a girl, which means I’ll be coming for the next best thing,” I explained. “So, bear in mind that every single time your Bella decides to make a threat, spread a nasty rumor, or fuck with my Shannon, I’ll return the favor on your face. Every single goddamn time.”

“Where are we heading?” Straight to your house because I wanna fuck your sister, I thought to myself. I smirked at the fabulous notion, and then hunted the crazy thought away with a shake of my head. Probably love her, too, I mused to myself, a fucking lot, before pushing that madness out as well. Cop yourself on, asshole!

“What the fuck?” Joey barked seconds before two hands slammed down on the hood of his car. “Get off my car, asshole!” “You’re stealing my center,” Gibsie roared in the window as he leaned over the hood of the car. “Give him back.” His eyes darted from Joey to me, recognition sparking. “Hey, Cap.” He grinned, head lolling to one side. “How’s it going? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” “And this clown is?” Joey asked, tone derisive, attention locked on Gibsie who was having a one-way conversation with me through the windscreen of his car. “He’s my flanker,” I grumbled before turning my attention back to the man-child hugging the bonnet. “Gibs! What the fuck are you doing, lad!” I barked, glaring out the windscreen. “You’re supposed to be gone home with Hughie.”

Finally, he managed to drag his ass over to the other side of the seat. “Christ,” he mused, settling down alongside me. “That’s the tightest hole I’ve been inside in months.” Joey climbed back in and started the engine before quickly tearing off down the street. “I hope there’s not any more of you,” he said. “The car’s weighing down at the back.” “Sorry,” I began to say but was cut off by Gibsie. “It’s his fault—the fat bastard,” he announced. Turning to face me, he added, “Hey, is your dick okay, man? I’m really sorry about that. I hope I didn’t squash your balls.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Go fuck yourself, Gerard.” “I was being sincere, Jonathan,” he shot back, wounded. “For that, you can get your own bloody ice tonight… Hold up!” Grabbing the front of my shirt, he dragged me toward him and sniffed my mouth. “You traitor!” he choked out, looking comically horrified. “You went to the chipper!” “Yeah, I did,” I replied, shoving away from him. “And it was fucking delicious, and I have no regrets.” “What did you have?” “A few cheeseburgers and a curry chips.” “How did it taste?” “Better than sex.” “We’re supposed to be on a diet!” Gibsie hissed in an appalled tone before quickly asking, “Did you get me something?” “Yeah, I got you a burger.” “Thanks, Johnny.” “And then I got hungry so I ate it.” “You’re a monster.” “You two are so weird,” Aoife laughed. “Aren’t they funny, Joey?” “They’re something, alright,” Shannon’s brother replied. “Hey.” Suddenly realizing he was in ...

“Drop him down in here,” I instructed, gesturing to the living room. “You sure?” Joey asked, flicking on the light. “That couch is white, man.” “It’s leather,” I muttered, too tired and sore to worry about my mother’s three-piece suite. Shuffling over to the couch, we tossed Gibsie down. “If he pukes, he’ll be hosing it down by himself in the morning.” “Fair enough,” Joey replied with a shrug before turning around and heading for the door.

“Ciara Maloney’s boyfriend,” Joey filled in, giving me an odd look. “Some fella from Tommen beat the shit out of him in town yesterday.” “Oh?” I arched a brow and folded my arms across my chest. “Is that so?” Joey smirked. “Yeah, it is.” “Well, I hope he fucked him up,” I slurred, feeling my body thrum with anger at the memory of those nasty fucking girls. “Heard his girlfriend’s a bitch.” “I heard he was in a bad way,” Joey replied. “Broken nose. A few stitches.” “How awful,” I drawled. Joey stared at me for another long pause before shaking his head. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate that my sister has someone looking out for her. When I can’t.” He turned to leave, only to spin back around. “Friend.” His word held a bite to it. “My sister needs a friend, Kavanagh,” he clarified. “She doesn’t need to be getting her hopes up on a guy who’ll be gone come the summer.”

Without another word, Joey turned around and walked away, leaving me standing in the doorway, staring after him with only two things on my mind. The first: finding an ice pack for my balls. The second: fantasizing about all the terribly inappropriate things I longed to do with his sister.

