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 demons until I stood beside him and watched him battle monsters more frightening than my imagination could ever concoct. I never knew heartbreak until he decimated my heart by decimating his body.

I never knew hurt until he walked away from me. I never knew. I never…

“Caoimhe, this mouthy shit is my little brother.” He turned to me and gestured to the girl. “Joe, this is Caoimhe Young. You were probably too young to remember her in primary school, but her little sister is friends with Shannon.”

“If I’ve taught you nothing else these past twelve years, then remember this: Keep your temper in check, your head in the books, your ass off the streets, and your hands off girls that look like that.” “Like what?” “Like they have heartbreak written all over them.”

“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.”

I had a distinct feeling that I would be doing a lot of following after this girl.

Fight. Die. Run. Die. Tell. Die. Hide. Die. Die.

I was twelve years old and a frontline soldier in the war that raged within my family home. The enemy I found myself up against was bigger and stronger, and my ally had abandoned me when I needed him most.

I, on the other hand, had been ten years old when I learned the meaning of the word rape.

For years after that, I didn’t sleep at night. I didn’t dare. The noises—the fucking sounds from her—were burned into my memory, repeating over and over on a loop of mental destruction. And even when it was quiet, I was on edge. The silence unsettled me almost as much as her screams. Because her screams meant she was still breathing. Her silence could have meant that she was dead.

“Dad.” “Daughter.” “Father!” “Fruit of my loins.”

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.

“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.”

“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…

“He’s going to kill you, Mam,” I lashed 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…”

“What an idiot,” I grumbled with a shake of my head, disappointed in his behavior, mostly because I knew he could do better. Never mind do better, he was better, dammit.

“It’s the age-old trope. There’s always a reason why the good girl lusts after the chemically dependent bad boy.”

Christ, you’re like my own personal little stalker.” “And you’re like my own personal little fuckup.”

“Molloy,” I acknowledged with a small nod. “Nice game.” “Nice legs.” “Want to be a gent and walk these nice legs home?”

“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.

“Technically, your dad saw me first—” “You’re mine, okay?” “I’m not yours, but whatever.”

“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?” “I will be,” she cackled, shifting closer to drape her long legs over my lap. “Once you do one more thing for me.” “Oh Jesus, what?” “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.”

“You’re my favorite friend, with my favorite legs.”

“You’re my favorite friend, with my favorite everything.”

“Nice winning score, by the way.” “Nice legs.”

Because my father was an alcoholic. Addiction ruled his life. That was the pattern his life had taken, and I hated him for it. But not as much as I hated myself for following in his footsteps. A smoke to sleep, a line to function, and whatever else I could get my hands on to escape.

In my head it was die or get high.

My body was a map of cuts and bruises, scars and distortion.

What a lovely way to end the summer holidays, I thought dejectedly as I padded across the room intending to close my door. Your father’s fucking around again, and instead of dealing with your father’s infidelity, your mother’s spent the savings on a new bloody bathroom.

“You’re not the wolf in our story, Molloy.” His breath fanned my cheek, causing my pulse to skyrocket. “You’re the lamb.”

“You’re the sweet, innocent lamb that’s hell-bent on playing with fire,” he said, walking me backwards until my legs hit my bed. “So, you might want to stop hunting me, Molloy.”

“Then one of these days, I’m going to hunt you back.” Oh fuck. “You got that?” Releasing one wrist, he swiftly cupped my chin and forced me to look at him. “Friend?” “I’ve got it.” Breathless and feeling faint, I felt myself nodding. “Friend.” “Good girl.”

“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.”

“Woo! Would you look at the ass on number six!” a familiar voice called out when I slipped through the metal gate of the fencing that separated the supporters from the field and moved to join the rest of my team. Sitting on top of our team’s dugout, inside the fencing where she had no business being, Molloy winked down at me. “Nice moves.” “Nice legs,”

“Because I’ve put an awful lot of effort into saving you, six.”

trust me when I tell you that Joey Lynch is a very scary boy.” “Not to me,” I heard myself whisper. “To me, he’s just Joey.”

I know you care about him, Aoife. I get that, okay? But boys like that can’t be fixed. Not with friendship, or love, or anything else, because they are just not fixable.” “I can’t walk away from him,” I admitted, torn. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t do it.”

If you don’t get out of this house, you’re going to die in it…

She was like the sweetest fucking smell that wouldn’t go away. A part of me was terrified that she would keep digging and somehow manage to break through my walls, through every one of my rotten layers until she got to the ugly center of me and then run for the hills.

“So, you like the color yellow?” “It recently became my favorite.” “Is that so?” “That’s so, Molloy.” “My favorite color is yellow, too.” “It’s a good color on you.”

“I’m not pressuring

you to spread your legs for me.” Rearing back, he made a point of glancing between us. “You did that all by yourself.”

He’s going to kiss you. Oh my god, Aoife, he’s going to put his mouth on yours. Be cool, don’t freak out.

“I can be your friend, okay? I can do that. But you need to know that I’ve got some bad genes running through my system. Some seriously fucked-up DNA.”

Releasing a pained breath, he leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I could go a fair bit crazy over you, Molloy.” His lips brushed against my brow as he said, “Stay out of my head now, ya hear?”

“Joey…are you with me?” No, I wasn’t with her.

“I thought you were into this?” I was floating the fuck away. “Joey.” Nothing. “Joey.” Numb. “Joey.” Let me go. “Joey, isn’t that your mother?”

“What did you take?” I heard my mother demand as she held my face between her small hands. “What did you take, Joey!” Releasing a pained grunt, she breathed hard and fast for a moment or two before turning her attention back to me. “What did you do to yourself?”