Taming 7 (Boys of Tommen, #5)

by Chloe Walsh

Moments before the pain in my lungs exploded and everything went dark, I saw it. A halo of light. An orb of pure sunshine. Her. I saw her. And that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew…

My daddy got Gerard out of the water. He jumped in and rescued him. With his suit and shoes on. And his socks. My daddy was a hero.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world, and I would swap everyone for you. Even Hugh.”

“When they said someone had been saved from the water. I prayed for it to be you.”

“I promised God I would do all the good things in the world if he brought you back.” I beamed at him. “And he listened.”

“I think they wanted your dad to save Bethany.” “I didn’t,” I admitted honestly. “I wanted to keep you most of all.”

“Mark said it’s because I’m stupid,” he added, tightening his hold on my hand. “He whispered it in my ear when I came back from the altar.”

“It doesn’t matter if I write it down or Mam writes it. Not one word on the page makes sense to me.”

Same

“What about me?” he whispered as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. “Who’ll keep me safe?” “I will, silly,” I replied, releasing his hand so that I could give him a hug. “I’ll keep you safe, Gerard.”

SHES 5

“But your hugs feel like sunshine.” “Like sunshine?” I frowned in confusion. “How?” “Because you are sunshine, silly,”

A hot, angry feeling stabbed my belly. It always happened when Liz and Hugh were together. She was supposed to be my friend, but she always played with my brother when she came over, and I didn’t like it.

“I mean it,” he urged, turning to look at me now. “I can’t lose another person I love.” “You love me?” He nodded sadly as another tear trickled down his cheek. “I love you most of all.”

“I don’t see anyone.” His lips tipped up in the smallest of smiles before he added, “Except for you.”

“What’s happening to him?” “He’s having a panic attack.” “Gibs?” “Gerard, sweetheart, it’s me, Sinead. Can you hear me?” “I can’t breathe!” “Help him!” “No, don’t l-let g-go of my h-hand!” “I won’t, Gerard.”

“Whether I say it out loud or say it in my head, it’s still true, Claire. Sadhbh dumped Joe for Keith, and everyone knows it.”

“He looks evil at me,” he explained. “Like he wants to hurt me.” Anger grew in my belly. “Hurt you?” He nodded again. “Maybe even kill me.” “Well, I will kick him in his willy if he hurts you,” I growled. “I know how to do it. Just ask Hugh. I kicked him in his willy last week for breaking my Barbie and he cried.”

“I like your face when you do that,” I told him, reaching up to touch the hole that appeared in his cheek when he smiled. “Do what?” “Smile,” I explained. “It makes my tummy wobble.” “Wobble?” “Uh-huh.” Nodding eagerly, I snickered when it happened again. “Like jiggly jelly.” “Huh.” Gerard’s brows furrowed together, and he looked like he was concentrating superhard. “It’s the same for me.”

When she put her hands on my body, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t feel the familiar swell of panic that consumed me when I was grabbed from behind.

Claire Biggs had a lot of things. My back. My attention. My heart. My soul. Yeah, she had all of me and that wasn’t an exaggeration.

I was a firm believer in faking it until you made it.

Why be fucked-up Gerard when I could be Gibsie the fuckup?

The ugly side of life I had been exposed to was something I would take to the grave with me.

If I could sew this girl to my skin without causing her an ounce of harm, then I would do it in a heartbeat. That’s how vital she was to my life. How essential she was to my existence. If drugs were to Joey Lynch what Claire Biggs was to me, then there was no amount of rehab that could sway me to kick the habit. Because she was the habit of my lifetime.

that’s why I helped Aoife Molloy all those months ago. I would have helped her anyway, but the utter helplessness I saw in her eyes that night as she stared down the gun of love and pain, I knew there was something in her that I could relate to. I knew what it felt like to be that helpless, and I never wanted anyone to experience it. I saw the look in her eyes. I knew that look. I only wished that someone could have stepped in and saved me from that pain.

What if I didn’t work? Because I didn’t feel things with girls. I never felt anything. I was numb to the point of being dead, and if I didn’t feel things with Claire, then it would confirm that my past had truly broken me beyond repair.

I knew her favorite song every year since August 7, 1989.

From as far back as I could remember, my mind had always been very clear about three things. One: Hugh was my brother. Two: Bethany was my sister. Three: Claire was mine.

Hugh didn’t want me near his sister for all the reasons he didn’t need to worry about. Because, as sure as there was a cat in County Cork, I would never cause harm to Claire Biggs. She was too important to me. She was everything to me.

Claire meant it when she told me that she loved me. That was the first of two things in life I was sure of, and I meant it right back. That was the second thing I was sure of. If I knew nothing else in this world, then I knew that I loved Claire Biggs.