“Gibsie,” I confirmed quietly, thinking about how those two were joined at the hip at school. “That’s the one.” Joey nodded, then released a low chuckle. “Bloody eejit threw himself on top of the car, demanding I give him back his center.” Laughing, he added, “He looked serious, too. Like he genuinely thought I was kidnapping Kavanagh.” My brows furrowed. “Why did Gibsie call Johnny his center?” “Johnny’s position is outside center in rugby,” he explained. “He’s number thirteen.” Oh, yeah, I knew that. I remembered his jersey. “So, you dropped them both home?” I asked, feeling warm. “To Johnny’s house?” “Yep,” my brother confirmed. “Had to help Kavanagh carry that Gibsie fella into the house. He was legless, Shan. A right bloody mess. We left him in the living room.” “You were inside Johnny’s house

“Whoever’s calling this number is listed as King Clit.” My brother threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not funny,” I admonished, watching the screen go blank again as the call ended. “That’s pretty disturbing.” “It’s yer man—the Gibsie fella. I heard Johnny ranting at him over changing his contacts around last night.” Joey chuckled. “He’s King Clit

“Joey, we can’t go over there,” I pleaded. “Please.” “Shannon Lynch,” Joey said in a teasing tone. “Are you blushing?” “No,” I grumbled. “You know it’s okay by me if you like him, don’t you?” Joey chuckled. “I’m not that kind of brother. All I want you to do is be careful. I’ve told you what he’s about. He’ll be gone in the summer so it’s up to you if you want to get hung up on something temporary.” “I don’t,” I lied, mortified. “So drop it.” “Fair enough,” Joey mused. “Then you should have no problem stopping over for some grub.”

Holy crap. My brother just walked into Johnny Kavanagh’s house.

“At least Sook doesn’t puke all over herself in her sleep and roll it into my ma’s couch.” “You promised you wouldn’t bring it up again,” he choked out, looking wounded. “Promise breaker.” “Gibs,” I bit out, striving for patience. “I’m tired. I was up all night taking care of your drunk ass. I spent half the night turning you on your side so you didn’t choke yourself, and winding you like a bleeding baby, and the other half I spent mopping up your vomit. You wrecked the living room. You plastered the downstairs bathroom in puke. You almost smothered me to death with your Guinness farts when I brought you up here. Give me a few hours to get over it first before asking me not to bring it up.” “Well, at least I hosed off all the chunks,” Gibsie replied sheepishly. “And the living room, hall, and bathroom are back to their former glory.” “Good,” I barked. “So, you should. It’s your fucking puke.” “You made me sleep on the floor, Johnny!” he huffed. “That was mean.” “Because you can’t be trusted with nice things.” “Not even a bed?” “Yes, Gerard, not even a bed.” “Yeah, well, I’m your best friend and you put me on the floor,” he shot back with a huff. “The dog gets the foot of your bed and I get the fucking floor.” I arched a brow. “Are you saying that you want to sleep at the foot of my bed?” Gibsie stared back at me for several seconds before snickering. “Yeah, okay, I have no idea where I was going with that.” “Neither do I, lad,” I muttered with a shake of my head. “Neither ...

“Did I ever tell you about the time your girl saved me from Brian?” Gibsie asked while he cracked an egg over the pan, distracting me from my thoughts. “Brian?” I questioned, thinking about Mrs. Gibson’s evil bastard of a cat. “Shannon saved you from Brian?” “She sure did,” he mused. Grabbing a spatula off the rack, he swung it around in his hand as he spoke. “I love how you don’t even deny she’s yours anymore, lad.” “Fuck off,” I grumbled. Curiosity got the better of me then, and I perched my ass on a stool at the island and looked at him. “Tell me.” Gibsie chuckled at my response. “It was the day of my birthday last month,” he explained, tossing half a dozen sausages into the sizzling grease. “I’d taken Brian for a walk over to Hughie’s. You know how he gets when he’s left alone too long.” “Yeah.” I nodded, not batting an eyelid at this information. There had been at least nine occasions over the last eighteen months when he had arrived at my house with the Inspector Gadget look-alike cat. “He lost it, lad,” he said. “Went batshit crazy. Broke off his lead and made for the bathroom. Took a dump in the tub.” “Like his owner,” I quipped. “My mother has never taken a shit in anyone’s bathtub,” Gibsie snarled. “Not your ma,” I retorted. “You.” Gibsie frowned and tilted his head to the side, clearly racking his brain for the memory. I decided to help him out. “Away game against that school in Tipperary back in third year?” Recognition dawned on his features. “Oh, yeah,” he sn...

