Keeping 13 (Boys of Tommen, #2)

by Chloe Walsh

“Him or us,” Joey repeated the same question over and over, tone growing colder. “Him or us, Mam?” Him or us.

I knew in my heart that whatever answer was given, whatever lie she told herself, and us, the end result would be the same. It was always the same. I think in this moment my brothers realized that, too. Joey certainly did.

She couldn’t make a decision. Not without his permission first.

“I want you to know that I hate you more right now than I have ever hated him.” His body was shaking, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I want you to know that you are no longer my mother—not that I ever had one of those to begin with.” He clenched his jaw, striving to keep the pain inside of him from expelling. His pride refused to allow him to show emotion in front of these people. “From this moment on, you are dead to me. All your shit? Handle it yourself. The next time he hits you? I won’t be there to shield you. The next time he drinks all the money and you can’t feed the kids or get the electricity switched back on? Find some other asshole to get cash from. The next time he throws you down the staircase or breaks your fucking arm in one of his whiskey tantrums? I’ll turn a blind eye just like you did right here in this kitchen. From this day on, I won’t be there to protect you from him, just like you weren’t there to protect us.”

“It’s okay,” Tadhg whispered, keeping his hand on my shoulder. “I’m here.”

SOBBING

“Get off my brother!” Tadhg screamed as he held the tip of the knife to our father’s throat, hand steady as a rock, eyes locked on our father. “Tadhg, put down the knife,” Mam cried, moving slowly toward him. “Please, baby.” “Fuck you,” Tadhg shot back, never taking his eyes off our father. “Get. Off. My. Brother.” Do it, Tadhg, I silently prayed, make him stop forever. “Don’t be stupid, boy.” Dad laughed, but there was no humor in his voice now—just apprehension. Good. Be afraid.

“I won’t stop because Shannon says so.” My heart broke. He was eleven years old and this was what they had turned him into. I was praying for him to kill our father, to finish this off. What the hell did that make me?

“Don’t look so scared. I won’t hurt you…” “Shannon! Shannon! Jesus Christ, do something!” “Tell me who put their hands on you and I’ll make it better…” “Look what you’ve done!” I heard my mother scream. “I’ll look after you…” “Call an ambulance.” “You’re safe with me…”

“She’s dying. He killed my sister. And you’re doing nothing!” “I won’t let you fall… It’s okay, I’ve got you…” “Call a fucking ambulance!” “Stay with me…”

“Just keep kissing me…” “Shannon, can you hear me?” “I love you, Shannon like the river…”

only knew that I couldn’t breathe. The scariest thing was that I didn’t care. I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t scared. I was just…done.

The last thing I remembered before darkness enveloped me was my brother’s touch as he folded me in his arms, followed by the sound of his voice as he whispered the words “Don’t leave me” in my ear.

No rugby for at least six weeks. Father. Bed rest for seven to ten days. Father. Your feet won’t be touching grass until May. Father. Torn adductor, adhesions, and athletic pubalgia. Father. Rehabilitation.

I kept zoning out, my thoughts leading me back to that one word that had been haunting me, playing around in my brain like a broken record. Father. Father. Father.

It was a horrendous fucking feeling. My mind was reeling, only one word playing inside my head like a broken record. Father. And only one voice repeating that same word over and over again. Shannon.

“Listen…” Clenching my eyes shut, I attempted to be diplomatic and failed miserably. “I know there’s something fucked up going on.” Nice one, Johnny. “That sounds nuts. I know. I know, okay. But I’ve got this terrible feeling.” Jesus, I was a headcase. “Shannon said something to me, or I dreamt she said something to me, but it’s stuck in my head and I can’t… Look, I’m not even sure anymore, but I need to talk to her. I need to clear some shite up, okay?

Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong and you know it. Open your fucking mind and think!

“I think it’s her da, Gibs.” Swallowing down my uncertainty, I looked my best friend straight in the eyes and said, “I think Shannon’s father is abusing her.” I was a mathematician by nature, and the common denominator in every problem I tried to solve regarding Shannon Lynch was her father. She said father. She told me that. I knew she had. She told me something about her fucking father. I just couldn’t be certain what it was.