“The gym can suck my balls,” he mumbled, rolling onto his side and pulling me flush against his chest to spoon. “Fucking Kav.” “Gerard!” “Snuggling my Claire-Bear equals a happy Gibsie. Running laps on the treadmill until I puke equals a very unhappy Gibsie.”

Unable to repress the full-body shudder of pleasure that rippled through my core, I grew lax against him, knowing that it was a terrible idea with Hugh just outside and especially when I could feel Gerard’s, uh, morning ladder steadily erecting, but I couldn’t resist the temptation.

Gibsie belonged to the rest of the world. Gerard belonged just to me.

“A fugly slut, Gerard,” I corrected with a smile. “But full marks for attempting a Mean Girls reference.” “Fugly slut,” he chuckled, repeating the word to himself. “I love it.”

“Oh, pack it in, Hugh!” I interrupted, tearing my eyes off Gerard’s pierced nipples. “He’s not corrupting me.” “See?” Grinning wickedly, Gerard waggled his brows at the same time as flexing his pecs. “I’m not corrupting her.” “Don’t you shake your tits at me,” Hugh warned, waving an accusing finger around.

“And don’t even think about cooking up anything fishy in here with my sister.” “I don’t cook fish, Hugh, I bake buns,” Gerard shot back with a wink. “In ovens.”

“Well, at least you have jocks on,” Hugh huffed, mildly appeased by the sight of Gerard’s white Calvin Kleins. “Yeah.” Gerard snorted. “This time.” Hugh’s eyes widened to the point where I thought they might pop. “Asshole, you are getting on my last nerve.” “Come on, Gerard,” I groaned, shaking my head. “Don’t rise him.” “That’s what I tried to tell your sister last night.” A vein bulged in my brother’s forehead. “What did you just say?”

“It’s not a ladder right now, babe,” he groaned, hands settling on the elastic waistband of his shorts. “The minute I saw you in those shorts, it turned into a full-blown fire-escape stairwell.”

“Your mother’s right, Gibs. You need to start taking life more seriously.” And you need to take a long walk off a short cliff, asshole.

“Nope,” I replied with a shit-eating grin. “Still taking my pill a day to keep the voices away.”

I feel

“I don’t remember agreeing to him being ungrounded, Sadhbh.” “I don’t remember your name being on my birth certificate.”

this was their end result: Mam shagging the prick laying down the new patio in our garden, while Dad worked his bollocks off to pay for said patio and give her everything else she wanted.

Johnny tolerated me in a way that most of the lads couldn’t. He seemed to get me, even without me telling him one word of my past.

Johnny had the kind of structured will about him that appealed to me. He was safe. He was steady and stable and dependable, and I would die on my hill of loyalty to him. Because aside from Claire, I’d never had a friend I could find peace with like him. He was the protector.

“Gibs, I’d let my ma adopt the whole bleeding school if it meant that I got to keep that girl.”

Big brown doe eyes smiled back at me. Yeah, she had eyes that smiled. Her usual mountain of wild blond curls was piled on top of her head and barely contained by what I could only describe as a hair claw. I didn’t know the correct terminology for such feminine creations, but having messed around in her room enough times, I knew it to be a tricky bastard, with a surprisingly forceful sting if it clamped your skin.

“Do you want to slap SPF 50 on me and hide me under an umbrella to build sandcastles for the day?” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Shannon snickered from behind the hand she was using to bury her smile. “Hey now, that wasn’t a castle, it was a man-sized fort,” I accused, pointing a finger at her. “And you two were the architects!” “Yes, we were, Gerard, and you were a wonderful minion.” Claire laughed, catching ahold of my hand and pulling me toward the door, with a snickering Shannon in tow.

“Sorry, Gibs.” “For what?” I asked, casting a glance in the rearview mirror. “For bringing it up,” she replied with a small shrug. “I mean, I of all people should know better.” “No worries, little Shannon.” I forced a huge smile. “It’s all good.”

I twisted around just in time to see Gerard leap into the air to catch the ball. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” He looked so damn good today. Clad in nothing but a pair of white shorts, he filled every inch of his skin like a dream. No, like a demigod. Yeah, a demigod was so much more fitting.

“But I knew, Shan. I knew something was wrong in your house,” I confessed, repeating a conversation we’d had a couple of times this summer. “I didn’t do anything about it, and the guilt is still eating me.” “Claire, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You didn’t know. Not really. I never told you anything. You had a feeling. And you did everything you could have done for me. Trust me, I know.” Pushing up onto her knees, Shannon grabbed a hair tie off her wrist and pulled her hair into a makeshift bun. “I’m still here. I made it. He didn’t beat me.” Smiling softly, she gestured to herself and then our surroundings. “And look at my life now.”

“We can’t all be poster boys for Prozac, Gibs.” “He doesn’t take Prozac anymore,” I was quick to defend. “Thank you,” Gerard replied. “My serotonin levels are back on track.