“Yeah, well, King Clit was very persuasive,” he shot back with a smirk. Turning his gaze on Gibsie, he arched an expectant brow. “How’s my food coming along, chef?” “Faster than a whore at a brothel, good sir,” Gibsie called back over his shoulder. “Egg?” “Lad,” Joey mused, sauntering over to where Gibsie was ducking and dodging splatters of grease. “Are you old enough to use the cooker without your mammy?” Christ, this fella had some pair of stones sauntering into my house and demanding food. Oddly enough, I liked it. Joey Lynch seemed like a straight shooter. I respected that in a person. “I doubt it,” Gibsie replied with a laugh. “It’s my first time.” Gibsie fiddled with the knobs on the stove and a huge flame flew upward, singeing his eyebrow. “Jesus Christ!” Gibsie roared, slapping his face. “I’m on fire.” “Give me that thing before you hurt yourself,” Joey ordered, snatching the spatula out of Gibsie’s hand, and stepping in to flip over the rashers and eggs. Adjusting the hob to medium heat, Joey snagged the tea towel off my best friend’s shoulder and began to mop up the grease splatters. “Fucking private-school boys,” he muttered under his breath. “Used to having everything done for ye.” “Shit, Kav,” Gibsie snickered, taking a step back from the stove. “I was wrong. This fucker right here is the daddy.”

“Do me a favor, Kav,” Joey called over his shoulder. “Go and check on my sister, will ya?” My heart leaped in my chest. “Shannon?” Joey nodded and reached for a plate off the countertop. Shoveling several pieces of bacon onto the plate, he added, “She’s out in the car.” “Why would you leave her in the car?” I demanded, tone tight. “It’s freezing outside.” “Because she wouldn’t come in for me,” Joey shot back in what sounded like a duh tone. “You can try and get her to come inside yourself if you want, but she’s not budging.” He didn’t need to ask me twice. Or give me permission once, for that matter. I was already on my feet and moving for the front door.

“Um, okay,” I whispered uncertainly. “If you’re sure that you’re sure?” “I’m sure that I’m sure,” Johnny quipped. “Come on.”

“You cooked one egg, Gibs, under my supervision,” Joey, who was sitting on a stool at the center island, piped up. “You’re no Darina Allen.” “Thank fuck for that, Lynchy.” With the frying pan in his hand, Gibsie walked over to where my brother was sitting and slapped an egg onto his plate. “I like my man parts.” Reaching across the counter, Joey retrieved the tea-cozy-covered teapot and poured two cups of tea before swinging the pot in our direction. “Shan, Kavs, tea?” Gibs? Lynchy? Kavs? This was typical Joey—sparking up a friendship as easily as he could snap his fingers.

“Huh,” my brother bit out. “Funny how my sister always seems to get mauled and knocked around when you’re near her, Kavanagh.”

“You guys can’t go home yet. We haven’t had tea and chats,” Gibsie piped up. “And I have scones baking in the oven.” “You baked scones?” I asked, momentarily distracted. “You?” “Yes, me,” Gibsie shot back, looking slightly wounded. “I’ll have you know that I’m a wonderful baker.” “Sorry,” I quickly replied, not wanting to offend him. “You just don’t strike me as a baker.” “Relax, I’m totally fucking with you,” he laughed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He pointed to the stove and said, “For all I know, those scones could be killers.” “Killer scones?” I scrunched my nose up at the concept. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I pass.” Gibsie chuckled. “I like you.” He looked over my head and said, “I like her,”

