Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

I once read somewhere that we mature with damage, not with age.

If my parents’ relationship was a representation of love, then I wanted no part of it. I would rather be alone.

For some unknown, cruel reason, I had been the target of every child’s frustrations from the tender age of four.

Everyone had laughed, and I think in that moment I had hated the ones laughing at my pain more than the ones causing it.

Darren was born gay, the same way Joey was born straight and I was born empty.

In my father’s eyes, I was just a mouth to feed until eighteen.

Being greeted by actual smiling, friendly faces instead of what I was used to was overwhelming for me.

Inclusion wasn’t something I was used to, and I found myself working hard to keep up with the constant flow of conversation and friendly questions aimed at me.

She did what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, unaware and uncaring of anyone else’s opinion.

Fill me up with enough meat and veg and I’d be a different person. A tolerant person. Polite even.

What I could not accept was losing due to lack of preparation and poor discipline. Schoolboys league or not. That wasn’t fucking good enough in my book.

The fools ranting and shouting were the ones that needed to either up their game or put their rugby dreams to bed.

I hit him with a ball, not my fist. Pussy.

“This is a team sport,” Coach seethed, glaring at me. “Not the Johnny show.” “Oh, it is?”

He cared about his players and not just our ability to play rugby. He encouraged us to succeed in all aspects of school life and was constantly chanting about the importance of exam years.

“Hold up,” I snapped, registering his earlier words. “What do you mean she was attacked?” I looked down at the tiny little female under my arm. Who could attack her? She was so small. And frail.

Of course he didn’t, the fucking coward, because he was already miles down the corridor, desperate to get away from the type of responsibility he was paid to stand over.

But now, seeing her up close like this and being able to count the freckles on her face—eleven by the way—it was hitting home just how striking she was.

“That’s really your face?” she asked, eyes drooping, as she studied me with a vacant expression. “It’s so pretty.” “Uh, thanks?” I offered uncomfortably, still cupping her cheeks in my hands. “It’s the only one I have.” “I like it,” she whispered. “It’s a good face,” she added just before closing her eyes again, sagging forward.

“Look at me.” She didn’t. “Hey—” I paused and tipped her chin up with my thumb and forefinger. Once I was satisfied I had her attention again, I carried on. “No one is going to say a word about you.”

Fuck, I had a feeling that her pretty face would be cemented in the fore point of my mind for a very long time.

But it was those wild eyes that really struck me, and I had this crazy urge to google eye color charts just so I could figure out the fucking color blue in her eyes. I would do that later, I decided.

“I’m…” She paused and glanced down at her knees. Releasing a small sigh, she looked back to my face and said, “I’m actually hot.” “Completely fucking accurate assessment.”

“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! She’s too young for you. You know the rules. Stand the fuck down. “No,” she replied slowly, cheeks turning pink. “Do you?” “No, Shannon.” I smirked. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” “I didn’t mean—” Pausing, she exhaled a sigh and gnawed on her bottom lip, clearly flustered. “I meant—”

Dammit, now I was thinking about her eyes again.

She still has your jersey, I mentally noted, which made me sad for a whole different reason. It was new and I’d only worn it this one fucking time. It looked better on her though, I begrudgingly acknowledged. She could keep it.

Something had happened to Shannon Lynch, something bad enough that resulted in her switching schools. It didn’t sit well with me.

“What happened to her out there today? It would be embarrassing as hell for anyone and especially for a girl. So, I don’t want to hear one word of it repeated around school or town.” My voice took on a threatening hint when I said, “If it gets back to me that any of you have been talking about her…well, I don’t have to explain what will happen.”

“Don’t get any notions about her. In fact, don’t look at her at all.”

“Well she’s certainly not yours, prickface,” I shot back without hesitation. “Not that I was including you in that statement.” Sniffing, I looked him up and down slowly with feigned displeasure before adding, “Yeah, you’re not an issue for me.”

“Good for you.” I clapped, not liking this new information one bit, but burying my annoyance with a heavy dollop of sarcasm. “Do you want a medal or a trophy for that?”

“Fuck you,” Ronan strangled out, spluttering and wheezing. “You can’t tell me what to do,” he rasped, breathless. “You’re not my father!” This fucker. He was determined to defy me even when he couldn’t win. “I’m your daddy on the field, bitch.” I smiled darkly and squeezed, cutting off his air supply.

But weren’t all teenagers a little fucked up and troubled sometimes?

Removal from school at the request of mother. About fucking time.

I could prevent anything like this from happening again. It wouldn’t happen again. Not on my goddamn watch.

I liked safe. In my world, invisibility equaled safety. I was happy to be wallpaper and blend in.

Shannon Lynch had eyes the color of midnight blue that wouldn’t stay the fuck out of my head. At least that’s the closest comparison I could find on the countless internet searches I had performed.

“What if I had been naked in here?” “Then I would die a happy man,”

“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. “Smile,” he instructed quietly as he pulled me in to his side and clamped his huge muddy hand on my hip.

It’s okay, Shannon, I told myself. He’s not slurring; there’s no smell of whiskey, and no evidence of broken furniture.

Today was Friday. Friday was a safe day.

“Yeah, asshole,” Lizzie hissed. “You love her loads, don’t you? That’s why you’re going around shagging half the school, isn’t it?”

I hated humans. They were such a disappointment. And to think God switched dinosaurs for man. He must be raging.

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.

I didn’t understand how people could hurt any animals, but especially dogs. They were too good for us. Humans didn’t deserve the love and loyalty dogs gave them.

I was a dog lover. I trusted them. There was something about the way a dog looked at you; they didn’t care if you were a famous rugby player or a homeless person on the streets. They only cared about how you treated them, and once they chose you as their human, you had a faithful friend for the rest of their lives. I didn’t think humans were capable of such compassion and commitment.

My mother flinched at my words, but I was glad I had spoken them. They needed to be said. I just wished she’d start listening.

she said, trying to talk her way out of her responsibilities with lies.

“You are so concerned with fighting the bullies at school, Mam,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, “when the biggest bully of them all lives under this roof.”

I felt like I was slowly dying in that house. In my home. Where I was supposed to lay my head. Where I was supposed to feel safe.