“Here.” I trailed my finger over the old mark. “What’s this from?” “My dad,” she replied, breathing out a heavy sigh. “My dad’s going to kill me,” she continued to choke out, clutching her torn skirt. “My uniform’s ruined. Johnny,” she groaned and then winced. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. This is bad…” “What?” I urged. “What’s bad?” “My dad,” she whispered. If I was wrong about this, and there was a huge chance that I was, she would never forgive me. I figured I was already in the doghouse over the way I acted, but accusing her father of abusing her would be the nail in the potential coffin for us. You’ve probably already fucked yourself over there, too, Johnny, lad… Fuck.

“Who’s hurting you, baby? I’ll fix it.” “It’s a secret.” “I won’t tell.” “My father.”

“He’s on the way, Johnny, lad. He’ll help us.” “Good,” I replied, tone clipped, as I tried to catch my breath and process this. “I’m going to need him to take my case when I go down for murder.” “Think he’ll represent me, too?” Gibsie asked. Shrugging, he added, “When you’re embarking on hell, it’s always good to have a buddy.”

“Mam called him,” Joey replied, casting another menacing glare in Darren’s direction. “Apparently, the bitch had the bastard’s number this whole time.” His tone was dripping with venomous sarcasm. “They lied to us, Shan. Imagine that.”

“Joe,” I croaked out. “It’s okay—” “No.” His voice cracked. “No, Shan,” he whispered, keeping his back to me. “It’s really not.” “We have another issue,” Darren added, breaking the palpable tension. Tearing my eyes off Joey’s back, I looked back to Darren. “What?” “Johnny Kavanagh.” Joey grunted in what sounded like approval. “Wh-what?” Shaking my head, I fought down the tsunami of butterflies trying to claw their way out of my throat. “What does Johnny have to do with any of this?” “Fucker figured it out on his own,” Joey muttered to himself, keeping his back to us. “Must be worth something after all.”

He left. We stayed. His life improved. Ours worsened. End of story.

“Shannon,” Darren said with a sigh. “I didn’t want to leave you behind.” “But you did, Darren,” I whispered, forcing myself not to blink. “You did leave us behind.”

“I know who you are, Shannon,” he said, voice trembling. “You’re my baby sister who loves to sing and dance and read—and you’re smart. You’re so smart, Shannon. You’ve got the best school marks out of all of us. You love to play basketball. You love animals. Your favorite color is pink. You’re always bringing home injured animals and birds and nursing them back to health. You want to go to University College Dublin to study to be a veterinarian, and your ultimate ambition in life has always been to travel the world.” “I don’t sing anymore and I don’t dance. My favorite color is green, and I haven’t picked up a basketball since Da stuck a knife through mine for bouncing it against the side of the house. I stopped bringing home animals a long time ago because I realized I didn’t want them to be caged with me—when I realized they were safer in the wild than with me. I’m not going to go to college and become a vet because I’ve failed every single one of my classes for the last three years.”

“The girl you remember is gone, Darren. I’m not her anymore. Whatever I used to be, he beat it out of me a long time ago.”

“Joey’s irrelevant in this,” Darren muttered, rubbing his temples. “He’s over eighteen.” “That doesn’t make him irrelevant,” I snapped, glaring at my oldest brother. “He’s the most relevant thing in our lives, Darren.” He sighed heavily. “I know, I know. I didn’t mean it to come out like that—” “Did you know that Sean called Joey ‘Da-Da’ until he was two?” I interrupted sharply. My eyes were wide and full of unshed tears, my hands balled into fists and shaking at my sides. “Sean actually thought his brother was his daddy. I suppose it would be an easy mistake to make, you know, considering Joey sat up most nights doing his night feeds and changing his nappies when Mam was working nights or drowning in her depression. So, go ahead and tell Sean how irrelevant Joey is. Or better still, tell Ollie and Tadhg that every time Joey slept outside their bedroom door, for fear our father would go after them, was irrelevant. Tell them about how all the beatings Joey took for them were irrelevant. Tell me how irrelevant the brother who fed us when we were starving, stuck up for us when we had no one, gave us money when we needed it for school—” My voice cracked and I dragged in several deep breaths before I could continue. “Tell me how irrelevant he is, Darren,” I choked out, feeling the burning protest of my lungs from the sudden exertion. “Go right ahead and do it!”

“I told you,” I said, eyes locked on the back of his head as the car tore off down the driveway. “I’m not a liar.”