“Johnny, she can take a shower here, can’t she?” My eyes bulged. “What?” “Uh, yeah, I guess,” Johnny, who was still standing behind me, replied slowly. “If she wants?” Joey, who had returned to his perch at the island, nodded his head. “Good idea, Gibs,” he agreed between forkfuls of egg and sausage. “Wash that wet dog smell off ya before we have to drive home in small confines.” “I don’t smell,” I muttered. “You stink,” both Gibsie and Joey said in unison. “Fuck off the pair of you and leave her alone,” Johnny piped up, sounding aggravated. “She doesn’t smell bad at all.” “You don’t smell it because you’re immune,” Gibsie retorted. Turning to Joey, he said, “He lets the mutt sleep on his bed every night.” “Call my dog a mutt again and you’ll be wearing that frying pan,” Johnny warned. “My sincerest apologies, lad.” Gibsie threw his hands up in retreat. “I never meant to insult your precious pooch.” Ignoring the snickering and banter, I swung around and stared up at Johnny. “I’m so sorry about this.” His attention flickered from the boys to me and stayed there. “It’s okay, Shannon.” His voice was impassive, but his eyes were burning with something I was afraid to decipher because I had the distinct feeling that in this moment, my eyes mirrored his. “You can wash up in my bathroom.” “No, honestly, it’s okay.” My face was burning with embarrassment. “I don’t have to shower in your house.” “Ah, yeah you fucking do,” Joey called out. “I meant it when I said you’re not getting ...

“Now,” I said when we were alone, eyes locked on Joey. “Who the fuck is putting their hands on your sister?” Joey’s brows shot up. “Yeah, you heard me,” I growled. “I found her on her hands and knees at school on Friday, throwing her guts up.” I ran a hand through my hair, furious and beyond agitated. “Something’s happening to her and I want to know what it is.” “Why?” “Because I want to fix it.” “Why?” “Because no one should be putting their goddamn anything on her,” I barked. “What did she tell you?” he asked calmly. “That she fell over Legos,” I bit out. Fell over Legos, my ass. Fell into a fist was more like it. Joey studied me with sharp green eyes for the longest moment before nodding. “If Shannon says that’s what happened, then that’s what happened.” “No…no! Don’t give me that shit,” I hissed, frustrated. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her with marks.” I distinctly remembered a red mark on her face a couple of weeks ago and that mark on the back of her neck on Friday. “What’s happening to her?” Joey leaned back on his stool, eyeing me with a superior fucking expression I hated. He knew something I didn’t, and it was driving me insane. Yeah, I wasn’t sure I liked Joey the hurler that much anymore. “Who is hurting your sister?” I repeated. He needed to give me something before I jumped to conclusions and kicked his ass. “Is it those pricks from your school?” Did they get her for what I did at the bar on Friday? “Was it them?” I demanded. “Those girls?” Joey rema...

Johnny’s penis has touched these things. And now your vagina has. You’re practically having sex with him!

I was folding the last T-shirt on Johnny’s bed when I noticed something sticking out from under his bed. Something that looked just like me. Bending down, I retrieved the newspaper with shaky hands and just stared at the picture of us. He kept it. In his room. Under his bed. My heart leaped against my chest. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a nice picture. That’s all. Don’t read into this. I was completely absorbed in my thoughts when a low groaning noise came from somewhere close by. Dropping the newspaper on the floor, I remained completely still and listened carefully. A few seconds later, the groaning noise came again. From the bed!

“Shannon.” Johnny’s hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist. “I don’t want you to go,” he said gruffly, tugging me back down beside him. “I want you here.” He rested a hand on the bed right behind my back and leaned close. “I want you to stay with me.”

“I’m going to hug you,” Johnny whispered in my ear. “Tell me if that’s not okay.” Sniffling, I turned inward and buried my face in his side, answering his question with actions. Johnny’s arms came around me, pulling me close, and I clutched his shirt in my hand, fisting the fabric tightly as sobs racked my body. “I’m here for you,” he told me, voice gruff and thick as his hand moved in slow circles over my back. “If you need someone to talk to”—he pulled me closer—“I’m right here.” I couldn’t stop crying and I wasn’t sure if it was the fear of facing my father pushing me over the edge, or my mother’s miscarriage, or the emotions building up inside of me because of this boy whose arms I was currently in. Unable to get a handle on myself, and desperately seeking the comfort and safety that oozed from him in waves, I did something incredibly reckless. I crawled onto his lap. Johnny’s entire frame tensed, and his hands fell away from my body, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. With my knees on either side of his thighs, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck. “What do you want me to do, Shannon?” Johnny strangled out. “Tell me what to do here.” “Hold me,” I sobbed, burying my face in his neck. “Don’t let go.” “Okay.” One of his large hands cupped the back of my head and the other moved to my back as he held me to his chest, slowly rocking me on his lap. “I won’t,” he whispered, folding me up in his arms. Trembling, I clung to his body and prayed for him to be ...

“I, uh…” I shrugged helplessly and gestured at my bare legs, covered only at the thighs by his boxer shorts. “I couldn’t keep your pants up.” His lips twitched in amusement. “No?” I shook my head, cheeks burning. “I’m too small.” “That’s okay,” he replied gruffly. “I like it.” “You like it?” “I mean I—” He shook his head and exhaled a sigh. “I mean I don’t mind.” “Will your parents mind?” I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously. “I mean, they won’t think…” “No,” Johnny replied but he sounded distracted. “Are you sure?” His gaze roamed over me, making my skin flood with heat. “No, it’s, uh, good.” My brows shot up. “Good?” He blushed, causing me to blush a much deeper shade of red. Oh god… “It’s just us,” he added with a cough. “Ma won’t be back until the morning.” “Oh, okay.”

“There was,” he explained, walking over to me. He placed a box of Cheerios and a pint of milk on the island. “But Gibsie has a habit of breaking everything he touches.” Without a hint of warning, Johnny grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the stool. “He likes to pretend he’s a rocket taking off,”

“Fucker broke all six stools within a week of my ma buying them.” He set the spoons and bowls down on the island and smirked at me. “They’re all stuck on full height.” I arched a brow. “Are you mocking me?” Johnny grinned. “I would never.”

“You can stop talking about it now,” I whispered, pushing my bowl away. “You’re right,” he groaned, dropping his spoon back into his bowl. “You don’t need to be listening to this. You’re only fifteen, for Christ’s sake.” He shook his head. “The fuck am I thinking talking about this kind of shite with you?” “I’m sixteen,” I informed him. “And I’m not a child.” Johnny’s head snapped toward me, expression wary. “You’re fifteen.” “No, I’m not,” I corrected. “I’m sixteen.” Johnny frowned. “Since when?” “Since today,” I replied. Johnny gaped at me. “It’s your birthday?” I shrugged. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “I don’t know.” I shrugged again. “Slipped my mind?” “Shannon, come on.” “Because it isn’t a big deal,” I hurried to dismiss. “It’s just another day.” A bad day. A terrible day. Brightened only because I’m with you… “No, Shannon,” Johnny argued, looking like he was at a complete loss. “It is a big deal.” “Johnny, today’s my birthday,” I reeled off, embarrassed. “There you go.” “I wish I’d known earlier,” he grumbled. “I would have bought you a present.” “I don’t need a present,” I strangled out, heart fluttering. “Don’t be silly.” Johnny shook his head and muttered, “Yeah, well, if you told me, I could have given you something better than a bowl of bleeding Cheerios.” “And a toasted sandwich,” I offered weakly. Johnny sighed heavily. “And a toasted sandwich.” “Shouldn’t they be ready by now?” I asked. “Shite!” Shoving his stool back, Johnny hurried over to the sandwich m...

“I’m going to be there one day,” Johnny stated, tilting his head in the direction of the telly. “One of these days that’s going to be me, Shannon.” “I know,” I replied, believing every word. Biting down on my lip, I turned to face him and said, “Don’t forget about me when you’re a rich and famous rugby player.” “You never know,” he said with a smirk. “I might take you with me so you can cheer me on in the stands.” Please do. Please take me away with you. “You’re very sure of yourself,” I said instead. “You can wear my number and shout, ‘Johnny, Johnny,’ from the stands.” He chuckled before settling back down to watch the game. Don’t tempt me…

After the third time he did it, I pulled the cushion out of his way when he sat back down and held it to my chest. By the end of the match, our shoulders were touching. I didn’t move away. He was big and solid and warm and I liked the feel of him beside me. A little while later, when my eyes began to droop, he lifted his arm, and I didn’t even flinch when it came down around my shoulder. Instead, I nestled my cheek against his side and closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift off to sleep without an ounce of fear in my heart because it couldn’t exist inside of me, not when this boy had his arm around me.

It was her birthday. Today was Shannon’s sixteenth birthday. And she was spending it with me. I was glad. How crazy was that? This girl who before Christmas was a total stranger, and since Christmas, I couldn’t imagine going through a day not thinking about. I didn’t want to give her back. Something inside of me told me that if I did, she would return with another bruise. At least if I kept her with me, she would be safe. There was something very fucked up about her life. Something that made me want to snatch her away and take her with me, wherever that may be. I wasn’t stupid. I knew someone had put those marks on her face. And her thighs. And her arms. And I was fairly fucking sure that if I stripped the girl bare, I would find plenty more. I didn’t know what was happening, or who was bullying her, but I would figure it out. Straight out asking her was out of the question, though. She was so goddamned guarded that it was almost impossible to penetrate the walls she built up around herself.

She was lovely. Fucking lovely. She didn’t need to be hiding any of her shine behind those bleeding shutters. Shannon shivered then and the movement distracted me. It was gone ten at night and she hadn’t opened her eyes once since falling asleep earlier this afternoon. “Shh,” I whispered when she whimpered in her sleep. I didn’t even try to stop myself from stroking her hair. I was beyond help when it came to her. I was beyond fucking stopping. Everything inside of me was shifting, honing in on this tiny girl.

I stared at the mark on her face until I was sufficiently filled with enough anger to take down an entire village, and then I turned my attention to the bruises on her thighs.

Stay. Stay with me, Shannon. I can keep you safe…

Go back. Turn the car around and go back to him. Go back to Johnny. Tell him. Tell him and let him help you. He told you he would. No, you idiot, he can’t help you. No one can. Your own brother’s giving up on you!

“If you want to go, then go!” I screamed as hot tears poured down my cheeks. “Go off and leave us. Go be with Aoife and have a wonderful life together. I’ll protect the boys.” “You can’t even protect yourself!” Joey roared. “I’m doing that, Shannon. Me. I’m the one trying to soften the fucking blows and they just keep coming. “Then maybe you and Dad will both get lucky and he’ll finish me off the next time,” I hissed as a huge sob racked through me. “It’ll save you the worry, and him the energy.” “Don’t fucking say that, Shannon!” Joey bellowed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “Why not?” I strangled out between gasps. “It’s the truth.” “Shannon, breathe,” Joey commanded in a softer tone as he reached over and rubbed my back. “Take a breath.” I couldn’t. I could not fucking breathe. Leaning forward, I desperately tried to drag air into my lungs.

“Shannon?” Joey’s voice broke through my thoughts. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t respond, either. “Are you listening to me?” he asked. I nodded weakly, keeping my eyes trained on the car. “The next time he puts his hands on you, I want you to fight back.” I stiffened. “Are you listening to me?” I nodded. “If he touches you again, Shannon, then I want you to grab the sharpest knife you can, and I want you to plunge it into his heart.” Sniffling, I turned to look at him. “You’re not coming back, are you?” Joey just stared at me, eyes filled with tears. “I can’t,” he whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. “If I go back inside that house, I’ll kill them both.” I watched his face, registered the truth he was telling me, and then I unfastened my seat belt and opened the door. “Goodbye, Joey,” I whispered numbly, and then I climbed out and walked inside.

All night, I had tossed and turned over Shannon. All bleeding night, I laid awake with only my regrets to keep me company—and that bleeding picture from the paper. I should have stopped her. I shouldn’t have let him take her. Why, I had no bleeding clue, but there was a voice inside my head screaming at me to protect her. I wanted to. I just didn’t know what I needed to protect her from. Or who. I was completely fucking clueless, armed and ready to go to war for a girl I didn’t know, against an enemy no one would tell me about. Jesus, I was so fucked in the head from her. It was getting out of hand.

She was like a tornado I never saw coming. The one problem I didn’t foresee when making my plans. The one person who could fracture all my hard work. And the most nerve-racking thing about it all was that I liked it. I liked the fact that she was turning my life on its axis and encouraging never-seen-before notions and feelings inside of me, and then I hated that I liked it. I was thoroughly addicted to every single thing about the girl and it had nothing to do with the physical—and the physical was pretty fucking perfect. Most importantly, she didn’t look at me like I was a meal ticket. She looked right through all the bullshit. Seeing me. Seeing only me. And that made me want to move some shit around and place her slap-bang in the middle of my world. I knew I needed to get a fucking handle on myself. Except I couldn’t. Because she was addictive. And I was obsessed.

“You were right, Gibs,” I groaned. “I’m so screwed.” “I am?” His brows shot up in surprise. “About what?” Before I had a chance to respond, his eyes widened in comical awareness. “About you fucking yourself?” Or at least, it would have been comical if it wasn’t so fucking depressing. “Holy shit, Johnny. You haven’t or you can’t?” “I tried, I failed, I haven’t tried since, so now I’m fairly sure I can’t,” I decided to throw out there. There was no goddamn point in trying to evade the question. He wasn’t going to let it go, and I had bigger issues right now than my temperamental testosterone. “How long has it been?” “Before Christmas,” I quickly replied before saying, “but that’s not the problem here.” “Jesus, Kav, I’d say that’s a very big problem, lad.” Gibsie let out a low whistle. “Have you tried lube?” “What—no! Stop talking about my dick,” I barked, then ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “It’s her, man. You were right. I am completely fucked in the head, and I need you to stop me from doing something stupid with that girl.” “Which girl?” “Which girl do you think, asshole?” I snarled. “Shannon.” “Oh, that girl.” Gibsie chuckled. “The resurrectionator.” “Stop laughing. It’s not funny. I need your help,” I snapped, flustered. “And ‘resurrectionator’ is not a word.” “Yes, it is,” Gibsie challenged. “Jesus was resurrected. It was a resurrection performed by God, the ‘resurrectionator.’ Similar to Shannon, the ‘resurrectionator’ of your bollocks that day outside the P.E...

“Concentrate, Gibs,” I ordered. “I need your help here, man.” “I can’t,” he grumbled, brows set in a deep frown. “I know I’m right, Johnny. I go to mass every Sunday, you know.” “Good for you,” I mocked. “Maybe you should pray to Jesus for some common sense—” My words fell off my tongue when he stalked over to me and dragged my seat out of the way. “Dammit, Gibs!” I barked. “Where the hell are you going?” “To the library,” he shot back, yanking the door open. “You’re wrong. I’m googling it. And then I’m printing it off and posting it all over the fucking school,” he added as he sauntered out of the room. “Watch me resurrect the truth.” “Fine,” I muttered wearily. “Go for it.” Less than ten minutes later, Gibsie returned with a sheepish expression. “It’s not a word,” he announced, stalking back through the doorway. “I know,” I deadpanned. “Now that you have that worked out of your system, do you think you can you help me?” “I just don’t get it.” Gibsie groaned, plopping into the armchair across from mine. “How is it not a word?” “Gibsie, please!” “I just want the word, Johnny.” “Fine, it’s your word,” I agreed, exasperated. “You can have it. Fucking call the Oxford Dictionary and trademark the bleeding word for all I care. Just help me.” “Yeah, well, I might just do that,” Gibsie huffed, running a hand through his blond hair. “Right, tell me about your problem.” I exhaled a heavy sigh. “I like her.” “Okaaay,” he drawled. “Tell me what the problem is.” “That’s my problem,” I...

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.

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. 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

“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 him 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 afterward?” “And then I…” “You what, Shan?” “I went to the pub with hi...

Meanwhile, I couldn’t care less about what shaped ball he kicked around a field. Rugby was a sport. It was a game. It wasn’t all he was. It was just one part of him. The only part that mattered to these girls, apparently. It was disgusting, and I refused to join in on a conversation that reminded me heavily of the conversations I’d overhead girls have about Joey. “I guess.” I shrugged noncommittally. “He’s a very good player.” Both girls laughed. “She’s totally blushing,” Shelly teased. “Look, don’t even bother, Shan.” I frowned. “Bother with what?” “Liking him,” she replied. “Johnny doesn’t even look sideways at the girls in his own year, let alone girls in lowly third year.” “Actually, that’s not true,” Claire tossed back cattily. “He gave her a spin home from school.” She cast me a mischievous grin. “Twice.” Blushing, I made a mental note to never tell Claire a goddamn thing again. Both girls swung their gazes toward me. “You lucky bitch,” Shelly breathed, wide-eyed. “You were in his car?” Helen demanded. I shrugged, feeling very exposed in this moment, but didn’t reply. “And she was in the papers with him,” Claire added. “Hughie showed me. All the lads were talking about it because Johnny never stands in pictures with girls.” “He’s never in the papers with girls,” Helen accused. “When did this happen?” “Before she went out to dinner with him at Biddies,” Claire offered with a huge grin. “And the cinema. Oh, and after she spent her birthday at his house.” “Oh my fucking...